Anxious Hearts {Marie}

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Though Marguerite sat by the large window in the large English manor house that she shared with her husband Percy, the thick drapes were left shut, closing out the sunlight. She held her shawl over her shoulders and had something of a blank stare out towards the distance, ignoring the book that lay open and unread in her lap. It was unlike her to be this way, it was true, but over the past month, she had not been in the mood to go to any fashionable galas, to dress up in the latest styles, to laugh gaily and tease her husband in front of a crowd.

While she normally thrived in a crowd, and it might have been good for her to see a friend, she had shut everyone out after... after the miscarriage. It had not been an unreasonable amount of time to mourn, some weeks; she had lost count. She had not seen anyone. Things had gotten busy preparing for the baby's arrival, and then she had felt too sluggish and dejected to do anything anymore, so she had not even answered letters. She had written on occasion to Marie since moving to England, so she knew, in the back of her mind, that her friend-turned-pen-pal might be concerned for her, but it had not been quite enough time without a response, in Margo's conception, to arouse worry. She did not realize, however, exactly how many letters had come from Marie which had gone unopened and unanswered.

She also did not realize just the lengths that Marie would go if she did worry. She was startled out of a stupor by a visibly flustered servant, who entered, bowed hastily, and blurted out, “Begging pardon, Lady Blakeney – the Vicomtesse Marie Evangeline Blanquefort, ma'am.” Blinking, Marguerite murmured, “I know who she is.” As an afterthought, she added distantly, “Thank you.” Her eyes remained on Marie's face as the servant bowed once more and left, and she did not move to greet her friend; surprise seemed to have dazed her yet into stillness. Perhaps she was still trying to convince herself that the woman was truly standing before her and not just an illusion. “What... what are you doing here?”

