It was his last night in Paris, tomorrow would be the start of the last leg of his Grand Tour. Lord William Weasley, eldest son to the Earl of Devon, gazed over the crowd gathered in the beautiful ballroom of the Marquis de Toulouse. While his French had improved over the course of his travels, it still was not up to the standard that he could easily make out the conversation next to him from all the other voices in the room, so he opted to observe his surroundings. Hundreds of candles illuminated the satin of the women’s dresses and their jewellery, and a small string orchestra was tuning their instruments while the room was abuzz with chatter.
Paris had also been his first stop on his tour, from there travelling to Switzerland, across the Alps to Venice, Florence, Rome and Naples. He had been very intrigued by Pompeii and Herculaneum being excavated and the findings beneath the centuries of volcanic ash and rubble. He hadn’t been able to suppress his curiosity and had gone up the flanks of Mount Vesuvius himself and had met with some scientists who climbed it themselves to learn more of the inner workings of the volcano. Secretly he had wished to actually see an eruption himself - from a safe distance of course - as it would surely make for an exciting sight, but no such thing had happened while he had been in the area. His travels had later taken him to Greece, Vienna, Leipzig, Berlin and Amsterdam. His original itinerary had taken him from the coast of Holland back to London, but weather conditions had been bad at the time and he had taken the opportunity to end his trip where it had begun: Paris.
While Vesuvius and the crossing of the Mediterranean to Greece had catered to his thirst for adventure, Paris had taught him about diplomacy and finding a place in a society not his own. Although… maybe he had just loved it because he was finally away from his birth home and alone, without the expectations of his father, his overbearing mother and his half a dozen brothers and sisters.
As he made his way to the table with drinks on the opposite side of the ballroom, he politely made conversation with a few people he recognised from his earlier visit. Upon reaching the table, he got handed a glass of red wine and turned around as the string ensemble started their first waltz. He had not filled out any ladies’ dance cards yet, so had the opportunity to see the shift in the crowd as the middle of the floor emptied out to make room for the dancers. That was when he saw her. She had apparently just entered the room and was making her compliments to the hostess, her smile radiating across the room and hitting him hard. Her hair was so blond it had a silvery sheen to it. While most of the ladies had their hair put up in very intricate updos, hers was only half put up, the other half flowing over her shoulders. He knew what gossip the loose hair would have incited in London. It was considered very improper. Her dark blue gown almost illuminated her fair skin, much fairer than most of the french women he’d met.
Bill was mesmerised. He had already been in London for a season, had danced with numerous eligible ladies in London and all over Europe on his tour, but never had he seen a woman like her. He didn’t dare call her a girl, her aura spoke of a certain amount of life experience.
An elderly french lady caught him in a conversation on pleasantries, but he was only half listening. The other half of his mind was following the mystery lady across the room. He got roped into dancing with the granddaughter of the french lady, and, as a gentleman, it simply wouldn’t do to decline. The granddaughter was a lovely girl, but she was a girl. He exchanged some idle conversation during their dance and after their bow, he excused himself. He’d lost sight of the beautiful woman who’d gotten his heart racing and his mind whirling.
Bill decided to get himself a cognac to nurse with an accompanying cigar on the terrace in the gardens, hoping it would stop him from pining after the woman who he’d not even spoken to. After taking both from a servant he turned towards the grand doors giving entry to the garden, he almost ran into a woman. No, not a woman, the woman. The woman that had dominated his thoughts since entering the room, was right in front of him.
“Excusez-moi, mademoiselle,” he excused himself, making sure not to spill any cognac over her gown.
“Pas de problème, Monsieur,” she replied and they met eyes. Her blue eyes spoke of curiosity and Bill was wondering what was happening to him. He was not the person to be head over heels in the blink of an eye. He was a rational person. Every decision and feeling was first met with a great deal of thought, falling in love with a woman he did not even know the name of, was not his usual countenance.
“Might I inquire as to your name, my Lady,” he gathered his best French and hoped he didn’t botch up the grammar.
“Why yes, Monsieur, Fleur Delacour, enchantée,” she replied and bobbed a curtsy.
“William Weasley, Mademoiselle, it’s lovely to make your acquaintance,” Bill replied and made a small bow.
“I believe French is not your native tongue, am I right?”
“You are not mistaken, I am from England. I am visiting Paris, before returning to the British isles tomorrow. It has been a great pleasure discovering France, Paris in particular, and the rest of the continent.”
