She walks in Beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
She Walks In Beauty by George Gordon, Lord Byron
Henri Martin watched the ginger-haired beauty with her hordes of admirers flocking after her. Her long tumbling red curls, her sparkling green eyes, her rosebud lips curved into a smile… She was always wearing a mask, but he could recognise those vivid green eyes of her anywhere. All in all, he thought her to be the perfect epitome of an angel.
Gold trimmings of lace were hanging from the ceiling. While the ceiling, being magnificently painted with the illustrations of angels dancing in the white masses of clouds was meticulously adorned with intricate golden webs. The aureate silk curtains billowed gently in the breeze as the dancers swayed in time to the tranquil beats of the music.
Even amidst the resplendent decorations, Henri felt that the mysterious beautiful lady stood out above them all. With high cheekbones, an aristocratic nose, she had claimed to carry a strain of the Royal blood in her – and it was certainly no wonder that everyone found it easy to believe her.
He almost made it to the doorway before he felt a delicate hand on his arm. A sweet fragrance floated to his nose, one that he recognised almost immediately.
“Leaving so soon, Monsieur?” Her voice was calm, soothing and yet it reminded him of the joyous chorus of bells tinkering in the slight breeze. “Perhaps one dance, before you leave?”
Her green eyes were dancing and not for the first time, he longed for her to remove her mask so he could gaze upon her lovely face. Nodding at her, he took the angel’s proffered hand and led her to the dance floor.
“How is your evening so far, Monsieur?” She gave him a pretty smile, one that held him dazed for a moment.
“Perfect,” Henri murmured, after he recovered momentarily.
“That is good to know,” she said, her eyes gleaming.
She continued to make conversation throughout the dance, for which he was immensely glad – as for some unfathomable reason, in the presence of this lady, he was lost for words. Something in her, something in her beauty, her grace, clutched at his throat and left him wordless.
When the dance was over, she curtseyed and bid him good evening, gliding away towards the doorway. He stood at the edge of the dance floor, perplexed by the sudden anticlimax. Then, making his mind up, he strode towards her resolutely. Henri greeted her, and she turned, a questioning look in her eyes – but underneath the curious glance, there seemed to be another emotion flickering beneath, one that of… impatient expectancy? Ignoring his sudden burst of intuition and determined that he was wrong, he took her hand and placed a velvet box in her palm.
“It’s a gift for you, Mademoiselle. Take it.” Henri smiled at her as she inclined her head gracefully and accepted his gift with thanks. Henri felt no guilt at giving away his mother’s necklace; after all, she was to become his wife soon. He was sure of it!
Thanking him once again, she excused herself, leaving him there standing mutely, as if lost in a daydream.
It was then Henri realised that he did not even know her name.
~
Danielle Dumoulin stood before the ornate mirror, admiring her gleaming emerald. It was the loveliest thing she had ever set her eyes on in her life and the gifts from the rest of her admirers was nothing compared to this. Its deep green brought out the colour of her eyes and reflected the golden sunlight with each twirl of her graceful fingers.
Last night had been a breeze. Henri was so enamored by her charms he could barely speak in her presence. Stuttering fool. She was well aware that the jewel she was wearing now was meant for his mother. Madame Madeleine, on her deathbed, had requested to see her beloved treasure for the last time. The jewel was a gift to her from her late husband and it was most dear to her. It made almost Danielle feel guilty. Almost.
She sighed. She shuddered, thinking of what her mother might say if she had known what Danielle were doing – being merely under the impression that she was a maidservant. But then again, they had no right to reprimand her, for she had done her duty as the oldest of her five siblings by frequently sending some money back.
It was a beautiful day outside. The sun was shining brightly and the birds could be heard singing their jovial tunes melodiously in the distance.
She appraised herself in the mirror. Even though Richard was sick and unable to leave the bed, it would not do for him to see her in anything that was less than perfect. As she readied herself to make an appearance in Richard’s bedchambers, a maidservant came bustling in.
