Chapter Text
At the end of the second week, Marlena Cesaire’s schemes and plots all came to fruition as the Viscount came to call, not on the daughter of the house, but on her Papa. Exactly what was said between the gentlemen was never disclosed, but a very important permission was sought, and blessing received, and later the Viscount was granted a very rare private audience with Miss Cesaire.
Marinette found out about it when Alya came bursting into the drawing room shortly after the last of Marinette’s gentlemen callers had been shown out.
“Marinette! Marinette, he proposed!” Alya all but sang it, and then she promptly burst into tears on the threshold. All three Dupain-Chengs were present, and Marinette caught her parents exchanging a concerned glance even as she hurried across the room to embrace her friend.
“Shhh, Alya. There, now. I thought this was what you wanted?” Marinette soothed, and Alya’s head jerked up, smile beaming through her tears.
“But it is! It’s more than I could have hoped or dreamed. You will all have to forgive me, I am beside myself. I did not know any person could experience such happiness!” Alya assured them, and Marinette breathed a sigh of relief.
“In that case, I am overjoyed for you,” she said sincerely, drawing Alya to the sofa so they could both sit. “Tell me everything!”
“He says he is in love with me, that he has never known a companionship such as ours. I truly think we were made for each other. I probably sound like a dramatic damsel or a blabbering fool, but I cannot contain myself,” Alya said laughing, even as she produced a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.
“I suppose I had best become used to calling you a Viscountess,” Marinette teased, and Alya grinned.
“It does sound foolish, does it not? But it is the man I am excited to wed, not the Viscount,” she added firmly, and Marinette squeezed her hand.
“And that is exactly as it should be,” Marinette said, trying not to think about another man who happened to possess another title that all the world seemed to be after.
---
Adrien was descending the stairs to the entry hall of Ipswich house, intent on going out, when one of the footmen approached him with a slight bow.
“His Grace desires to speak with you.”
Adrien raised his eyebrows in surprise, but nodded to the footman and turned away from the front door.
Ipswich house was an enormous residence for two gentlemen. Adrien could well have chosen to maintain bachelor lodgings of his own, but his father had always preferred he stay in the family property. The Duke’s own comings and goings were so completely separate from Adrien’s that even when they were in residence at the same time, they did not coincide unless there was reason.
Adrien tried not to sigh as he detoured to his father’s office. He had been about to meet up with Nino, and probably Miss Cesaire and Marinette, for a promenade at the park, and if his friend’s jitters yesterday were anything to go by, Adrien suspected there would be congratulations in order today. This interruption was entirely unwelcome. Adrien did not associate a summons to his father’s office with anything pleasant.
Still, he straightened his shoulders and knocked. There was no purpose in putting off the distasteful.
“Come in,” the Duke intoned.
Adrien entered the room, standing before his father’s desk. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
Gabriel glanced up from his papers. “Ah, yes. Adrien. I have been informed that an old acquaintance of mine, Her Royal Highness Tomoe Tsurugi and her daughter, the Princesse Kagami, will be arriving in London this week. They will be attending Lady Damocles’ ball on Friday, and I have secured an introduction for you.”
Adrien blinked. “For me, sir?”
Gabriel did not so much as blink. “As you will be courting the Princesse, Adrien, yes, for you.”
It was all he could do not to splutter. “I-- Sir, what of our agreement?”
The Duke barely raised an eyebrow. “Am I to understand you have formed an attachment and secured a lady’s hand?”
Adrien blushed. “I have not-- that is to say, I do have a lady in mind, sir, but we have yet to--”
“If no understanding has been reached between you, you are free to explore other avenues. Royalty does not happen by every day, Adrien. You are to court the Princesse,” Gabriel said dismissively.
“Sir, our agreement was I had until the end of the season to choose for myself,” Adrien ground out.
Gabriel remained expressionless. “Timelines change. And I see no reason why your having the freedom to choose should not preclude the Princesse. Her grandfather was a king. Royal blood flows through her veins. That alone makes her an infinitely superior choice to any other chit who sets her cap at you. There is really nothing further to be said on the matter. That is all, Adrien.”
The Duke busied himself with his papers once more, and Adrien knew he was dismissed. He stood seething, then turned and marched out of the room. It was all he could do not to slam the door.