[MARIE EVANGELINE ROQUEFEUIL]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]1354 WORDS FOR MARGUERITE Poor Margo! MOROPHINE [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]The dust rolled around Marie's ankles like she imagined dust in the great Sahara would do as she attacked the mound of boxes and furniture armed, rather than a sword - with a dust mop, a mob cap pressed down tight over her red hair, and a kerchief clasped handily over her nose and mouth to keep her from breathing in too much of the dust. Garbed similarly, her ladies maids were doing the same with their own dust mops, mob caps, and brushes. Perhaps it was an odd sigh to see the vicomtesse Marie Roquefeuil-Blanquefort armed to the gills with cleaning supplies and dressed in her dirtiest, raggedy old clothes, which, truth be told, weren't that dirty, old, or raggedy and were far finer than what the majority of servants were wearing on their finest days. It was odd, in the extreme, for a woman of privilege to be dressed up in the closest thing she had to work clothes huffing and puffing away at the dust in her attic. However, Marie was not like most other women. This house and all that it held was her childhood, her life, and her memories all concealed in these stone walls. She had never lived anywhere else - unless you counted the years they'd spent in Paris - but now they were home again and it was springtime and spring cleaning of the Roquefeuil-Blaquefort manor was underway. The name still felt odd under her tongue even after more than a decade of use. For her whole childhood it had been her family's estate - the Roquefeuil estate. But now, because of the laws in Paris at the time, being the only child of her father.. she had not been eligible to inherit. The estate passed to her husband upon her marriage - part of the reaosn she suspected her loving and doting father had been so happy and eager to marry her off to the first person who presented himself rather than considering what Marie herself wanted or her age at the time - fourteen-. She sighed vaguely. Her father had been a loving man, but he'd been a little weak willed, easily persuaded. If anything, she suspected it was Jean-Claude who had taken advantage of him, not the other way around. She had become fond of Jean-Claude through the years. He was a good provider, a fairly gentle husband, and a decent father to their one child, Henri. However, she could never quite forget the way he'd come into her life or what it had cost her - in her mind. Her childhood home, her inheritance (not that it had legally been hers anyway), and her chance to find someone she could fall madly in love with. Many people would tell Marie that the idea of marriage for love was foolish - it was why menage-a-troix and courtly love existed - so that the balance of power and wealth needn't become distrupted by something as dangerous and corrupting as the fickle emotiona of the human heart. Still.. she had her quiet wishes once in a while. Particularly, times when she was home alone for a period time while Jean-Claude was away on business and, now that Henri was getting older, him as well. One such trip this week had been what had prompted her to begin her spring cleaning in earnest. Just as she was attacking with a particular vigor a certain box, a pile of letters fell from it with a soft pfflt sound on the floor. Marie paused, leaning down to gather the letters and saw that they were old correspondences and autograph cards which had just come into fashion when she'd been a younger girl. She noticed one of them in particular. The card was printed in calligraphy with the name Marguerite St. Juste and then autographed the same in a neat hand along with a quick verse beneath it "Faithful friends ever be." the verse read in Marguerite, now Lady Blakeney's, fine penmanship. Marie had made the acquaintance of the once actress some time ago when she had still been peforming. Several letters later, the two women had become fast friends - something which lasted even though Sylvie St. Cyr's accusations. Of those Marie said 'twat!' utter lies. It was ridiculous the friend she knew could have anything to do with the death of Sylvie's brother. Marie had remained her friend even until she had married Percy, when she had been Marguerite's matron of honor. However, she saw little of her friend these days, now that Percy had swept her away from their home in Paris and Marie had retired to her estate for a time. She reflected quietly on just how much she owed Percy for rescuing her family in the second revolution.. She would never forget the service he had done her, and knew they would be friends for always. Nevertheless, she damned him just slighly for taking her friend away. Only a bit. And it was then that she realized just how long it had been since she'd seen or heard from Marguerite and how many letters she'd sent in the last two or three months which had come and gone with no response - something that was somewhat unlike Marguerite and which worried Marie. It was then that she made her decision in an instant. She was going to England to that quiet home Marguerite had described in her early letters to find out what had become of her friend. A sense of urgency in Marie's breast told her that this was important. Leaving her household stunned, she penned a letter explaining the matter in quite unsatisfactory (to him) terms for Jean-Claude that a friend was in need of her and she felt she must go to England at once - not to follow her, she would return. She did not say when. Despite protests, she had managed to purchase a berth on a ship leaving from Callais a few days later and she was on her way to England. The ship didn't even make her as sick as ships normally did. Though it tossed in the waves and wind of a stormy day, she stayed on the deck keeping her eyes peeled on the coast of England which she could make out in the distance. She had one thing on her mind - finding out what was wrong with her friend. It was such that she hurried to the house, her mind skipping from thing to thing as she traveled the rest of her journey with less than enough attention paid to her belongings (a thief got hold of one of her valises) or her physical needs. By the time she arrived at Marguerite's home she was both exhausted and hungry, but had absolutely no intention of letting this or any form of even the slightest weakness show on her face until she'd seen for herself that Marguerite was perfectly well. Sadly, she was not to find this the case - perfectly well - she hurried into the house, fairly brushing past the startled doorman and hurrying up the steps calling her friend's name. It was in not too long order that she found her in the parlor. She eyed her friend with the careful expression of a knowing mother discerning what might be wrong with her child. Margo was exceptionally pale and far too thin, that much Marie could see for certain. There was a grey look to her complexion that Marie had never seen there before and which distressed her. Her forehead was puckered - currently in confusion - but in her eyes, Marie sensed something more than mere confusion. "Making sure you're all right." she said simply, unflustered as she moved over and whipped aside the drapes to let the light flow into the room so she could see better. "It's been nearly eleven weeks since you wrote me.. do you know?" Her voice was a bit scolding and impatient, but someone who knew Marie as well as Margo would know that it was worry rather than anger which caused the semi-scolding. [/style]

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Marguerite blinked again as the drapes were whipped open without ceremony or warning. “It has?” she repeated blankly. It was not that Marguerite had intentionally spurned her friend by ignoring the task of writing responses to the letters. At first she had noticed the letters and intended to answer them later; how much later, she had not determined. Eventually she had not noticed more letters coming in. It was just regular updates, she assumed, of how Marie's son Henri was doing. He must be getting quite mature now. Margo was not entirely certain that she could read such reports on Marie's child, not when she had not yet come to term with abandoning dreams of her own. “Forgive me, I... hardly noticed.”

