The following day graced them with a glorious faux-spring atmosphere replete with a clear blue sky and unseasonable warmth exuded by a sun which seemed to laugh its delight at the sight of grateful throngs of promenaders traversing the Grands Boulevards of the French capitol.

Gardens overflowed with Parisian elite despite the lack of adornment, while the wide roadways provided space for walking or riding. Even the horses whose masters paraded them through the thoroughfares appeared to strut with a sense of personal glee rather than the practiced elegance required of them, and even the most accomplished of le beau monde struggled to display a sincere boredom befitting their station.

Marissa had never seen anything so enthralling or had a day of equal grandeur. True to his word, Alain had taken every step to ensure her tour of Paris would be an event to remember. From the moment they’d left his townhome her eyes became incapable of remaining decently within their sockets and by midday she’d abandoned any attempt to force the matter.

Waking with the dawn, possibly the earliest she’d risen since her nursery days, she rang for the maid Alain had provided her the instant she heard movement in the halls signaling the staff beginning their duties. She raced downstairs to wait the moment she was dressed, having told herself innumerable times the rush was useless, she’d likely have to wait hours for Alain. She contemplated sitting to a light breakfast, but her nerves vibrated with too much intensity to allow it.

To her great surprise, Alain walked into the sitting room not half an hour behind her, dressed for their excursion and wearing a smile.

“I had a feeling you might transform into an early riser today,” he explained. “If you’ve not yet broken your fast, we can do so together at the quaint café beside our first destination.”

She needed no additional convincing, hopping to her feet and hurrying to take his arm. “Thank you again, Alain, I know it’s an inconvenience to you, but I so appreciate it.”

“No inconvenience at all, ma choupette, in fact, you’ve made me realize the error of my ways.”

“Oh?” she eyed him with unrestrained suspicion.

“Of course, why, if the mere mention of traipsing you about this muddy and congested city causes you to fling yourself into my arms,” he returned her gaze with a smirk, “my heart trembles to imagine what might be my reward for providing a truly noteworthy experience.”

“You cad!” Marissa gasped and made to wrench her hand away from his arm, but he held her fast with a laugh.

“I’m teasing, ma chérie.”

She sniffed in response. “Your sense of humor is entirely inappropriate. And why have you taken to calling me by pet names?”

For a moment, Marissa thought she caught the hint of a flush along his cheek, but they’d exited the home and he turned his head to signal the coachman already waiting in front of the building. He still wore his smile when he returned his attention to her but didn’t meet her gaze.

“A devoutly French habit, I’m afraid.” He handed her into the fiacre with no apology or offer to discontinue the custom.

Whatever her lingering irritation, it fell by the wayside somewhere along the journey to the café and was completely forgotten after they’d completed their repast and Alain introduced her to one of the city’s Panoramas. She’d heard of the exhibits, massive paintings, mural-like in their scope, mounted in circular rooms and providing an immersive view of an historical event. The one they entered at mid-morning along the boulevard Montmartre depicted the city of Rome at the height of its power.

“How exquisite!” She murmured in hushed tones as she turned about to take in the scene. A hush pervaded the space, as though onlookers waited eagerly for the fallen city to spring back to life at any moment.

“You will enjoy the next stop even more,” Alain promised, leaning in so their temples nearly touched. With such enticement, she needed no additional persuasion a short time later to disengage from the scene of jewel-toned pigment on plaster and follow at his heels back to the boulevard.

Another short ride took them to a new corner of the city and Marissa eagerly looked about as they disembarked but turned back to Alain in confusion. The street, though grand in size and dotted with smartly arranged trees and shrubbery, looked insignificant to her eyes.

“Never worry,” he assured her. “We must travel a short distance on foot, but the walkways here are relatively benign in terms of mud thanks to a series of sidewalks, which makes the journey almost as intriguing as the destination.”

Marissa raised her brows at him, but soon understood his meaning. Every block and corner presented a new experience. They passed first a tiny theater group performing some sort of comedic adaptation of a classical Greek drama, followed soon thereafter by an intricate puppet show depicting the forlorn case of a damsel in distress awaiting her white knight. Turning a corner, Marissa laughed out loud and clamped a gloved hand to her mouth at the sight of a troupe of dogs dressed in hats and ruffled skirts balancing on their hind legs and hopping about to the lively tune of a mandolin player. But the crowning show consisted of a magician who somehow managed to produce a dove from his sleeve and a rabbit from out of his hat.

By the time they rounded another corner, Marissa was out of breath, wiping tears from her eyes, and her hands had gone numb from clapping. “This city must have no end to wonders, Alain!” she exclaimed. “I’ve seen more in a few hours than I ever could in ten trips to London, and we’ve only traversed a small portion of it!”

“Truly unique, to be certain.” He grinned. “And I daresay you’ve forgotten we were making our way to a point of interest.”

“Oh, you’re right! The thought completely escaped me!” Her eyes went wide as she tilted her head back to take in his widening grin.

“You are in luck, ma poupette, because I did not lose track of our task.” With a grand sweep of his arm he indicated an iron gateway depicting the word Tivoli within its welcoming arch.

Marissa’s jaw dropped and she gasped. “Tivoli Gardens!” she suppressed the urge to hop in place, instead directing her energy into irreparably crumpling the cloth of Alain’s sleeve as she stared in wonder at the mythic gardens known as the most chic in all of Paris.

“I considered first a lunch at Café Chinois,” Alain explained, guiding her through the gates, “for surely a daughter of the sea would espouse a sense of kinship with the exotic motifs of a restaurant and bath house modeled after a Chinese temple.”

He cast her a bemused glance as she drifted at his side. “Then I was reminded that you purported a goal of comprehending the true Paris, for which a foreign design would never do. I then settled upon Frascati’s with its renowned ices, and a garden worthy of immortalizing on canvas, imagining you as the finest accoutrement their furnishings of gilt and elegance had thus far accommodated, but realized I would thus prove myself inept in your eyes.”

At this, Marissa turned her attention from the collection of statuary adorning what would normally have been a lush field of roses and lavender to send a quizzical glance his way.

“Not only are the café’s praises seasonally inappropriate,” he continued, taking on a wizened air, “but the locale struggles to maintain its status against a strong competitor.” He turned up his palm in indication of their current location. “Thus, with somewhat heavy but resolute heart, I knew I must add to the woes of the Frascati and introduce you first to the Gardens of Tivoli.”

As though on cue, the lilting notes of an ethereal orchestra began and for a moment Marissa wondered if Alain truly were some sort of Angel, or devil, capable of presenting every possible temptation she’d ever dreamed of during her scouring of French journals as a child.

“And there is just the thing to complete the excursion,” he smiled, tilting his head in the direction of the music. “Come.”

He led her in the direction of the sound until they came upon a gazebo housing a small orchestra and looking out onto an open square in which couples danced.

“The Tivoli orchestra is perhaps the best known of the garden’s features.” Alain declared. “You must not return home without adding a dance to your boasting list.” He held up his hand in invitation.

Marissa bit at her lip. The musicians had struck up a waltz.