I'm Just Here To Pretend I'm Important

Dawn and Le Comte stood overlooking the gardens when a voice sounded behind them.

“Oh là là! Mes yeux m'ont-ils joué des tours? J'ai cru apercevoir un vieil ami, et pourtant je ne trouve qu'un chat. (Oh my! Have my eyes deceived me? I thought I glimpsed an old friend, yet I find only a cat.)”

They turned to find a stout gentleman approaching, dressed in deep navy, a white rabbit mask obscuring his face. Threads of gray wove through both his hair and beard, visible beneath the mask’s edge. At first glance, Dawn found him intrusive—but Le Comte’s reaction quickly dispelled the impression.

A broad, genuine smile spread across his lips. “Quel plaisir de vous voir, mon cher duc. (What a pleasure it is to see you, my dear duke.)”

The air between them was immediately light. Though their manners remained impeccably formal, there was no mistaking the ease beneath it—an unmistakable familiarity that marked them as friends rather than mere acquaintances.

Mr. Rabbit laughed. “J'avais entendu parler d'un duo remarquable qui accaparait toute l'attention ce soir; pourtant, je suis surpris de voir que c'est vous, mon ami, et accompagné, qui plus est! (I had heard of a striking pair stealing all of the attention this evening, yet I am surprised to see it is you, my friend, with a companion no less!)” His eyes drifted to Dawn. But, unlike with Mr. Fox, she did not feel any unease. 

In fact, it was warm and welcoming.

“C'est un grand honneur qu'elle soit à mes côtés ce soir (It is a great honor that she is by my side this evening),” Le Comte said, gesturing to Dawn with a wink. “Je n'aurais pas pu rêver d'un meilleur compagnon. (I could not have asked for a better companion.)”

“Eh bien, si vous ne tarissez pas d'éloges sur cette belle femme… (Well, if you have so much praise for this beautiful woman…)” Mr. Rabbit looked around, gauging if they were truly alone. Then, when he was content that no one was around except them, he lifted his mask briefly. His face was older, wrinkle lines across his forehead and under his eyes. But, he looked jolly. His blue eyes even had that twinkle. 

As Mr. Rabbit repositioned his mask back to hide his identity, Le Comte spoke, proudly even. “Ma chérie, this is my dear friend for many, many years. May I introduce to you Monsieur Le Duc de Guermantes.” 

As if on cue, Mr. Rabbit—no, Le Duc de Guermantes—bowed towards Dawn. 

“And this beautiful woman,” Le Comte said with a level of reverence that made her cheeks burn beneath her mask, “is Mademoiselle Dawn. She is visiting from America and is in my care until her return home.”

When he raised his body, he smiled. “You are American, my dear?” His tone was not condescending, but rather intrigued. Maybe even opportunistic. And his smooth transition to English almost shocked Dawn. “Well, then the stars have looked upon me and granted my wish!” 

“And what do you mean by that, Guermantes?” Le Comte’s mild-mannered face did not match his slightly edged voice.

“Fais attention, mon ami (Careful, my friend),” Guermantes warned Le Comte, yet his voice was still playful. “We are still guests at a masquerade. We may be old friends who can find each other in this sea of disguises with ease, but I still do not want for any unnecessary attention towards my name.”

Le Comte smiled, taking delight in their simple banter. “Well then, ‘Monsieur’,” he emphasized, “I await your answer to my question. What do you mean by ‘your wish’ has been granted?”

“Well,” Le Duc started, seemingly transitioning to a business-like persona, “you remember my daughter, yes?” 

Le Comte nodded. “I believe her name is Claudine?”

“Excellent memory, as usual,” Le Duc commended. He then sighed, “In truth, she is of age for courtship yet she refuses to make appearances! Thank goodness she is taking lessons to learn English, in hopes that it opens more opportunities beyond our French border…”

“Are you concerned that she is not meeting enough suitors?” Le Comte inquired further. 

Le Duc released an exasperated sigh of frustration. “If only it were that simple. She has the invitations piling high, so the opportunities are abundant. Yet she refuses to attend!” Suddenly, his eyes focused on Dawn, who had been listening intently but unsure where this tale of woe was going. “I believe,” the man continued, “that the underlying issue is a sense of loneliness from her peers.”

Dawn's eyebrow raised while Le Comte crossed his arms. 

“What I mean to say is,” he paused, pleading with his eyes, "I believe she could benefit from having a friend. Someone her age, someone with good character, someone that will serve as a good influence for her.” He looked deeply into Dawn's eyes, hoping she could feel his sincerity. “Someone like you, Mademoiselle.”

Dawn's eyes blinked twice from disbelief.

