Gee, folks. I can't seem to get away from these characters!
I'm not going to make excuses, it is too much fun writing for them, and I'm just glad I've found a purpose for everybody. It's also fun too see how they all react to one another. But, I do wonder what Charlotte is up to...
And hey! Look who's back!
The spirits wouldn’t have recognized him. Even though it took a great deal of cajoling, François Boudreaux was wearing clothes made for the current century. And although his consumptive pallor would have been better suited to Byron’s time, he cut a rather dashing figure when he cleaned up.
Of course, he protested. He said he felt stifled in the stylish modern suit, but Charlotte argued that it couldn’t be anymore stifling than wearing heavy silk in the humid South. François conceded, but he was bitter nonetheless.
Still, he couldn’t complain too much. Charlotte seemingly had abundant resources at her disposal and she spared no expense when it came to the comfort of her pets.
François rather liked the idea of being kept. For so long he had been alone with nothing but a rotting house to his name. Now he could have anything he could possibly dream of. So long as she had a use for his unique skills he would be set for life.
He was musing on the idea, lounging in the library, when Charlotte’s newest pet entered the room. François looked her over. She was comely, a rather understated kind of pretty, with light brown hair and a splash of freckles on her face and shoulders. François liked women like her; it could take so much effort to be with a woman as stunning as Charlotte whereas a simple beauty’s company is much more enjoyable.
“Are you lost, ma chère?” François rose from his chair, pushing a strand of straw colored hair from his eyes. “It would be my pleasure to ‘elp you in any way.”
Amanda Gilbert blushed vividly. “No, Mr. Boudreaux, I was just looking around. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“François, please. And you are not disturbing me. I’ve been rather lonely, actually. Miss Charlotte won’t let me bring Marguerite into the building.” He grinned a lazy, easy grin.
“Oh, who is Marguerite?” Amanda asked. François relished in the earnest interest in her eyes and wondered if she scared easily.
“Would you like to meet her, chère?” François moved effortlessly toward Amanda, sweeping her along with him as he glided down the hall. “I’m sure she ‘as been dying to meet you.” He let out a lilting chuckle as Amanda reluctantly followed him.
François’ head swam with images of Amanda clinging to him in terror upon seeing his beloved Marguerite, but Charlotte had neglected to tell him that Amanda had already seen one undead horror and likely would not be fazed by a second. Standing unseen in the conservatory, Charlotte watched them and sipped a cup of tea, a sly smile tugging at her lips.