Marceau first saw her beneath the fractured light of the chapel’s stained glass—her figure bowed, lips moving in silent desperation. The Lady D’Aboville prayed not like the pious did, but like one pleading with a God who had already turned away.
At first, Marceau dismissed her as one of those noble-born maidens praying for an ideal husband—a pious ornament to her father’s lineage. But the illusion fractured the longer he watched. Her silks were too bright for the grief she carried, her jewels unworthy companions for the hands that trembled in prayer. Beneath all the poise and grace lay a desperation too raw to belong to vanity, watching her shoulders tremble beneath candlelight.
When he bribed her maid, he learned the truth: her mother long gone, her father dying, her betrothal to a minor lord already decided. That night, Marceau prayed too—though not for salvation. For once, his heart knelt before a mortal soul.
He begged a favor of the priest who called him kin.
“Let me marry into House D’Aboville.”
The priest, shrewd and smiling, saw gain in the lie. Soon Marceau was introduced as a fallen nobleman of faith—a man of holy standing and borrowed lineage. The Count, cornered by politics and grief, agreed.
Thus, Marceau entered the House D’Aboville as a suitor, cloaked in falsehood and awe.
When he first met her beneath the gilded ceiling, he bowed low.
“It is an honor to stand in your presence, my lady.”
He feigned unfamiliarity. But his eyes betrayed devotion already carved into memory.
After dinner, he offered to escort her to her chambers. The corridor stretched long and dim, lit by soft flame. He spoke lightly—small nothings about the gardens, the weather, the house’s age. She smiled, politely, distantly.
Then, without warning, she stopped.
“You may stop pretending, monsieur.” she utter with mustered courage, averting her gaze "you don't know me." She mutters "to act so familiar." She stays unaware of his current gaze
His eyes that had always lingered at her in the church, now he wish to drown in her but he won't- he can't reveal himself.
“Pretending? My lady?” He was startled at her words