In truth, there was little that she had noticed. Marguerite was normally most astute; she drew attention to herself with witty observations that were meant to be overheard, but she could hide her own emotions well. She was not doing so now, in part because she was not sure what she felt at all, and in part because she was making no effort to hide her disorientation. But having the drapes drawn, once she had overcome her initial daze, had done something to pull her out of her stupor: she remembered that she had a guest, for the first time in a while, and though the guest was an old friend, she must receive her with some sense of propriety.

“I... Marie,” she said finally, giving her friend a drawn smile and taking her hand to press it gently. “I am surprised to see you, but I am glad.” She stood and smoothed her skirts, conscious again that her figure had changed once again. As soon as she seemed to have gotten accustomed to being with child – not that it was something that one could ever grow accustomed to, if the child was still growing, though in her case, that had not happened – she simply no longer was. It was like time had stopped for her. “Perhaps I had begun to forget French a little.” Not that it was any excuse for not answering the letters. She moved mechanically to the table where a tray of tea was set out, untouched. “Would you like some tea?”

(OOC: Sorry it's so much shorter than yours!)

[MARIE EVANGELINE ROQUEFEUIL]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]526 WORDS FOR Marguerite no notes at present. MOROPHINE [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Marie could see from the off that there was something not right about her friend. What that was and what was causing it was not yet so plain, but the fact that something was amiss would be obvious to even the most slight of acquaintances - let alone someone as close to Margo as Marie was and vice versa. She could tell as plain as day something was not right. There was an air about Margo that she couldn't quite place but that she'd certainly never seen in her friend before. It was like she.. barely noticed the lack of contact between the two of them even though they were of the habit of writing weekly. And, moreover, it was like she didn't care that Marie was here... Marie did not resent this - there was obviously something the matter - something more important than Margo being excited for her arrival. No.. she added, continuing to think.. It isn't that she's not happy to see me... it's that she -wants- to be happy to see me but isn't... and is trying to make it look like she knows how that should be but has forgotten it somehow.. It was a strange thought indeed. It was not one she could entirely understand or sort out, though she hoped she would eventually, with some gentle prodding, come to the understanding of what was going on with her dear friend. The truth. Well it's simply settled. I won't go home until I understand and have helped.She thought resignedly. She wondered how long that might be and whether she should have left more details about her whereabouts for Jean-Claude. He would be worried when he returned home to just a quick note. She put these thoughts out of her mind almost as quickly as they'd come, however, for there were more important things at stake. Hadn't noticed that eleven weeks had gone by? Forgotten French? Marie desperately hoped that last wasn't meant to be taken literally and was only an attempt at a light-hearted joke. She hoped Margo had not gone so far into this black hole that seemed to be sucking the energy and spirit out of her that she'd even started to forget to speak her own language... "Tea would be nice.. but let me get it. You look a little flushed." Marie murmured, placing a calm hand on Margo's shoulder. It was true, Margo did look like she'd lost a lot of the normal color from her face - she was very pale now and more slender than Marie thought she'd been the last time they saw each other. Was her friend ill? She hoped not. She moved to the tea caddy across the room and prepared two cups, making sure to fix Margo's how she always took it, before moving to sit down across from her. "Please.. tell me what is the matter." She said, trying to catch her friend's gaze. "I know something is. You're not yourself at all.. If you're honest with me.. maybe I can find some way of helping..." She reached for Margo's hands, taking them in hers with a gentle squeeze. [/style]

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“You don't have to,” Margo murmured, brows furrowing only slightly. “It's my house. I should be able to do it.” She should have been able to do lots of things which had suddenly grown so difficult in the past... how long had it been? Eleven weeks, had Marie said? She didn't realize that she'd been glancing at her feet, trying to think, until Marie's hand on her shoulder pulled her out of her thought and made her meet her friend's gaze. “Oh,” she said simply, not sure how else she was supposed to respond to the observation that she looked flushed. She did not make any protest as Marie poured the tea anyway, and she sat once more as Marie did so.

