Morgana
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Dec 17, 2000
- Posts
- 485
France, 1768
The Comte and Comtesse Varreau are famous among the French gentry for their seasonal spring parties at their country house, Maison sur Lac. For a couple of weeks, an elite guest list comes to stay with the couple to celebrate the passing of winter and to cure the ills of boredom so common among the French nobility.
Characters:
Comtesse Marguerite Varreau: Age 29. 5’5; crystal blue eyes, blonde hair; delicate, refined features and a translucent complexion. She has a cool kind of beauty, handed down from her northern French ancestry, and a bewitching smile that reveals a dimple on her left cheek.
Comte Christophe Varreau: Age: 37. Tall. Dark hair and green eyes. Charming and seductive. Loves a challenge.
Sophie: Age: 20. The Comtesse’s maid. Auburn hair and indigo eyes. Pert, clever. Quick-witted.
Roland Marceau: Guest. Age: 31. Hobby: drawing, painting. First time visitor to Maison sur Lac.
Julianne Marceau: Guest. His wife. Age: 28. Very pretty brown-eyed brunette. Rumor has it that Madame Marceau is a paragon of Christian virtue.
Other guests and servants: Feel free to join with a made-up character of your own. I’m thinking of a “Dangerous Liasons” kind of feel, only a lot more playful
Marguerite:
A flood of light invaded my senses and my dreams. I blinked reluctantly awake to see Sophie opening the heavy, mauve curtains that were inlaid with golden brocade. I groaned and stretched, burrowing my face into my pillow. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a piece of paper and a long stemmed red rose lying across it on the pillow next to mine. I smiled as I inhaled the flower’s heady fragrance, unfolding the note, which was elegantly written in my husband’s hand. “The early bird gets the worm. I’m going to win, cherie……C.”
I chuckled inwardly and shot out of bedl. A glance at the clock on the bedside table warned me that it was already past ten. I shouldn’t have slept so late. He was wrong, though, about winning. I would be the victor this time. A quiet artist would be much easier to tempt than a religious zealot, I mused. I was delighted that I had been able to keep Madame Marceau’s piety a secret. Let the games begin.
I took a quick bath, chatting with Sophie as she washed my hair, wishing that I had more time to languish. We decided on a pale blue silk dress to accent the sky blue shade of my eyes. I enjoyed the soft, all too quick touch of my maid’s hands as she helped me dress. We decided on a modest amount of cleavage. I wouldn’t want to shock my guests on their first day. We accented the dark crevice between my breasts with a bit of powder and let wisps of wavy blonde hair caress my neck, the rest of my golden hair held up with silver combs, a white rose tucked into the one over my left ear.
I thanked Sophie with a soft kiss on her right cheek and a playful wink as I rushed out of my boudoir, down the stairs, and into the morning salon to welcome my guests.
The Comte and Comtesse Varreau are famous among the French gentry for their seasonal spring parties at their country house, Maison sur Lac. For a couple of weeks, an elite guest list comes to stay with the couple to celebrate the passing of winter and to cure the ills of boredom so common among the French nobility.
Characters:
Comtesse Marguerite Varreau: Age 29. 5’5; crystal blue eyes, blonde hair; delicate, refined features and a translucent complexion. She has a cool kind of beauty, handed down from her northern French ancestry, and a bewitching smile that reveals a dimple on her left cheek.
Comte Christophe Varreau: Age: 37. Tall. Dark hair and green eyes. Charming and seductive. Loves a challenge.
Sophie: Age: 20. The Comtesse’s maid. Auburn hair and indigo eyes. Pert, clever. Quick-witted.
Roland Marceau: Guest. Age: 31. Hobby: drawing, painting. First time visitor to Maison sur Lac.
Julianne Marceau: Guest. His wife. Age: 28. Very pretty brown-eyed brunette. Rumor has it that Madame Marceau is a paragon of Christian virtue.
Other guests and servants: Feel free to join with a made-up character of your own. I’m thinking of a “Dangerous Liasons” kind of feel, only a lot more playful
Marguerite:
A flood of light invaded my senses and my dreams. I blinked reluctantly awake to see Sophie opening the heavy, mauve curtains that were inlaid with golden brocade. I groaned and stretched, burrowing my face into my pillow. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a piece of paper and a long stemmed red rose lying across it on the pillow next to mine. I smiled as I inhaled the flower’s heady fragrance, unfolding the note, which was elegantly written in my husband’s hand. “The early bird gets the worm. I’m going to win, cherie……C.”
I chuckled inwardly and shot out of bedl. A glance at the clock on the bedside table warned me that it was already past ten. I shouldn’t have slept so late. He was wrong, though, about winning. I would be the victor this time. A quiet artist would be much easier to tempt than a religious zealot, I mused. I was delighted that I had been able to keep Madame Marceau’s piety a secret. Let the games begin.
I took a quick bath, chatting with Sophie as she washed my hair, wishing that I had more time to languish. We decided on a pale blue silk dress to accent the sky blue shade of my eyes. I enjoyed the soft, all too quick touch of my maid’s hands as she helped me dress. We decided on a modest amount of cleavage. I wouldn’t want to shock my guests on their first day. We accented the dark crevice between my breasts with a bit of powder and let wisps of wavy blonde hair caress my neck, the rest of my golden hair held up with silver combs, a white rose tucked into the one over my left ear.
I thanked Sophie with a soft kiss on her right cheek and a playful wink as I rushed out of my boudoir, down the stairs, and into the morning salon to welcome my guests.
