Cigarettes and tiny liquor bottles, just what you’d expect inside her new Balenciaga
Bad romance, turned dreams into an empire
Self-made success, now she rose with Rockafellas
Survival of the richest, the city’s ours until the fall

 outfit

Marguerite had been summoned back to France. Not, unfortunately, to stay, nor for forgiveness. 

She had hoped, at first. She had been welcomed by her parents, and by a sister out of school. Some cousins had warmly embraced her, and she had been invited to a ball that was thrown by an in-law of a cousin in Poitiers, and she had been allowed access to family jewels to roam for what she desired. But it was not to be, as she found out-- she had been informed she could not take anything with garnets or rubies, nothing red for the family of Devereux. So she had swallowed her pride and picked out white diamonds, wrapping around throat and arm, winging ears and accentuating hands.

Marguerite had never been much for matching jewelry that refused to be subtle. That was gauche, nouveau rich and desperate, but  she had been instructed to dress as if she was accepted back into the family. She was Devereux everywhere but France, and those she had schooled with would wonder more, press and pry more if Marguerite dressed simply for this. Appearances were all, even if it was to seem that the family was as close-knit as it had always been.

Still, it pinched. Cousins and sisters swanned about in pale reds and garnets shining off of flesh, and Marguerite was in whites and greys-- all she had of red was hair and shoes. She was Devereux-- what mattered was that her hair shone to the fullest potential. Greys and whites did that, yet still she felt as if it seemed she was screaming out, as subtle as it was. She and Isabelle had exchanged only the barest of pleasantries, as cousins and sister-in-law must do, and Isabelle hadn't kept the smirk from her face. Isabelle had been pleased, Laurent pitiful, Arlette confused, Félicité with Rosamunde and Brigida carefully staying away, in fear of what might be seen. Naël had refused to even flirt with her in fun as he was wont to do, and she'd seen neither hide nor hair of Sarotte and Daniel.

She wasn't quite sure her family was suddenly trying to pass her off as not-quite-a-disgrace. It was not for marriage, she knew-- they would want Rosamunde and Brigida taken care of first, as the two women closest to the Heir. Before her, they would consider another marriage for Isabelle (and how fortunate that Laurent was female, otherwise a marriage to Isabelle would have been made to yet another of Marguerite's brothers), and only after it would be Marguerite's turn, if she didn't find one first.

She had told what she safely could of the coup to her grandfather, to her aunt and her uncle and all in the department or might need the information when in countries allied in, and her report had matched  her step-cousin's. She was more useful back in Britain, and by all rights she ought to have gone back three days ago, but she had been instructed to attend.  Appearances again, she supposed. She despised them-- appearances were pearl ropes bound about the ankles, restricting but too valuable to break. She needed air, needed colder and cleaner air of the outside, so when her dance ended, she made her polite excuses to leave and headed out onto the grounds.

Monaco and Hamptons

outfit to come

Julien could tell that something was off, something out of the ordinary in the shining reds of the Devereux clan. He didn't know exactly what was happening, what with how tight-lipped they were, but it was still easy for someone to tell that there was something different. Maybe it was just a feeling. Maybe it was the fact that he had grown up with quite a few of them. Maybe he was just hoping that they were going to hit a rough patch and slowly and carelessly fall from grace. He knew that it was wrong to wish ill on others, but it would help out the Leroux family just a tiny bit... It would make them seem together, perfect. But even as he peered at them their ranks tightened, and he found himself seemingly rude for gazing too long. He didn't wish to get himself tied to such a family (though it wasn't likely it would even happen, what with their many intermarriages). He was perfectly content in his single nature, perfectly happy to twirl home a girl or two for the evening before carelessly depositing them the next day. He would marry when his mother told him to, not any quicker. He was happy with his lifestyle until that moment. It fit him, really, it worked. He went off to work in the morning and returned to France when his mother told him it was required. 

He was there now, and he knew that he really should have stayed there for longer than a week. Julien belonged in France. He needed to stop messing around, he needed to stop teasing people with how little time he spent in his home country. He was the head of the family, though he allowed his mother to act as such when he was busy. He had really only attended the ball as his sister's escort, not out of any such desire to really be there. He had gotten the invitation as well, but Ysabeau was insistent that they begin to show Elise off to their peers. She was twenty-three; by logic they should have already married her off. She should have been a pleasant little wife, and yet... They were trying to figure things out, still, they were still testing the waters. His father had only been dead for a few months, so they were really still in mourning. His sister was dressed in black, of course, and affected a rather pouting look even as they wandered around to make the rounds. She had found a group of friends chaperoned by another adult, thankfully, so after a little while he was able to duck out for a bit, take a breather.

He hated being back in France. England was a breath of fresh air, different air. He could just go back and say that there was an emergency in St. Mungo's, that they needed an extra healer even though he had bartered for those few days off. They knew what he had to do, there. They knew that he had extra duties, that he was likely going to be off in the future... Back in France... He didn't know how he had even gotten the job, what with the whole occasional traipse back to France. Not even occasional; it was regular, really... And with that train of thought he had slipped out of the ball, fixing the collar of his shirt and twisting his father's ring around his finger. He hated it, hated it more than anything. His heart was in his throat when he heard the crack of someone else entering the grounds. He clung to the hope that it wasn't his sister, but he would return inside if required. He would do anything for duty, for his family. But no, it wasn't, and the sigh was swallowed as he looked towards the flash of red hair moving towards him. A Deveroux. How ironic, really, since he had been thinking of the certain problems that they were having. Which one was this? He should know... He swept through his brain for the answer as he bowed his head in acknowledgement. Maybe she was out for a little tryst, and he would have to vacate his little breathing spot. Well, that would be shit.