A/N: My first Pimpernel fanfic! I am a HUGE fan of the 1982 movie...Anthony Andrews *swoon*...and have also read the books (mostly the Sir Percy scenes, though-let's be real). This scene is set during the wedding in the 1982 version, when Percy is let in on Marguerite's supposed betrayal.

It ought to be easy.

He has practiced and trained, for moments such as these—moments when he is caught off guard, a swordsman with his rapier clattering to the floor, his last defense deflected. He is ready for moments such as these, and he ought not to be overcome—

But this is Marguerite. This is his wife—all of an hour—and he is stiff in silk, heart racing at the sight of her—if he could have but chosen one day to discard the disguise, it would have been today.

The choice is taken from him. By cruel chance, and crueler knowledge.

It is better to face the mirror than his men; better to remind himself that his visage can quickly be schooled into any number of facades.

This is a mission.

His marriage has become a mission.

His wife has become the enemy.

It ought to be easy. And perhaps it would be, if she looked the part—if her eyes were not clear and bright and tender, if her voice was not as musical as ever.

If he did not love her with his whole being—the Pimpernel and the leader and the fop and the romantic, all in one.

This is a mission.

He cannot fail them—the League, the nation, the world he has sought to save (in what avenues he can), and that is more important than—

No. He cannot force himself to think it. Cannot force himself to believe it, and so he only reminds himself that the ruse is a necessity, and that the heart beneath need not be heard.

Every fiber of him is strained by duty, and he smiles.

Loving her as he does, it is the heaviest mask he has ever worn.