Mademoiselle Delacour sighed. “You men don’t know how lucky you are to be able to go on a Grand Tour, I would love to go and visit all these places of history and culture. Mon père would never let me go, even if I’d be accompanied by half the servants in our home. It ‘doesn’t do for an unwed lady to go gallivanting around Europe’, he says. Nonsense, I say.” She talked passionately, and shot a glaring look towards where apparently her parents were standing, when she mentioned her father not letting her travel.
“As I am not able to go, I’ll have to live vicariously through you, please tell me all about the places you visited!” They walked to a corner of the room where a couple of seats were and sat down.
Bill told her about his experience in Paris, the lake of Geneva, the foot journey across the Alps, the canals instead of streets in Venice, the Duomo of Milan. He elaborated on his adventures climbing the Vesuvius and the storms they weathered when crossing the Adriatic Sea to Greece. Mademoiselle Delacour laughed and gasped in all the right places, asked questions about the historic sights in Rome and Athens. She seemed to have an extensive knowledge of the ancient Roman and Grecian empires and had some interesting insights on Grecian myths.
“Fleur, I really hope you plan on dancing with the gentlemen you have promised a turn earlier this evening.” A middle aged lady, her hair greying, though it still had the same silvery blonde sheen that his conversational partner had, walked up to them, a frown upon her face. Fleur - had he already started calling her Fleur in his mind? - blushed and stood.
“Maman, may I introduce you to Lord William Weasley, we have been having a wonderful conversation about all the historical sights he’s visited on his Tour.”
Bill stood and bowed politely.
“Monsieur, please meet my mother, la Comtesse de Nîmes.” Fleur’s mother made a small curtsy and then turned her attention back to her daughter.
“Pardonnez-nous, monsieur, but my daughter has obligations elsewhere, if you would excuse us?”
Fleur frowned and looked as though she’d rather stay and Bill certainly wanted her to stay. But he knew a lost battle when he saw one.
“Bien sûr Madame, may I ask Mademoiselle Delacour to save me a dance on her card?”
“Absolutement Monsieur, I look forward to it,” Fleur smiled and turned away, taking the proffered arm of her mother. As they walked toward the other end of the room, the comtesse looked over her shoulder and observed him curiously.
The night had ended with two wonderful dances with Mademoiselle Fleur Delacour. They had talked, laughed and gossiped about other attendants while waltzing, Fleur had an endless supply of juicy knowledge about the French peerage, especially after the Napoleonic years everyone seemed to have some skeletons in the closet that were a public secret. He had kissed her hand as they said their farewells and wished to see each other again, not knowing if they ever would.
As he’d arrived at the town house he was staying in, he had almost decided to stay a while longer in Paris and postpone his leaving for London, were it not that upon his entrance the butler had handed him a letter from his mother, urging him to come home at his earliest convenience as his father was not doing well. It seemed his father’s health had deteriorated over the last months and where at first they hadn’t wanted to worry him, they couldn’t put it off any longer to have the heir to the title away on the continent. He sighed dejectedly, put his last remaining belongings in his trunks and got to bed, only to fall into a restless sleep.
2 years later
The London season was not his favourite time of the year. The endless stream of soirées, balls and gatherings with their witless debutants, overbearing mamas and gossip was not a place where you’d find Lord William Weasley, Earl of Devon, in his element. But, as his mother put it, “You are the Earl now, it is high time you find yourself a Countess and produce an heir. Just because you have brothers, does not mean you can just let go of your duty.” And one does not easily say no to the Dowager-Countess of Devon.
So that’s how he found himself in yet another ballroom, flanked by his brother Charlie, watching the throng of young men and women on the dancefloor.
“What do you think of Miss Johnson?” Charlie indicated the ebony haired girl with his tumbler of whisky.
Bill shrugged, his brother had pointed out numerous women already tonight, but he couldn’t help comparing them all to his Mademoiselle Fleur Delacour. Heavens, how pathetic he was, calling a woman, who he’d only met once, his. He hadn’t been able to put the extraordinary woman out of his mind, she kept occupying his thoughts and dreams. No English woman or girl he’d met in the past years came even close in his mind to the memory of the radiance and elegance Fleur had emitted. He was quite sure no one would ever be able to wipe out his infatuation with the French woman and he knew he had to get himself together. His mother was right that he couldn’t keep adjourning the inevitable. But everytime he stepped into a ballroom like this, he was transported back to that Parisian one two years ago and all the women vying for his attention were obsolete.