Le Comte, anticipating the direction of this conversation, stepped in firmly. “While my companion is undoubtedly all of those qualities you seek, I am afraid her time here in Paris is short.”

“How short?”

“Only a couple more weeks.”

Dawn's head snapped up, not realizing how much (or little) time she had left before she could go home. Where did the time go?

“Then for a couple of weeks I will feel less worried about my daughter.” Le Duc returned his attention to Dawn. “If you accept, please know you will have my undying gratitude. She is my world and, now that her mother is no longer of this world, I fear I cannot be the person she needs right now.”

She listened to his voice, hearing the softness when he spoke of his daughter, the sadness when he mentioned his departed wife, and the quiet pleading in his chosen words. Then, as she looked deeply in the eye slits of his mask, he held her gaze completely.

Dawn touched Le Comte's elbow and motioned with the lift of her chin to turn, requesting a moment to contemplate with her benefactor. As they did, her hand did not leave his arm. Her thumb slowly rubbed against him and she nodded, signalling that she would accept. 

Le Comte spoke quietly, “Ma chérie, won't your voice be a concern?”

He had a point. She glanced at Le Duc from the corner of her eye, noting his body language. Calm, respectful, patient. Not even an inkling of malice. In fact, her entire assessment of Le Duc was that of a rare, genuine man. Her instincts were telling her to leap with faith, and that, in itself, was a rare occurrence. 

Dawn smiled, then confirmed to Le Comte with a nod that she still wanted to do this.

Together they turned back, but Le Comte carried the responsibility of setting the terms of this temporary friendship. “She accepts your proposal. However,” his tone firmed, “there needs to be an understanding between us, as friends.”

Le Duc lifted his chin slightly, but did not speak.

Le Comte continued. “Mademoiselle Dawn is a guest under my roof, and her wellbeing is my utmost concern. I value our friendship deeply, but I value her sanctuary more. If Mademoiselle Claudine is to visit my home, it must be understood that whatever you observe remains entirely between those walls. No whispers to the salon, no gossip over cards. Can I rely on your honor as a gentleman to ensure your daughter understands this as well?”

A moment passed, the air thick with tension that wasn’t there before. Le Duc seemed to be contemplating the conditions laid upon him by Le Comte, then gave a confirming nod. “You have my word,” he said.

Dawn released the breath she had been holding unknowingly. Looking up, it seemed Le Comte was, as well.

“Then allow me to explain further.” Le Comte took one last glance at Dawn, ensuring he still had her blessing to speak on her behalf. When the corner of her lips curved upwards slightly, he continued. “Mademoiselle possesses an… idiosyncrasy of circumstances that we guard with the utmost care. It should not hinder their friendship, however it is her own wish to keep its secrecy.”

Pleased with his explanation, Dawn watched for any micro-expressions that would give Le Duc away before she committed to sharing her secret. His bewilderment was expected, yet he maintained his composure, waiting with an earnest patience that mirrored his love for his daughter.

She had seen enough. With a small step forward, she brought the attention to her and gently brought her hands up, moving with practiced fluidity. “It is nice to meet you. My name is Dawn,” she signed, making sure she stayed within Le Comte’s proficiency for translation.

“She says it is nice to meet you,” he said with a knowing look. 

While she could not observe Le Duc’s expressions behind the mask, she watched as his eyes shifted between her and Le Comte, like he was trying to determine if they were playing a prank on him. When neither of them faltered, only then did he realize how serious they were.

And how flawless their deception was to every socialite in the ballroom.

Le Duc began to laugh heartily, his hand even reaching for his stomach to hold. “Mon Dieu (My goodness)! I could never have guessed this was the truth behind your partnership!” 

Dawn smiled, pleased that this was, by far, the best outcome to sharing her secret with anyone. 

Suddenly, her hands were in Le Duc’s as he held them with care and looked deep into her eyes. “Mademoiselle, your secret is safe with us. My daughter and I will not taint the trust you have bestowed upon us. I swear on my family name.” He paused, then spoke with a heavy voice. “Thank you for your friendship.”

And with that, he released her hands and then bowed. Before leaving, he turned to Le Comte. “Mon ami (My friend), choose a day of your liking.I will even bring a bottle of wine from my personal collection as a gift.”

“I was going to demand that as compensation, but at least we have an understanding,” Le Comte joked.

No more words were needed between the two of them. Le Duc turned and disappeared through the French Doors and into the light of the ballroom.

“Ma chérie,” Le Comte said quietly, pulling her attention to him. As she looked up, the lighthearted demeanor was no longer there—it was one of concern for her. “That was very kind of you to accept, but I am reminding you that you are under no obligation to put yourself in a difficult position.” 