“There is someone at the door, Mademoiselle.” The maidservant curtseyed. “He wants to see Monsieur Richard immediately. I have informed him that Monsieur Richard is not feeling well but the gentleman insists and will not –”
“All right. I will take care of it.” Danielle said, curiosity piqued. The maidservants knew people who usually came around, and seeing the maidservant fretting so much, she had to wonder if it were someone important… like someone of Royalty, perhaps…?
“My apologies, Mademoiselle. I truly did not–”
“Thank you, Margaret.” Danielle said firmly. “Now, if you please.” She followed the maidservant down the stairs.
The gentleman had brown hair that seemed to shine and exude a golden light in the sunshine, like the halo of an angel. His eyes were the deepest brown, and there was something alluring and mesmerising about them. He had the rather sharp features of an aristocrat, although his lips were currently curved into a gleaming smile.
“May I ask what I can do for you, Monsieur?” Danielle curtseyed. Though her tone was polite, her sharp eyes appraised him carefully. She did not remember seeing him before. Since she always made it a point to attend every social gathering, she was certain that this gentleman had just arrived there and was new to the country.
“I would like to see Monsieur Richard please.” He gave a quick bow. “It is a matter of great urgency.”
“Monsieur Richard is not feeling particularly well. Would you like me to help you with whatever it is you need?”
The gentleman hesitated. “There is going to be a ball at the palace and I personally came to see if Monsieur Richard would attend it. Would you be so kind as to pass this message on to Monsieur Richard, Madame? I would loathe it if he did not turn up.”
“I am only his sister!” Danielle lied smoothly, indignant at his assumption that she was married to Richard. “And may I ask, who are you, Monsieur?”
“I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle.” He said apologetically. “Please accept my sincerest apologies for my abominable mistake. Do call me Philippe.”
Philippe? That did not ring any bells at all. There was something she could not quite place. It was almost as if she were looking into her own reflection; she could see the charming smile she always wore to get whatever she wanted, mirrored on his face. “I am Danielle.” Danielle had always been adept at keeping her face expressionless, but this time she had trouble trying to keep the alarm out of her face. What in the world possessed her to give her real name?
“Danielle,” Philippe repeated, a winsome smile on his face. “I would loathe not to see you at the ball as well.”
“Do not flatter me, Monsieur,” Danielle laughed.
“It is Philippe, I am afraid I must insist.”
“All right, Philippe.” She smiled back. “I will try my utmost best to be there.”
“Good.” He seemed to be rather satisfied. “And now I must leave – my job here is done. Goodbye, Danielle.” Philippe gave a courtly bow and swung up onto the saddle of his chestnut stallion and galloping away, dust billowing in the wind.
“Goodbye, Philippe.”
~
Danielle lay in the field of green, lush grass; hands spread wide open and eyes closed against the soft glare of the setting sun. She sighed, drinking in all the smells and sounds of the spectacular scenery. The fragrance of the ripe apples pervaded the air. She could hear the birds in the distance and the rushing of the waters from the river nearby. Her crimson hair splayed out against the green grass in a stunning contrast, her face was one of absolute serenity and peace.
She had met up with Philippe a few occasions after that meeting, and she found him to be a most invigorating gentleman. Most of the gentleman she knew treated her so delicately, as if she would break at the slightest comment, but Philippe on the other hand, did not. Yes, there was no doubt about his impeccable manners, but his cutting comments and icy tone sometimes left her either laughing or inconceivably livid.
All of the sudden, she frowned. Was that the gentle thudding of hooves she heard? Her peace destroyed, she sat up and searched among the masses of the green and brown trees. There was no one.
Sighing, she slipped back on the ground and closed her eyes, her body relaxing slowly. There it was again, the sounds of a horse trotting. She shifted to the side slightly and peeped through her hooded eyelids. There. Smiling at her own ingenuity, she shifted back again.
“May I request, Monsieur, that you come out of your hiding? It is not polite to spy on a lady.”
A dark hooded shadow glided into view, the horse moving silently and swiftly among the sweet-smelling grass. Just as he neared Danielle, he dismounted with an easy grace and fell into the ground next to her.
