July 1912

"Philippe, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, you need to change clothes. The Destlers are going to be here soon." The Vicomtesse de Chagny told her oldest son.

"It's just Aunt Christine and Uncle Erik…they're family, Mother." Philippe said, putting his feet up on the leather ottoman in his father's den at the summer house in Le Havre. Outside, it looked like rain.

"Penelope and Gustave will be here too, Philippe, and since you've been gone for the last three years when they've come, I want them to have a good impression of you." Meg told him.

"I thought Gustave was off honeymooning with that new wife of his…what was her name again?"

"Caroline." Meg replied with a touch of irritation. "She will be along as well. They've been married for a year now."

"Has it been a year already?" Philippe asked, uninterested as he closed his eyes. He heard his mother's footsteps move away from him and then her hushed, irritated voice.

"Raoul…talk to your son. Nineteen years old and he thinks he knows everything." She sighed loudly. Philippe loved his mother, he truly did, he was just simply tired of her trying to turn him into someone he was not. She was already harping on him about finding a wife and settling down and he was just starting his second year of university. He was tired of listening to his mother gush about Penelope Destler and how wonderful it would be if he married her because then they would truly be related to Christine and Erik.

Philippe had no interest in Penny. She was a sweet girl, if he remembered her correctly, though the last time he'd seen her, she was slightly too thin for her frame and her teeth were too big for her mouth. She had green eyes and a sprawling mop of black hair that had hung in tangles down her back. He also vaguely remembered she had pale skin and lips that were too big for her face.

A violent clap of thunder brought him out of his memory and he looked across at his father, who was lighting a pipe. The Vicomte settled his cane beside the chair he was sitting in and looked at his son.

"Please…just do this for your mother. This is her favorite time of the year, you know. She was so sad that you decided to go on a grand tour the last three summers."

"I'm just trying to enjoy my youth before I have to become a husband."

"I know your mother is enthusiastic about you getting married someday, but we both agree that you need to graduate from college and settle into a living before that day."

"She wants me to marry Penelope." Philippe grumbled. "We have nothing in common!"

"How can you know that?" Raoul laughed. "You haven't seen the child in three years."

"She's a child." Philippe insisted. "You just said it yourself."

"She is eighteen. Hardly a little girl anymore. Tell me, are you against the pairing simply because your mother chose it or because you didn't?"

"I'll change." Philippe growled, standing and striding to the door. His father chuckled, angering him. He quickly changed into a more presentable outfit and descended the back stairs quickly as he heard the sounds of people arriving. He would need to gather his thoughts before facing his mother's over-thoughtful matchmaking.

It was already sprinkling when he walked onto the quiet beach. The clouds over the horizon did not look very inviting, but he always was able to find peace out here, watching the waves of the Atlantic Ocean roll onto the shore. He settled into the sand and closed his eyes for a moment, but was interrupted almost immediately.

"Oh no!" A female voice cried, nearly startling him out of his skin. "Oh damn! Please help me!" Philippe scrambled to his feet and whirled to face his intruder, but all he could see was a mass of dark hair and two pale, small hands outstretched to the ocean.

"What's wrong?" He called out to her.

"My scarf!" She said, starting toward the water. He panicked and ran to her in a few bounds. She would sink to the floor in those heavy skirts and petticoats.

"Don't worry, I'll get it, Mademoiselle!" He assured her, rushing into the waves without hesitation and thinking with a small note of satisfaction that his mother was not going to be happy with the state of his clothing upon his return. He was nearly waist deep before he caught the silk red scarf and held it up in triumph.

"Here, Miss." He said, handing her the wet cloth. She took it as thunder clapped and the sky began to downpour. "Damn." Taking her elbow, he urged her to follow him into the small gardeners shed. He shut the door behind them and grabbed a small hand towel off of a hook. "Here." He said, handing it to the girl, who he could still not see the face of beneath the long, sopping curls.

"Thanks." She said, and he realized she had a distinctly American accent. His heart sank.

It was the infamous Penelope.

"Penelope." He said, sinking into a chair.

"You were expecting someone else?" She asked with a laugh, toweling off her hair. He shrugged, looking down at his wet shoes.

"Not at all." He replied. Quite the opposite, really.

"It is nice to see you after all these years, Philippe. It seems we always just missed each other. You were away on vacation and when you came back, I had to return to school…"

"Regrettable." He muttered, not really meaning it. He heard her make some noise of irritation at his sarcasm.

"You think just because you're incredibly handsome you can treat people any way you want?" She asked huffily. "We used to be friends, Philippe. I've come to assume you're avoiding me. You used to write to me."

"I've changed." He replied, still not looking at her. Why was he scared to see her?

"Not for the better." She scoffed. That's when he looked up as she had insulted him directly. Girls didn't insult him. They always acted awestruck around him. She was staring at him unashamedly.

Only, it wasn't the girl he remembered. She wasn't gangly or gawkish. Her teeth were perfect and even and white. Her lips were beautiful bow shaped and the lower lip pouted slightly out in a becoming way. Her eyes were something different altogether. They were not the same shade of light green as her father and brother, but a shocking shade of emerald which seemed electric because of the contrast of her black hair. The frizzy mess he remembered was instead perfectly arranged into ringlets, albeit wet at the moment.

Penelope was beautiful.

Philippe knew that now was not the right time for him to marry or even to settle down. He knew that he had a good many fences to mend with Penny before they could even attempt to forge a relationship. And maybe she had always been beautiful and he'd just been too blind to see it. Whatever the reason, he knew now that not only was Penelope lovely, she was smart. She was strong, intuitive and witty. And one thing that Philippe did know now for sure was that he could love Penelope Destler.

It was a start.