Dawn opened her hand fully and tapped her thumb against the middle of her chest. “It is fine,” she signed with a smile and a twinkle in her eyes. 

He did not want to argue with her, especially while she had no means to communicate beyond the limited sign language he could understand. Still, this was a matter to be discussed in more detail later.

Dawn took in a deep breath, the scent of the garden calming her nerves once again. She was not nervous about the upcoming meeting with this Claudine girl. Actually, she was elated to be meeting with someone that wasn’t a male.

No, the issue was the growing number of eyes crowding the windows and doorway, now that she and Le Comte were once again alone. It seemed that Le Duc’s presence had deterred quite a few people from approaching them, to which her gratitude for his inclusion in their little circle grew even more.

“It seems we have garnered attention yet again,” Le Comte commented, following her gaze. He took a step towards her, closing the space between their bodies and, hopefully, signalling to every onlooker that they were still sharing a private moment together and to not approach. “Are you ready to go back in? Or should we take our leave?” His voice was barely above a whisper, sending a chill down her spine.

Part of her wanted to leave, finding the whole atmosphere stuffy and over-the-top. But, the other part of her felt like the night was not complete, like there was more it could offer. She accepted being his companion for the night to increase his standing in society, and so far he only managed to ruffle some feathers and promise a girl’s day for her and Le Duc’s daughter. 

Hardly a success.

A smirk appeared on her lips before she confirmed her answer with a playful glint in her eyes.

Le Comte understood that look immediately. It was probably one of her most admirable yet troublesome qualities: the need to push forward, regardless of any obstacles or challenges that lay ahead. He sighed, yet accepted her decision to join the party once more.

“Very well, ma chérie. But, before we return to the ballroom,” he said, still eyeing those watching from a distance, “allow me to cast a spell of protection over you.”

A spell of protectio—?!

Without warning, Le Comte’s hand was on the small of her back, pulling her close to his body. His other hand lifted her chin up so they were truly face to face. He looked down at her, taking in her wide, blue eyes that shone brighter through her black, lace mask than the moon did in the night sky. Her lips parted slightly, and he felt a gentle rush of warmth spreading from her neck to her cheeks beneath his fingers that touched her skin. 

Perfect. Perfect for what he was about to do.

His thumb brushed the high curve of her cheekbone, smooth and deliberate, before sliding down to rest gently against the side of her neck. The heat of her flushed skin burned against his cool hand, anchoring her right where he wanted her. “Forgive me, ma chérie,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, velvet hum that barely carried past the rustle of the leaves. “Consider this a necessary theater.”

Before Dawn’s brain could fully process the warning, Le Comte leaned down. He didn’t kiss her hand. He didn’t bow. Instead, he pressed his lips softly against her cheek, just below the edge of her lace mask.

It was a slow, lingering touch—not desperate, but proprietary. A gesture so agonizingly intimate that Dawn felt the collective gasp of onlookers practically vibrate through the glass windows behind them. She knew that society in this era had its rules: show restraint, modesty, and distance.

Le Comte had just shattered all three with effortless grace.

Her heart did a violent, erratic flutter against her ribs. Underneath the mask, her face burned crimson. But, she forced herself to not pull away, holding his gaze as he slowly drew back. She was met with a smirk—faint and utterly wicked—played at the corner of his lips as he took in her flustered expression. 

“There,” Le Comte whispered, his fingers trailing down her arm to gently take her hand once more, looping it securely around his elbow. “Now every vulture in that ballroom knows exactly who you belong with tonight. They will think twice before attempting to isolate or patronize you.”

Dawn’s mouth was left agape as she realized what he had done. Her eyes darted back towards the French doors and she saw the shift. The lingering crowds had dispersed slightly while whispers were fanning out like wildfire through the ballroom. And yet, no one dared to step onto the terrace. 

Le Comte leaned in once more, his golden eyes gleaming with dark amusement beneath his cat mask—becoming more fitting with every devious act—as his voice sent chills through her body again. “However,” he added softly, “society is full of foolish men driven by pride. Should anyone prove brave—or stupid—enough to ignore my public claim and corner you…” He leaned just far enough to look her in the eye, his gaze dropping briefly to the subtle bulge of her bustle where her butterfly lay hidden.”...you have my full permission to show them that you are more than a prized possession.”

A quiet, breathless huff of laughter escaped Dawn. The absurdity of the refined aristocrat giving her carte blanche to stab obnoxious nobles was the exact brand of dark humor she needed to ground herself.

Her lips curved into a sharp, confident smirk beneath her mask while she brought her hand near her forehead and touched the tip of her index finger to the top of her head. “I understand,” she signed with a mischievous nod.