She had glanced away again, eyes distracted by the motion of Marie pouring the tea, before the cup was placed on the table and Marie spoke once more. She blinked, a blank stare directed at her friend's face before her cloudy blue eyes focused. She glanced at her lap then, hands folding, fingers picking at the fabric of her dress. As Marie took her hands again, it forced her to focus on something else. Though she wanted to avoid the question, something in her friend's voice compelled her.

Suddenly, she could feel tears welling in the corners of her eyes, inexplicably. She had been dazed and frozen for a time, but her feelings returned to her in a rush. “I lost my baby,” she said, very quietly, as if she said it any louder, it would make it only more real. Even though she had been wallowing in her grief for a while, she had not thought about it as grief; it had only felt like emptiness, and she had not dwelled upon the reason for it. But now that she was being asked about it, now that she was being consoled, it only made things stronger.

Though the tears did not come in a flood, a few trickled down her cheeks. Thankfully, she would manage to keep herself somewhat composed in front of her friend. It was as if the ice was melting from her. She wiped a few tears from her cheeks unceremoniously with the back of her hand, sniffling. “I wanted him so badly,” she admitted. “I didn't even know how badly until he was gone.”

[MARIE EVANGELINE ROQUEFEUIL]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]562 WORDS FOR Margo notes: Poor Margo! MOROPHINE [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]"Nonsense.. you don't look well. Just sit yourself down. It's no trouble at all for me to make some tea. I even know just how you take it. It may be your house but that doesn't change that you're my closest friend and have been for some time, and I know when something isn't right with you and you need a little help. And that's nothing to be ashamed of. So you just sit yourself down there on the settee and rest. I'll have tea for you in just a second." Marie murmured in a determined and almost bossy voice that still managed to be gentle and caring at the same time. She wanted Margo to understand that she truly cared for her, and it wasn't that she was trying to walk all over her, but she wanted to get to the bottom of whatever was really bothering her and solve it as soon as she could. Marie was just that way; if something was wrong or bothering someone that she cared about deeply, then she was the first one to take it on her own shoulders and try to get to the bottom of it in order to make things better for her friend, whichever one it happened to be at the time. She could be extremely self-sacrificing when she felt called to do so - and now was one of those times. She needed to figure out what was going on with Margo and help her with it before something bad happened. It wasn't that Marie knew of exactly what bad would happen, but Margo simply wasn't herself and the whole air of the place was giving off this foreboding feeling... She wanted it solved and dealt with as soon as possible so that she herself would know that everything was fine with Margo and then perhaps the two ladies could spend some enjoyable time together without fretting the entire time. It was a blessing that Marie had put the kettle on to get the water heated before Margo finally fessed up with what the problem was. A Miscarriage. Of course. Marie wondered why she hadn't thought of something like that.. it was obvious... and yet she'd missed over it. She supposed that most of the time she tried closing her eyes to the unfortunate world of childbearing and rearing of very young children because it often was not an enjoyable business. Many pregnancies didn't survive to term, and even when they did the danger was not over. Many didn't survive birth - mothers and children. And if they did, then people encouraged you not to mourn if the child was younger than ten because death in these years was so common. But the problem was, that advice didn't solve the pains of a heart rent in two with loss. Few understood it - even some women who had been through it did not. It was difficult... She left the kettle on the stove and went to embrace Margo tightly, trying to guide her face to rest on Marie's shoulder. "Not that it can help.. but.. I'm so sorry.. I..." She stopped suddenly I didn't even know how badly until he was gone.. oh yes.. she understood that.. she understood that all too well. "I understand.." She whispered, burying her face in Margo's dark hair as she held her close. [/style]

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Margo was slightly overwhelmed by Marie's chatter, the instructions coming at what felt like a hundred miles an hour. There was hardly time to respond. The only thing she could do was settle back in her chair obediently and let Marie see to the tea as she intended. "Very well," she breathed, not feeling energized enough to protest anymore. Marie did know her well... and she made very good tea. It comforted her that Marie still considered her a close friend after everything, even though it irked her that she was so easy to read, that something was obviously wrong. "Thank you," she added belatedly, the words stilted.