“I was not spying, merely looking for good game,” came the familiar voice, and the stranger removed the hood, revealing Philippe.
“Somehow, I find that hard to believe.” Danielle sat up and turned to look at him.
“Do you doubt my sincerity, Mademoiselle?” Again, the charming smirk surfaced.
“Not your sincerity, Monsieur.” She laughed. “Just your intentions.”
Philippe chuckled. “Mademoiselle, do I look like the sort that would persist in such deviant behaviour to you?”
Danielle pretended to consider it seriously. Tapping a finger against her chin, she answered, “Monsieur, with that hood on, I am afraid you do.”
Dramatically, his hand went to his heart and his countenance turned anguished. “You wound me, Danielle.”
“And you scared the wits out of me by sneaking on me!”
“I do not sneak!”
“You just did!”
“I was looking for game!”
“You sneaked!”
“I did not!”
“You, Monsieur, are no gentleman.” Danielle glowered at him sullenly.
“Neither are you a lady.” Philippe drawled, raising an eyebrow.
“And pray tell me how I am not?” She challenged him, glaring at him in the darkening sunset and trying in vain to focus on anything but the warm glow of his eyes.
“Ladies do not accuse gentlemen of something they did not commit,” was his prompt answer.
Insufferable fool. If she had known he was such a person, she would have never met him at the doorway at all. Fuming and at a loss for the reason as to why he so easily provoked her ire, she stood up and stepped over him haughtily, nose in the air. Danielle could sense his amusement in the air and that made her all the more infuriated. Ignoring his eyes on her back, she edged towards the forest, cursing herself for going out at such late hours. Night was starting to set in already, and she would rather die than admit it, but she found the dark rather terrifying.
Danielle made it to the outer rims of the forest, half-expecting Philippe to offer to take her back on his horse. He did not. Curse him. She was too prideful to turn around to look at him, much less request that he help her. Mustering up her courage, she suddenly at the sense of another presence close to her. It was nothing but her imagination, she insisted to herself. But there was a part of her, a small part of her that could not let go of the apprehensive feeling that someone other than Philippe that was watching her.
The dark shadow of a leaf stirred in the slight breeze.
And she was right. For a moment later, she felt a rough hand over her mouth, muffling her screams of fright and lifting her up into the air and onto a horse. At once, she heard the frantic shouts coming from Philippe as he rushed to aid her. It must be the gypsies. They had been growing braver these few years and the King could do nothing about it but send his soldiers to hunt for them – an order which was executed futilely. The King could use some help from his son – who was currently abroad – if you asked her.
“Go,” a voice hissed in the perpetual darkness and hands seized her, holding her firm as the mount started cantering away. She could hear Philippe’s mount rearing in the clearing and terror clutched at her heart. He would be too late.
Danielle trembled with trepidation, but she knew she had to do something. Wriggling her wrist inconspicuously out of the captor’s tight grip on her waist, she tried repeatedly to reach her hair all the while the horse swerved and dodged the trees. Yes! She did it! Hurriedly, she slipped the sharp pin down the ribbon wrapped around her waist and waited for the most opportune moment to strike and escape. There was hope for her now!
Finally, the horses slowed to a halt, and Danielle, with hands clutching her forearms, headed towards the fire in the small clearing of the woods. A small ring of hooded gypsies sat there around the fire, looking up and leering at her approach.
“Welcome, Mademoiselle!” The leader of the gypsies raised his hands in welcome and stared at her directly with cold, black eyes. “I trust you had a pleasant journey?”
Danielle narrowed her eyes, her fear dissipating as her anger took its place. “It was pleasant enough, thank you.” She spat furiously, glaring at the leader.
The leader just cackled. “Ah, feisty… You have done a good job, Rémy.” The one called Rémy grinned to himself under his leader’s praise.
“The only good job there will be is when I get out of here and alert the soldiers of your presence!” This declaration was only met with jeering laughter and more cackling.
