VERSAILLES || h.s.

V

The Earl of Breckenridge introduced the two families to one another and proper protocol was followed in terms of greetings. It was not the best moment for this exchange to occur, as the young Lady Beauchamp of Mallard had begun to feel pressure build around her rib cage. Is my bodice too tight?

Odete curtsied as gracefully as she could upon meeting the Viscount. He took her hand and placed a kiss on the knuckles. A tightening sensation was forming around her chest, but she was unsure if it was caused by her clothing or by the young man before her.

She was a poised young woman that never allowed sentiment to interfere with courteousness, but she found herself blushing furiously in front of the heir of Breckenridge. Mayhap it was his ravishingly handsome appearance; the defined bone structure, gleaming green eyes, pink lips and dimpled cheeks. Or, perhaps more palpably, it could have been his reputation as a womaniser that he – quite clearly – upheld.

The Lady was not one to give credence to gossip, nor would she indulge in it, but spreading rumours seemed to be a favoured pastime at Versailles – nay, a sport, – and it seemed near to impossible for one to abstain from the perpetual defamatory babble.
Though she had no taste for it, she could not help but listen in to what the noblewomen murmured once in a while. Their husbands and fathers would have convulsed upon hearing the words being spoken.

"I hear he bedded all eight of the Duke of Heartly's daughters at once, and in one night!" the Ladies at supper the previous night had chattered. "And then, he deflowered the Duke's new mistress!"

"Well, I heard he corrupted an entire monastery of nuns!" a baroness had quipped.

"I heard he prefers the companionship of men," a young princess added.

"I was told he dabbles with both the sexes," an older countess corrected, fanning herself. "Simultaneously." This evoked a collective gasp.

"My Ladies, you hear this not from me, but they say he, the Viscount of Breckenridge," one marchioness giggled, lowering her voice to a whisper, enticing the other women to lean in closely, "single-handedly forced a brothel in London out of business – for an entire week. It was said the godforsaken prostitutes could scarcely walk straight post his visit!"

The women erupted into girlish giggling, turning crimson at the vulgar nature of their conversation.
"God shall bless the woman he beds tomorrow night," a widowed dame said cheekily, "but may He also show her mercy."
The wealthy women laughed hysterically once more.

Simply thinking of those tales made her breathing quicken. Odete returned to reality, and tried to compose herself.
"A pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle Beauchamp," the Viscount said, smirking. Her fluster had not gone unnoticed.
"The pleasure is entirely mine, My Lord," she squeaked back. The use of the word pleasure made her cheeks burn even brighter, considering what she had heard about the Lord Styles.

"You look stunning, My Lady," he commented, looking her over. She felt small and exposed in her blue gown, and somehow managed to turn an even deeper shade of rouge. A knowing grin spread on his face; he was perfectly aware of the effect he had on the young Odete.
"Merci, My Lord," she managed. Her corset was making it difficult to inhale, and his Lordship's sensuous smiles were not making it any less painful.

"How was your journey?" Harry asked. Odete struggled to answer.
"It– it was a bumpy trip, all the way from Marseille at dawn today," she chuckled weakly. "There was much rain, My Lord."
Harry nodded politely, attempting to make conversation.
"And I trust you are staying at Versailles?"

Her chest tightened.

"Indeed, My Lord. Pray excuse me for a moment," she wheezed, turning around.