She knew that she had neglected Marie, and she felt badly now that she realized she had done it. It hadn't been a conscious decision; she had felt like she hadn't done anything consciously. Some mother she would have been. Marie must be an excellent mother, the way she could sound so demanding and tender at the same time. It amazed Margo. How she herself would really do as a mother, she could not be certain now. Maybe she would know someday. It was not as though having one miscarriage doomed her chances of maternity forever. Many women had them. That was no comfort to her at the moment though in the midst of this all-consuming personal tragedy.

It took Marie coming here for her to finally be aware of herself and the world around her again, not feeling as though she were walking in a dreamlike state. Nay, not even walking; that implied motion. She had just sat. The world had gone on without her. No one would sympathize with her; miscarriages were common...

But Marie did. And she held Margo close. Margo wept bitterly atainst her friend's shoulder as her loss washed over her again in a way she hadn't let it for some time. Her crying was fierce but brief, like a sudden flame extinguished. She supplied a handkerchief and sniffed delicately. "Oh, Marie... it's awful," she admitted, drying her eyes. "But having you here does make it better, somehow." Trying to smile, she pressed Marie's hand. "I would not wish this on anyone, of course... but I'm glad you understand." Whatever that might mean. "And it means so much to me that you are here. I cannot believe it. To come all this way..."

[MARIE EVANGELINE ROQUEFEUIL]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]596 WORDS FOR margo no notes. MOROPHINE [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;] Marie found herself pleased and relieved when she saw Margo practically collapse into a chair - well, she wasn't pleased about the collapsing but about the lack of argument. Marie liked to think that she had, in the past years, attained a perfect balance of being just firm enough to get the results expected, but not so firm as to seem harsh, unyielding, or unforgiving. It took that balance when one was a mother. You had to be firm and yet loving with your children to get the proper results. After all, the Bible did say to spare the rod and spoil the child - but it also said not to antagonize your children as well. Marie tried to live by those instructions. She was pleased to see that her 'talent' apparently extended outside of her own family circle. She was less pleased to see the slightly disoriented and overwhelmed manner with which Margo was conducting herself. It worried her more than anything really. She was a good enough friend by this point not to be offended in the least - but worry was another matter entirely. She wondered vaguely if Percy had had the doctor round to check on Margo. Sometimes women didn't get over miscarriages all on their own after all. Though, if it had been early maybe it hadn't been necessary. It was perhaps this worry which had led her to embrace Margo and try to comfort her. She wasn't sure she had been expecting the storm of tears which followed, intense but brief like an afternoon thundershower - but though she hadn't entirely been expecting it - for she didn't think she'd ever seen her friend cry before - nevertheless, she remained as calm as possibly, simply rubbing Margo's shoulders in a soothing manner and resting her chin slightly in the other woman's hair until the crying ceased to smaller gasps and finally died away with her drying her eyes. "Well.. I'm glad I could be of some help.." She said, producing a lace edged and pink rose embroidered hankie out of her clutch for Margo to dry her eyes with. "But really.. I couldn't have done anything less. You're my friend." She said simply. And, because Margo was her friend, she felt a horrible sensation inside of her, writhing her insides around telling her that she needed to share with Margo why exactly it was that she understood. She certainly didn't want to. For the majority of her adult life she'd been trying to pretend that that day had never happened, the one which this forced her mind to harken back to. She had tried to blot it out of her mind forever, but it wasn't always as easy as that. She didn't want to encourage it to resurface but.. at the same time.. she thought that Margo might need to hear it. She sighed slightly, clasping Margo's hand in hers. "I understand.. because something... quite.. similar.. happened to me as well. Some years ago.. And it is awful.. and no one understands unless they too have... been through it.. it's not supposed to be such a big thing you know - at least that's what other people say. It's.. not.. supposed to hurt so much.. or be taken so seriously beause it happens so often.. but.. I think the people who say it must not have hearts... because that isn't true at all.. no matter.. how common it is.. it still.. is painful." She let out a deep breath. "But it does ease... after a time. It .. gets better." [/style]