Of course his father would never truly allow him to make his own choices in the matter of matrimony. The Duke had always had an iron will, and had never concerned himself with Adrien’s thoughts or feelings on any decision. Every single detail of Adrien’s life had been scrupulously dictated by his father, and even entering his majority had not released him overmuch from his father’s decrees. Gabriel simply wasn’t capable of allowing his son freedom to choose for himself.
He could fight it, of course. He could insist. Had he found the mysterious Ladybug, he very well might have. She would be worth risking his father’s ire, he knew.
But if he had discovered her already, he would have courted her.
His father was right. He had not made any promises. His heart had been taken by the mysterious lady, but his hand was still free to give to any he chose. And why not the Princesse? It was an advantageous match. And there were no other ladies on his immediate horizon.
A vision of Marinette rose up before his eyes.
Well, none who had any expectations of him, then. Marinette was not looking in his direction for a husband.
(Why did that thought make his heart ache?)
He arrived at the park only moments later than he would have without the detour to his father’s office. The interview had been brief, after all, and where he would have planned to stroll earlier, his thoughts were in such turmoil that his pace had become quite sprightly in an expression of energy.
One look at Nino’s face, however, was enough to put thoughts of his own situation aside.
“Well?” he demanded, in lieu of a greeting. He already knew the answer from the beaming smile on Nino’s face, but his friend deserved the opportunity to speak his news for himself.
“She said yes!” Nino replied, grinning broadly, looking dazed and overwhelmed.
Adrien clapped him on the back. “Congratulations, my friend. I cannot express how happy I am for you. She is a rare jewel, and you will be well suited to one another.”
“It was the most terrifying moment of my life,” Nino confessed.
Adrien grinned. “If that’s the worst you ever have to face, I do not think you to be in such bad shape.”
Nino snorted. “Easy to say as someone who has not yet asked such a question to the love of his life - or her Papa, who, I might add, did not make it easy, old chap.”
“I rather think it’s the job of the father to make the gentlemen calling on his daughter sweat,” Adrien observed, and then looked around. “I say, here comes your betrothed now,” he added, as Alya and Marinette arrived, their respective Mamas in tow.
Congratulations were exchanged, and it wasn’t until Miss Cesaire suggested they promenade that Adrien realised he would once again be expected to walk with Marinette. It might be his last chance to speak to her in relative privacy, and he would be a cad if he did not explain his father’s change of heart. It was time to put their arrangement to an end.
He did not expect his heart to lurch so at the thought, nor did he expect his arm to burn when she delicately placed her gloved hand at his elbow when he so offered.
To make matters worse, for the first time in their acquaintance, she was so excited by Alya’s good news that her shyness was not at all in evidence. It usually took some coaxing for her to overcome her blushes and stutters, and he was well used to carrying their conversations until she grew comfortable, but today she burst into chatter the moment she took his arm.
It was, in a word, adorable.
“Isn’t it wonderful that the Viscount and Alya are engaged? I am so very pleased for them! I don’t believe I have ever met a couple so well suited to one another, and it is so very comforting to me to have my dearest friend settled in such a happy situation. A good match, of course, is always preferable, and a good man ideal, but I don’t believe even Alya dared hope she would achieve such a suitable love match. She will make him an excellent Viscountess, and he will be a doting husband, do you not agree?”
Her eyes were dancing as she spoke, her mobile face alight with joy, and she was all but skipping at his side. She used her whole person to express herself, and the thought occurred to him that so much energy seemed incongruous in a person of such small stature.
“Indeed,” he managed.
If she noticed his taciturn response, she did not say anything, simply chattering on. “And Alya’s family are all pleased, too. Even her Papa, though her Mama said it was unnecessary for him to make the Viscount sweat so. They are to be wed at the end of next month, and Alya’s Mama is already in a spin about preparations. Poor Alya won’t have a moment’s peace, but as she is rarely still when she is excited, I doubt it will be a burden to her.”
A gentle breeze came up, blowing a strand of her hair across her cheek, and his fingers itched to reach out and tuck back behind her ear, to feel for himself if her glossy locks were as soft as he supposed.
And in that moment, he knew he must be separated from her, or he would fall irrevocably. As his father had decreed that he court the Princesse when she arrived in town, falling for Marinette would only doom him to heartbreak. Especially when, as far as Marinette was aware, he was still in love with his mystery lady.
