#hewasadrunkencynic

The air of the imposing Lamarque’s library was filled with the roses’ scent which perfumed all the room of this majestic Mansion. The warm rays of sunlight reflected through the colourful stained glasses, creating complex lighting effects on the cherry wooden floor. Constance, who was sitting comfortably on the red velvet seat situated near one of the windows , was watching this delightful sight She wasn’t able to find any beauty in these richly-brocaded colours . She glanced at the flowered garden. «  A perfect day to abandon every one of your dreams. » She sighed. Today she would meet her husband to be, her life would confine to slavery which her father had fought so fervently. She tightened her grip around « Les Fourberies de Scapin. »,exasperated by her father’s hypocrisy. «  Your beloved France may be free but your only daughter has to life in golden cage ? » She yelled when he confessed her that he had given to a stranger her hand in marriage.

She heard footsteps getting closer and laughters resounded in the corridor. Her expression scowled. How dared he laughed  ? She stood up, adjusted her black taffetas dress, thinking about her governess’ crestfallen look when she had helped her slipping into this rebellion sign. «  Mademoiselle Constance, you may not decently wear this on your engagement day … »

The silver handle decided to turn and the door opened, letting appear two men. Her father was the first one to rush into this place filled with his precious books, quickly followed by a young blond man whom she identified as her fiancé. The General gave her daughter a murderous look when he saw her dressed in the mourning’s colour. Constance puffed out her chest, galvanized by a narrow-minded pride.

« Père. » she greeted him haughty, making a light curtsey. He inclined his head slightly, leaning on his stick. «  May I have to pleasure to introduce you my daughter, Constance. » He indicated her with his free hand. Constance lifted up her chin, imperious and examined the boy’s flattering features. God. The decence of the lamarque wouldn't be beautiful. « Monsieur. » she said in a murmur who was supposed to be polite.

george is still in paris I'm afraid. Eddie, i have no idea