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Margo did not think to be too disappointed in herself for a ladylike lack of composure; so far she had already been a horrid hostess to Marie, with Marie having to do everything, pouring the tea and hugging her and comforting her as though Margo were a child herself. Her friendship with Marie had begun as an acquaintance in formal rooms and greetings at dances, but Marie had always proved herself worthy of something deeper should the need arise, and now, Margo knew it. She could confide in Marie, and apparently cry on her shoulder as well. It was not exactly the stuff of high society that she had had back when she was an actress in glittering Paris – but she was no longer an actress; she was real and raw and this was just what she needed at the time that she needed it.

“You have been of much help,” Marie sniffled, taking the hankie delicately with a watery smile of gratitude. It was a beautiful little piece of linen, really. She had all sorts of fine things here but this was somehow infinitely more sweet. Marie calling her her friend almost made her feel as though tears threatened to well up once more. “A better friend than I could ask for our deserve,” she agreed with a little shake of her head, composing herself once more. No one else had done as much for her. Both Percy and Chauvelin had saved her life, but perhaps this was saving her life in a different way.

She lowered her gaze, understanding dawning when Marie took her hand and told her that she had suffered a miscarriage as well. She fondled her friend's hand gently and reassuringly as she spoke; Marie did not seem to ever need much assurance, confident as she was, but she would give it all the same. It was, as Marie had said, the least she could do. “It does?” she asked hopefully when Marie had said it would get better. She raised her head once more to meet the woman's gaze, trying to smile. “Well, I already feel better having you here... I know you cannot stay forever, but please, remain as long as you like. The house is so empty without guests.” Percy had not thrown a soiree in a while, probably for her sake. But it seemed that this was what she needed, even if she hadn't thought it was what she wanted.

[MARIE EVANGELINE ROQUEFEUIL]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]710 WORDS FOR Margo notes can go here. MOROPHINE [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Marie looked across at Margo with a small smile, relieved to hear that she had been of at least some help to her friend. That was all she could have possibly hoped for - to be of help. It was the entire reason she'd come. Some women had a reputation for snooping about in other peoples' business for a tidbit of gossip, perhaps, a delicious, salivacious new rumor to spead. But Marie, for the most part, was not like that at all. She'd been raised to keep to herself, to keep her business and her emotions to herself, and to keep what people told her to herself. There was a reason that the gift her mother thought most appropriate for her thirteenth birthday was a journal - a place she could freely speak her mind without worry of offending anyone, without worry of anyone finding out things that Marie shouldn't be expressing. And sometimes the rules of what was polite conversation chafed at her and she didn't like them. There had been times there were things she desperately wanted to say, yet knew better than to actually utter no matter how much she might desire to say them. And, yet, there were other times when these rules made her feel safe and protected - like the protection of a baby's swaddle - keeping the emotions inside of her, safe and tight where they wouldn't spill out too much and expose parts of her that she never shared. Not with anyone. It made her safer that she couldn't talk about those things because otherwise she might.. and if she talked about them, she might come apart inside. I was better to step away from that void inside herself the way one might avoid stepping over the edge of a cliff. She broke out of her reverie when she heard Margo's voice again and smiled slightly. "I'm glad I was able to help in some way. You are a wonderful friend as well. I have no doubt if the situations were reversed, you'd do the same for me." she smiled softly at the other woman and offered her a cup of tea finally, as well as a plate with a tea cake and a biscuit on it. "Please, have something to eat. You look very pale. I suspect you've lost your appetite.. it's not uncommon. I did too, but you've got to eat at least a little to grow strong again." She would have laughed were it not disrespectful, because they were the same words almost exactly that she'd heard when she lost her own baby. She took a deep breath. "Yes, eventually. Especially if you try again. Not that another baby can replace it but... it can.. help. Having something else.. instead of just emptiness." She clenched her hands in her dress for a moment. "I only had three, perhaps four months left.. in my first pregnancy when I lost that baby. He was a boy too. And when he came.. I wanted him but of course.. it was too early." She gritted her teeth as her mind shied away from the pain. This was the first time she had mentioned him aloud since it had happened. "I...." She paused for a moment. She had been going to tell her how she lost him, what she called him.. but when the tides of memory came rushing back over her.. it was too much to bear. Dark, late night, pain ripping her body like a knife, then nothing.. just nothing.. a void of empty nothingness that lasted what could have been days... or weeks.. or months.. she wasn't sure and didn't care. That void was a blackhole that still had a surprising amount of force to suck her down inside and never let go. Too many feelings and emotions never dealt with, brushed aside because that was what was expected of women. "I felt a little better.. later on.. after I got pregnant with Henri. It was better than." True. Not fixed.. but better. "I'm sure the same will happen for you." She said, becoming stronger now, composing herself mentally as she touched Margo's hand gently. "Just give it a little time and you and Percy will be parents.. I know it." [/style]

