Everything was quiet and peaceful as the dark-haired woman slept beneath the warmth of those plush blankets, her breaths coming softly and slowly as thick lashes remained closed to the world. The first morning light had yet to filter through her window and yet she felt herself beginning to stir into that sleepy consciousness, pulled away from that deep sleep by a force she wasn't entirely sure of. It had been a busy and exhilarating day at Beachside Bar and Bistro yesterday, but in the few days that those doors to her very own business had been opened, everything was going about as perfectly as she had hoped for. Elain and Abigail were doing splendidly in their new jobs alongside Killian, though she knew that it would be wise to hire a few more hands to assist with those other shifts so that her team would not grow tired or exhausted. That was the last thing that she wanted for those wonderful people that had agreed to work in helping the French woman bring that dream of hers into reality. Creating it was one thing, but keeping in strong was another thing entirely. And so, as she shifts beneath those sheets and begins to drift away under the spell cast by sleep once again, she makes the very much conscious decision that in the morning, she would seek out two more workers that would prove to fit in well with that already near perfectly selected group of hard-working people. For a moment, there is a soft smile that dances across those lips as she dared to imagine Taylor in that bistro, well-dressed and waiting on tables. It was an amusing thought that flickered across her barely awakened mind, the man not quite meant for such an occupation - not nearly as suited as he was in her yard as she preferred, for more reasons than she intended to make known to the Englishman. Was she worried about what the future held for her establishment, for her people, for herself? Perhaps only to the smallest extent, she was, but it was far from like Adelaide not to examine those many possibilities and opportunities that could help her to only further bury those roots into the soils of Sacrosanct so that she would be just as successful and able to provide for herself without her parents' money. In the end, the dark-haired woman was determined to see to it that anything she lived off of was her own money and nothing more so that she could prove to that wretched nobleman that she would not only survive here in this increasingly familiar world but rather that she would be able to thrive. The road ahead would not be without its challenges and there would likely be times in that winding path where she might trip or stumble, but she would simply pick herself up with just as much drive and defiance as ever. She never would have gotten this far, never would have made it here to this city if not for that very ability to endure whatever it was that life would place in her way.

Hours pass before finally that weak sunlight touched into that large room, caressing her pale skin softly as those long, silken locks of rich dark cocoa surrounded her on that deep pillow, nuzzling gently into its comforts as a soft moans falls from her lips before it turns into a small yawn. She shifts within those blankets again, a hand resting closer to her face as she begins to slowly pull away from that slumber though the French woman isn't quite ready to leave those covers just yet. She wanted to liners for a moment longer, thick lashes still closed over those almond eyes as she begins to come to. Why it was that her thoughts decided to imagine what it might feel like to awaken with those strong arms around her, wondering only for a moment what it would be like for Taylor to be there to usher her gently awake perhaps with a kiss or soft caress. It was this fleeting fantasy that causes those glittering sage eyes to open at last to her dimly lit room. A content sigh rushes quietly from her then as she pushes these thoughts away, thankful once again that Townsend was not able to read her thoughts or anything of the sort. She knew exactly how the blonde man very likely having already risen and began moving throughout their large home felt about Taylor. He never stopped in that insistence, almost imploring that Adelaide perhaps hire a contractor to see to the landscaping and daily maintenence of the yard, and naturally the French woman had been quick to wave off his words as she would assure him that it was much safer to keep a familiar face nearby instead of purely hired hands that only saw a job for nothing more than that and hardly put the amount of care into their work that she was always ready to remind Townsend of all that Taylor had already done for them. The lattice on that fence looked as good as new and it has been freshly painted not long ago, any and all repairs that had previously been needed having been taken care of with a diligence that only someone who took true and honest pride in their projects could perfect. Each time, the Englishman would give her an exasperated sigh and surrender to the woman, but Adelaide knew all too well that there would be another day where his insistent remarks would surface yet again. Townsend would simply have to learn to accept the man because he was certainly not going to be disappearing anytime soon. Or so Adelaide found herself ever hopeful of. Life had a gift of taking unexpected turns. After all, it had been that same unpredictability that had brought the dark-haired woman and roguishly handsome yet endearing man together in the very beginning, and it could just as easily tear them apart. Neither of them were willing to leave the other though it seemed, and so there was truly little concern that he break that promise he'd made to her that first morning they'd spent together. Turning over on her side, slender hands reach for the phone on the nightstand, unlocking the screen to reveal the time as 7:23am. Pressing her fingers on that "contacts" icon, she selects Taylor's name and, with a soft smile on her lips, decides to send him a text that reads "Good morning, mon cher" before setting the sleek device back onto the stained mahogany surface.

Removing herself from that soft bed once she was finally entirely awake, she strides easily across the master bedroom and over to the bathroom, the cold tile on her feet sapping the warmth from her slightly a she opens that glass door to turn on the hot water. Quickly discarding those white flannel pajama pants and button-up shirt into the wicker basket behind the door, she enters not the steamy shower with a blissful sigh as that hot water soaks into her hair and over her body. There had been few things from that Adelaide had managed to find comfort and pleasure in on that estate on the outskirts of Paris, but one of them had always been the sensation of that running water seeping into her bare skin and washing away whatever tiredness may have lingered stubbornly around her mind. Although, ever since Taylor and the opening of that bistro she called her own, there was little that kept the young woman up at night anymore. Cleaned and dried, she exist the shower with a cotton towel wrapped around her womanly frame and moves to stand in that extravagant walk-in closet, rummaging through those designer fabrics until she settles upon a white fitted silk v-neck blouse and blue slim jeans. Dressing into those fine clothes and slipping on some white ankle socks, she returns to the large bathroom and tends to that wet hair, brushing and blow-drying until it falls over her shoulders in that elegant and natural slightly wavy fashion reaching just below her shoulder blades. Putting on that back eyeliner and mascara, that being the extent of the makeup she would ever wear, she is prepared for a morning of lounging before she would change into formal clothes when she went to the bistro for the afternoon and closing shift. The French woman was more than trusting of Killian to serve as the shift manager when those doors opened at nine o'clock in the morning, her confidence in his sense of duty and diligence ensuring her that everything would be well looked after whenever she was not present. At last, she walks over to those French doors that separated her room from the rest of the house, reaching for the handle and opening them to find Rose and Reginald laying there on each side as they always did. She smiles gently to the beaucerons, brushing her hands against their proud heads before descending gracefully down those pristine lyrics polished wooden steps with both dogs trailing behind her. She can smell the freshly ground coffee brewing as she moves down the hallway and steps into the living area just on the other side of the house, sage eyes looking to the kitchen where Townsend is busying himself with breakfast preperations."Good morning, Townsend", she says warmly in those accented words as she moves to sit herself in one of the tall chairs at the granite bar. She props her elbows on the hard surface, cradling her face over those laced fingers as she smiles affectionately to the Englishman like she so often did, admiring those perfectly pressed clothes and refined manner that he always held about himself in everything that he did.