“She thinks she can escape us!” The leader said mockingly, as the rest of the gypsies howled in laughter. “Let me tell you, Mademoiselle, no one has ever escaped us before, and I do not think even a exceedingly brave lady such as yourself will be able to do it.”
“Do not spout words you do not mean, Monsieur.” Danielle declared, in a fantastic show of bravado. “And if no one has ever done it, then I will be the first.”
The leader sauntered closer to her, and Danielle suppressed the chills running down her spine. “I mean them, Mademoiselle, with every inch of my he–”
And that was when she plunged the pin into his arm. Howling in pain, he swiped at her furiously but she leapt away in time. It was as though everything was in slow motion from then on. Danielle, with her hair flying around in a red swirling mess and skirts hitched up, ran towards the shadow she had spotted earlier. She ran past the stunned gypsies and dodged the ones coming after her. Reaching the edge of the clearing, she took the hand held out to her and swung herself up on the horse, taking hold of Philippe’s coat securely as the horse bolted away.
Slowly, the sounds of her pursuers faded into the distance, and Philippe slowed his panting horse. In the darkness and silence, they made their way through the forest. Danielle’s heavy breathing evened out and she eyed the dark shadows suspiciously as if waiting for something to jump out at her. She clutched at Philippe’s coat, her assurance of safety in the dark night. Unconsciously, she started trembling, as the cold descended into the night.
Lost in her own thoughts, she was hardly aware that Philippe had stopped his mount and dismounted, changing places with her until she felt the warm covering of his cloak wrapping her shivering body.
The warmth was gratifying. Gradually, she felt his arms enclose around her and she could feel his heart beating in time to hers. An unidentifiable emotion surged through her – it was nothing she had ever felt before, not even when a gentleman, whose name she had forgotten, had give her his dying mother’s emerald.
“Cold?” Philippe murmured.
Danielle struggled to respond without her voice breaking in the attempt. “A little.”
With the hand that was not holding the rein, he reached out, albeit a little hesitantly, and rubbed her arms in a warming and reassuring fashion. Danielle, not thinking in the least, let out a sigh and instantly felt the blood rise up in her cheeks. Of all the things she could have done, she had to do the most undignified and inelegant thing of all!
Then, Philippe reined the stallion in and helped Danielle down. Looking around, she caught the sight of the rushing waters. She sat down near the water’s edge, chin resting on her bent knees.
The moon was the only source of light in the obsidian sky. The usual stars were hidden behind the grey masses as the willowy veil of the grey clouds shrouded a part of the moon in shadow.
Danielle was immensely confused. Never before had anyone invoke such feelings in her and to think that this intolerable halfwit were the one to do so! It was only in those poetic works of art did those people sing of the feeling of true love and such. Never did she think it would ever happen to her!
So that was that it was then? Love? And what about him then, did he hold any affection for her? Even if he were to have any feelings towards her at all, what about his cutting remarks? What was to be held accountable for that? And if, if he were to ask her to marry him, would she? She had always told herself that she would only marry the richest courtier she could find, but Philippe, Philippe was only someone who worked for the King. Oh dear, what was she to do now?
“Beautiful night,” he remarked, coming to settle beside her, eyes on the silver mirror of the waters.
“Yes,” she agreed, startled out of her thoughts. Danielle was not used to being confused. All this was like a path untrodden to her. Uncontrollably, she asked bluntly, “Philippe, do you… you have any… any feelings… towards me? Please – please tell me, in all honesty.”
His eyes, a dark onyx in the night, rested on her face unwaveringly and there was silence for a moment. “Perhaps I do…” Philippe stared at her, and then laughed.
Affronted, her forehead creased. “This is no laughing matter, Philippe. I am being serious here.” Danielle huffed. “Just tell me – I promise I will not take any offence to it – a yes or a no.”
“Why? Did you have a sudden epiphany and realised you are hopelessly and irrevocably in love with me?”
Danielle glared at him. “Do not tease me, Philippe”
“I am not teasing; just asking an innocent question.” Philippe defended himself staunchly.
