The Runaway 4

Regina sipped the cherry flavored tea, sitting next to Marchioness Mary Dionne, Max's aunt.
A cherubic lady, with a clear complexion and iron grey curls with twinkling blue eyes like her own mother's she'd welcomed her surprise guests with open arms.
Regina hadn't seen Max since after he'd made the initial introductions.
His Aunt had promptly taken Regina under her wings, and after a quick bath, Regina sat in the fragrant garden with the dear old lady, telling her exactly why she was so many leagues from home.
"That's a pity. I simply cannot understand why parents force their children into marriages. Force is an abomination of the institution of marriage in my opinion," said the old lady with vigor, her curls shining silver in the sun, forming a halo.
"My own marriage was fought with complications. My parents would not allow me to marry my husband Francis. He was French. Noble blood or not, he would not do. They presented me with a very interesting alternative. They searched high and low through the country, and found me Sir Ianthrope, who resembled Francis physically. They presumed I would fall for him. Luckily, two days into the forced courtship, my uncle discovered him in a brothel, working nights in the brothel, to pay off his debts. My parents blessed Francis and I the very next day."
Regina laughed, she had never heard something so strange, related with such candor.
Her pleasure mounted as Max strode towards them, looking refreshed. His necktie, Regina noticed, matched the light powder blue of her own gown.
Kissing his aunt on her cheek, Max sat down on the dainty garden chair, looking out of place, and eyed Regina thoughtfully before saying, "Well. That explains why Edward insisted on this particular necktie."
Regina smiled into his eyes, getting a faint, fuzzy feeling.
Mary let out a short laugh, "Max, Regina, are my suspicions correct?"
Regina stared down at her folded hands, while Max let out a dramatic sigh and said, "Yes Aunty. You cannot blame me. Anyone would fall for such an enchanting little sorceress."
Mary laughed delightedly, as she clasped Regina's hands in her own, "I am so happy, child. You will find no place better than France to explore your love. It is time for my siesta. Estele will help you with anything you need."
Max also stood up, and held out his hand to Regina, "How about a walk?"
Putting her own hand into his own, Regina stood up, and teased sweetly, "Not afraid of my casting a few more spells on you?"
Max's deliciously male laughter sent shivers down her spine as he said, "My dear, I am already in too deep. You don't need spells to hold me."

Fifteen minutes later, Regina found herself standing in the most exquisite garden.
It was an enclosed area within a circle of marble statues, the grass was luxuriously velvety and green.
Roses of every color ranging from white to a pale pink to a daring scarlet and a sunny yellow grew in an organized chaos.
The heady scent filled her nostrils as she breathed deeply.
Max's eyes darkened as he watched the play of emotions on Regina's face.
"I wish I could feel the grass under my feet. Its horrible to be wrapped up in stockings! It looks so soft and welcoming! Does that make sense?"
The unschooled and open wonder of her face shot straight to his heart.
"Max. . . . . . This is so magical. Its like a scene out of a fairytale!" said Regina, her voice breathy and her eyes misty.
Max turned to her, taking her face within his hands and said thickly, "Its not a fairytale Regina. This is all very real. And I want you to enjoy the reality of this wonder."
Regina's eyes welled. She stood on her tip toes and looped her arms around his neck with a little difficulty.
But this problem disappeared instantly when Max wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up effortlessly.
Regina curled her fingers into his hair and smiled, their foreheads touching, "It is nicer when its real."
Max laughed and changed positions, so he tucked his other arm under her knees and carried her like one does a bride to a stone bench and sat with her on his lap.
They sat there for an extended length of time, just talking, until the change in the position of the sun forced them to return to the house for tea.

Back at the manor, the Marchioness had received a very intriguing letter from Paris.
Claire and Remi Dionne, her nineteen year old niece and nephew from her late husband's side was due to arrive tomorrow.
Things were bound to become difficult.