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“I would, yes.” This was said faintly and somewhat absently. Even though she was told that she was a good friend, Margo could not recall a time when she'd had to be here for Marie in the same way that Marie was now there for her. Of course, what she did not know was that before they had been the best of friends, Marie had gone through the same thing that she had, too early for her to be of any help in that situation. It was reassuring somewhat though to hear from someone who had gone through the same thing, who was not just giving platitudes when she said that Margo could and would get over it – just as she had.

She took some sustenance as her friend had suggested, not because she was hungry, but because she had been instructed. “You eat too,” she ordered. “You're my guest after all, horrible hostess that I've been.” Sighing softly, she dipped some bread into the butter before eating it thoughtfully. She and Percy would try again. They hadn't been together that way for a time now because she'd been... well, like this. But there was a time when they couldn't keep their hands off of each other. That wasn't what Marie was getting at though. It was something else.

Listening patiently, her expression changed as Marie went on. She swallowed, her face white and still. Marie had lost a baby too? And a little later than she had, too. She'd spent even longer wishing and planning for a baby she would never hold. She'd even gone through the hard heartache of delivering him, hadn't she? Margo blinked, putting a hand on her friend's knee. What could one say? “I'm so sorry,” she murmured. But for Marie there was a happy ending. If only there would be for her too.

“I hope you're right,” Marguerite replied, with a bit of a shaky sigh. She smiled weakly at her friend, then threaded her fingers through Marie's after she touched her hand. The delicate hand was given a squeeze. She was so grateful that Marie was here for her, and the contact was what she needed to reassure her. The contact, the words... Marie knew just what to do. She let herself relax against the chair and took another breath and let it out. “About feeling better, about having a baby. Everything.” Looking at her friend, she got to her feet. "I think it will, though. Something about being here with you has made me think that it will."

[MARIE EVANGELINE ROQUEFEUIL]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]298 WORDS FOR Margo Not the greatest post in the world! Sorry. XD You can probably start bringing up the her helping percy out stuff at this point - it just felt awkward to do it attached to this post and I wasn't quite sure how to start.. Maybe Margo could have discovered a letter or something? and ask about it? MUSE [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Marie took a few minutes of walking to the window and staring out to recover herself from talking about some of her worst memories. She had to take some deep breaths and stare out at the rolling fields before she was able to calm down. It was hard to reel herself back in when she so much as thought about it - let alone when she was actually talking about it. For all of these years she'd kept it inside - not said a word about it like she was supposed to do. Children died all the time right? Children. Born children and their families were supposed to go on and not mourn them because they hadn't lived to the age of ten. So where did that leave women like Marie and Margo? Mourning for a child that had never even -technically- been born? Without a right it seemed.. to be sad about it. However, Marie needed to set a good example for her friend and show her how to move on, however, so she moved back from the window and crossed across the room. "Absolutely no worries. I'll be here for a while yet. You'll have plenty of time to play hostess for me." She said with an honest smile. Somehow being with Margo always helped her to feel a bit better, and she hoped the same thing could happen for Margo. "And I didn't tell you to make you feel sorry for me. I just want you to know that it will get better. Especially once you and Percy do have another baby. It's safe to start trying right away you know... " She smiled slightly. [/style]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0