Danielle was not having any of it. She had opened her heart to him and what did he do? Laugh it off as though it was some kind of joke. “Well then, I will leave you to think about the answer to your innocent question in peace.” She said wrathfully, gathering her skirts and standing up, slipping his cloak off. Ignoring the sudden chill, she prepared to march off when this time, Philippe unexpectedly held her wrist firm before she could move a single step away.
“Do you want to be captured by those gypsies again, dearest Danielle?” His eyes gleamed.
“I would rather be with the gypsies than with you, Monsieur.” Danielle snapped, trying to snatch her wrist back in vain.
“Is that so?” Philippe had that smirk on his face again, the one that always made her feeling a little uneasy, as though he was the hunter and she the prey. “Would you rather they kissed you then?”
Danielle gasped audibly. “Kiss me?”
“Yes, Mademoiselle. Would you rather I kiss you, or those dreadful gypsies who captured you? I heard the gypsy leader has not washed in days…”
Her eyes widened. “He has not?”
“Unlike what you think, my self-control, on the contrary, is far from perfect. Make your choice, Danielle, or I will make it for you.” Philippe was just inches away from her now, and without his cloak, she could feel the heat emanating from him and onto her chilled skin. His intense eyes locked onto hers, his grip on her arms, his scent swirling around her; Danielle was starting to feel light-headed and feverish.
“I – I…”
And that was when Philippe tugged on her wrist and pulled her towards him none too gently, his lips shaping themselves against hers.
~
Myriads of different shimmering colours dotted the palace, looking like colourful dots from where Danielle was standing. It was the day of the ball, and Philippe had told her to wait for him, saying that he had to inform her of something.
She rested her hands on the carved banister and sighed. It was weeks since the incident with the gypsies and she was well over it now. A new development in her life was that she had stopped attending any social gatherings, preferring to spend the evening with Philippe instead. Perhaps one day, when the time was right, she would confide in him of her ventures to feed her poverty-stricken family.
One day, perhaps…
Everything was so different now. It was strange, finding something she wanted more than various wonderful jewels. All her life, her only aim was to get as many gems as she could get, and it was disconcerting that her happiness when receiving the jewels were nothing compared to the joy and bliss she experienced when she was with Philippe.
Footsteps sounded behind her, and she turned around, hoping it was Philippe. It was. The mere sight of him made her heart pound faster and her head spin with giddy exhilaration all at once.
“Ah, there stands the keeper of my heart, captor of my mind, mistress of my soul…”
“Philippe,” she said breathlessly.
His lips curved into a crooked grin and before Danielle knew it, they were on hers, exultant and euphoric. The lightheadedness came back again, as he moved his mouth to whisper in her ear, his breathing as ragged as hers.
“I am inclined to think that you have missed me.”
Danielle laughed, gasping a little as she steadied herself by placing her hands on his shoulder. “You presume correctly.”
Philippe chortled. “Have you been waiting long?”
Danielle shook her head. “You said you wanted to inform me of something?”
“Yes,” he said, the smile fading a little.
His expression was most peculiar. It was one of strange anticipation, and the lights in his eyes were cautious and full of hesitation, worry, and hope. Philippe eyed her carefully, his face devoid of all emotion. Danielle watched in bewildered silence as his face paled in the dim lights.
“Well, what is it?” Danielle asked brusquely, the thick tension in the air getting too much for her to bear.
As nonchalantly as one could possibly be, Philippe slid down onto one knee, a glittering stone in hand. His looked up at her, his brown eyes astonishingly soft, and yet, scorching at the same time.
“Danielle Dumoulin?” His eyes seared through her, piercing through the very depths of her soul. “I pledge my love to you for the rest of the eternity to come. I promise to love you with all my heart, mind and soul. Would you, my dearest, do me the greatest honour of becoming my wife?”
Danielle was never one to be caught unawares. She could hear her heart thumping and uneven and jagged rhythm in her chest, her breaths coming out in short gasps.
Oh dear. Oh dear. What was she to do now? Which did she fancy more; true love or an infinite amount of jewels showered upon her?