Which he was, still. But every hour he spent in the company of Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the image of the lady in red faded. No, that was not accurate. The image of her was still clear. Rather, where the lady in red had been the only object of his affection, he was now finding that the shy mouse helping him find his love (and how ridiculous was it to still label her a mouse when she pranced at his side and chattered vivaciously?) had somehow become equal to his mystery lady in his affections? For he realised as they walked that it wasn’t that the other lady had become less to him, it was simply that Marinette, somehow, was becoming more.
And he couldn’t allow it to happen.
“Miss Dupain-Cheng,” he managed to interject when she paused for breath.
“Adrien,” she returned with a conspiratorial smile that made him want to taste the curve of her lips.
“I have need to speak to you on… on a matter,” he began.
He felt her breath hitch, glanced down to see her cheeks pinken, but she simply said, “Yes?”
He took a deep breath, searching for words. “I need to put an end to our arrangement,” he blurted out with no finesse whatsoever.
Beside him, all her animation simply drained away. “Oh?”
“My father has made his choice for who I am to court. A royal princesse from the Continent, if she will have me. Father certainly believes that a match can be made. And a match so advantageous cannot be overlooked,” he explained. It was all very rational, very logical - and he felt like a cad.
“I see,” she said quietly.
“It would be remiss of me not to thank you,” he spoke to cover the chasm of silence that had somehow opened between them. “Your company has made this season memorable for me, and I want you to know how deeply I have valued your friendship. I hope - I hope that when we do chance to meet in the future, that you, too, will remember our friendship with fondness.”
“Of course.”
But she wasn’t looking at him, and her cheeks, which had been flushed so prettily a few minutes ago, were white, and her mouth curved down at the corners, all trace of her delight gone.
“Miss Dupain-Cheng, are you well?” he asked with concern, pausing in their stroll and looking around to her Mama, who came hurrying forward.
“What’s the matter dearest? Are you ill? We should get you home at once. If you will excuse us, my Lord,” her mother curtseyed, distracted, and, placing an arm around her daughter, led her to the nearest entrance to the park, thankfully not a distant walk to their home.
Adrien watched in dismay, somehow aware that her distress was his doing, but not seeing clearly how or in what way. He ached to follow, to ascertain that she was well, but somehow the way her eyes had gone distant and glassy made him hesitate a moment too long, and then her mother had swept her away.
It was for the best, he told himself. They could not have continued their friendship as it was if he was to court another. It would be unfair to Marinette, making her a laughing stock, as well as jeopardizing his own chances with the Princesse. At least this way, she could claim to have been courted by a future duke. He would even tell any brave enough to ask that she had been the one to jilt him, not the other way around. Better that than to paint her as the one overlooked for another.
---
It wasn’t until Lady Damocles’ ball that he began to understand how great his error had been.
The Princesse Kagami arrived fashionably late with her royal mother as chaperone, and Adrien was one of the first to be introduced to her.
She was beautiful.
Dark hair that shone, intelligent brown eyes that missed no details, and creamy skin.
If it were not for the fact that he was convinced his mystery woman had blue eyes and not brown, he might well have believed that he had found her here. The Princesse, after all, was no shrinking violet. She was confident and well spoken, and clearly she knew what she wanted.
And, Adrien thought wryly, what she wanted was him.
She graciously allowed him to lead her out onto the dance floor, where she moved with rare grace, and her conversation, though kept general, betrayed her to be unusually perceptive.
They danced together twice, the maximum amount considered to be proper without crossing the line into scandalous, and as he returned her to her mother, he found himself thinking that it really had been the perfect first meeting.
There was no good reason why he should not fall in love with her.
No sooner had the thought occurred to him as he stood exchanging pleasantries with her mother, than a movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to glance back toward the dance floor, and he saw her.
Marinette.
Miss Dupain-Cheng, his head reminded his heart. He had no right to even think of her by her given name. Not any more.
She was dancing with Mr. Couffaine, one of the few gentlemen of the ton he knew she had not rejected outright as a suitor. Even as Adrien watched, she turned her head to her dance partner and made one of her smart comments - always witty, with nary a hint of cruelty - he couldn’t hear it of course, but he knew by now the tone of her voice, the light in her eyes. Mr. Couffaine smiled indulgently down at her, and something in Adrien’s gut twisted.
“Lord Orwell?” the Princesse’s voice snapped him back to the conversation. Yet no matter how hard he tried to block out the image of Miss Dupain-Cheng laughing with Mr. Couffaine or how hard he tried to concentrate on charming a beautiful and intelligent Princesse who was very open to his overtures, the rest of the evening tasted a little sour somehow.