He hadn’t spoken to his family about the happenings of his last night in Paris, besides his eldest brother Charlie. With only two years between them, they had grown up together and had always been close. His brother had given him a pitying look after the story had come out at their club one night a few weeks after his return and had ordered them another round of whisky. “Good luck with that,” he’d said as he raised his glass in a mocking toast, at which Bill had snarled. “You might be the Earl now, but don’t think mother will ever let you go back to France to search for your woman. Besides, you’d better fetch the smelling salts before even introducing the idea of a French woman to her, you know how English she is.” At that Bill had taken a few extra large swigs of his whisky, his brother was not wrong.
“So, not Miss Johnson,” Charlie surmised. “Are we even giving anyone a chance tonight or is this a lost case? Because if you’re not interested in the search, I’m gonna find myself a cigar and the billiard’s room.”
“No, you’re right, not Miss Johnson,” Bill sighed and made himself stand tall. It was high time he looked for second best, he would have to accept that would be it. “But who do you think might be potential Countess of Devon material?”
A smirk appeared on the face of his brother, who seemed to be pulling together a mental list of eligible women.
“Right, I take it Miss Johnson is not it. Pity, she seems like a very fiery woman, though I believe Fred might have taken a shine to her - not that he knows anything about being a man yet, she’d crush him in seconds…” Charlie’s commentary tended to run off track when given the chance to talk freely.
“He might actually need to be crushed to be honest. Anyway, you know Nymphadora Tonks is a lovely girl, but I don’t think you two would fit very well together. I know her to wear trousers every once in a while, you want a womanwoman.” Bill snorted undignified.
“Miss Brown does not have an ounce of wit, I’d stay clear of that one,” Charlie continued, “there’s the Patil sisters, lovely girls, but you know twins, it’s always a package deal. And they might be a bit young anyway. Miss Clearwater is nice I guess, quiet, but from what I’ve noticed very intelligent. Likes books just as much as Percy. Might be more of a girl for Percy anyhow now that I mention it…” Charlie drifted off as though deep in thought. Bill had followed the motioning of his brother as he referred to the various girls. He was just about to walk back to the table with drinks, when his mother appeared in front of him.
“Son, may I introduce you to Miss Alicia Spinnet?” A girl about his brothers Fred and George’s age appeared, wearing a green coloured gown that complimented the dark red curls that framed her fair face. Leave it up to his mother to find a redhead to continue the characteristic Weasley hair colour trait.
His mother motioned to him as she spoke to Miss Spinnet. “My son, Lord William Weasley, Earl of Devon.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” he made a quick bow as the girl curtsyed.
“Miss Spinnet was just telling me how interested she is in the ancient Roman empire,” his mother said, her eyebrows lifting as she dared him not to engage.
“How lovely, might I ask you for a dance, to speak about it some more?” He asked politely and offered his hand.
“I would love to,” Miss Spinnet replied and took his hand. “I heard you’ve been to Rome and Pompeii? How very interesting!”
Half an hour later, he had danced with several women, while most of them were lovely in most ways that were expected of a woman these days, he didn’t feel any of the spark he’d felt that night in Paris. Not even a sliver of it. He’d turned back to find his brothers in the crowd when the grand doors flew open. The butler announced the Duke and Duchess of Wiltshire, Lord and Lady Malfoy. The blond haired couple always knew how to make an entrance. Their position in the peerage closest to the crown made them revered in upper society, but by always being late, and Lady Malfoy always appearing in intricate Parisian fashion, made every eye turn to them as they entered.
As the couple descended the steps, the butler cleared his throat again. “Accompanying them, the Earl and Countess of Nîmes with their daughter Lady Fleur Delacour.”
Bill’s insides turned to ice and fire at the same time. Later he’d think his heart actually stopped beating for a minute there, he probably forgot to breathe too. He only could stare at the woman who had captured his heart so fully two years ago. She was even more beautiful than he remembered, her sparkling blue eyes flitted across the room curiously. She was wearing a wine red dress, with an intricate pattern sewn onto it, that made her skin almost translucent.
Bill didn’t know how long he stood there, as if nailed to the floor, his mouth might even have fallen open. Charlie had emerged next to him and tried to grab his attention, but only managed to pull him from his stupor.
And then he locked eyes with Fleur and he was sure he saw them light up. He walked forward as she also descended the steps onto the dance floor. They met halfway where he bowed deeply, but kept eye contact as she made her curtsy.
“I’m so very glad you’re here,” he whispered as he stepped even closer.
“So am I.”
“Will you stay?”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”