Loud shrills of laughter erupted from the ball below, but she hardly heard it – everything was a whirl, and all her sights, sounds and thoughts disappeared, and for once, Danielle was lost to the world.
What was she to choose now: her heart or her mind?
Danielle gazed at the gentleman kneeling at her feet, and the surge of love for him went through her. His eyes, brimming with the depths of his love her… Oh, please do not let her make a mistake, please let her have no regrets…
“Yes,” she breathed, barely believing what she was saying. “Yes.”
All at once, his tense countenance relaxed, and he gazed back at her, all signs of his previous nonchalance suddenly slipping away, his face glowing brilliant in the moonlight with bliss and joy, an angel in all his glory.
His placed the ring on her finger and swept her off her feet, swinging her around and kissing her ardently.
Giddily, Danielle giggled. No, this could not be a mistake, she was sure of it. She loved Philippe and he loved her. Precious stones, jewels, they all did not matter to her now. Suddenly, a thought struck her, and she felt all the happiness draining rapidly out of her a mere moments.
How could he have known? She was sure… she had been careful about her name, her last name – the final puzzle to her true identity. She was positively sure she had not mentioned a word of it to him – come to think of it, when he asked her, she replaced her last name with one that of a friend and she remembered it clearly for she had felt uncharacteristically guilty about it…
Danielle felt him set her down gently, and she knew that he had sensed the change in the air.
Philippe drew her close. “What is wrong, dear?”
There was so much Danielle wanted to scream, to rage, to cry out her heart in fear and frustration – however, she did not. “How long have you known?” She said quietly.
He just let out a heavy sigh, knowing from the undercurrents of her voice what she truly meant. “Ever since I met you.”
Was this how all the gentleman felt when she had left them? Cheated, and all alone in the world? To have something dangled in front of her and snatched away when she chose to embrace it. “How?”
“Richard is not my acquaintance.” He confessed tonelessly, not looking at her anymore. “He is my footman.”
Danielle’s heart leapt to her throat. Footman? She was right. This was a mistake. No one had footman except the courtiers – Royalty, in other words. She was a fool. Her pounding heart stilled and clenched, tightly and agonisingly. And then it all clicked together in her head. No… it was not feasible…
“My father sent me abroad when I was just a boy. And just months ago, he requested that I return to take my place as King.”
No no no…
“But before that, I had to finish something first. There was some trouble stirring in the palace. People were talking about a charming young lady tricking all the respectable gentleman and I was to do something about it. I planned it very carefully, knowing the lady had one of the keenest minds in the century. Nothing must alert her suspicions against me. And so, Richard agreed to play my dying friend.”
Chill crept over her, and Danielle felt as though every part of her body was melded to the stone floor and she stood frozen, unmoving. And that she was a statuette, nothing more – unfeeling, unthinking, with her soul torn out of her. For the first time in her entire existence, she, Danielle Dumoulin, had been hoodwinked, deceived – and not only by a passing gentleman, but the gentleman she loved with all her heart. This was punishment for all her sins, she supposed – eternal suffering.
“Except, what I did not plan for to happen, was for me to fall unconditionally in love with the lady.” Philippe said slowly, raising his eyes to hers again. He grasped her icy hand desperately. “Danielle, everything that I spoke of before was not a lie. I love you for what you are, and what you were does not matter to me in the least. My heart will always belong to you – now, and forevermore.”
Danielle did not realised that tears were dripping silently down her cold face till Philippe reached out and brushed them away. She bit her lip. “Philippe…”
He hushed her tenderly, brushing his lips against her burgundy hair. “You need not say anything, dear.” Philippe kissed her cheek softly. “So,” he said as struggling to use a lighter tone after some time of quiet. “Do you still consent to be my wife?”
And with that, a huge smile reappeared on his face and his eyes glittered enticingly.
Danielle could not believe her fortune. Here she was, thinking she was going to lose the only gentleman she has ever truly love, and he was requesting for her hand in marriage yet again. The edges of her lips turned up slight, and she gave a small smile. She vowed she would make it up to him somehow…
Loss for words, it was all Danielle could do to nod.
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