Marguerite, the former Duchess of Torrinni, receives two letters that will change the course of her life forever; and that will impact young Céleste Richel's life too, in more ways than one.
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When Marguerite is forced to return to Torrinni cour...
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Without the cloak covering her modest cream dress, Marguerite felt naked. Unprotected. Exposed.
The last time she had set foot in Torrinni Castle, she wore a golden-threaded gown, shoes meant for a Queen, and a bodice so tight she couldn't breathe. Now, in her cozy sleeves, her looser fitting corset, her leather traveling gloves, her hair woven in a plain bun, she was title-less, unimportant, and boring.
Céleste had retired to her adjoining quarters to freshen up, and with the confusion swimming in her eyes and her shoulders sagging, Marguerite knew she was upset.
She shouldn't have been so harsh. Céleste was new to all this. She needed guidance, not reprimands.
Marguerite edged up to the ajar door. Céleste was sitting on the bed as royal servants put her clothes in drawers and into the armoire.
I have an idea.
"Miss Richel." She slid across the doorway. "Walk with me. I want to take you on a quick tour."
Céleste frowned. "But what of the Dowager's orders? Are we," she gulped, "not to stay in our chambers?"
A flicker of mischief ignited in Marguerite's heart.
To hell with that woman's requests. I know her routine; we will avoid her.
"Fret not about that." She smirked. "Besides, we are not contenders, are we? We can bend the rules a tad."
Céleste's pale-yellow dress creased as she stood, her face illuminating.
They proceeded over the threshold of her bedroom, sneaking into the empty corridor.
Céleste cleared her throat. "Miss Marguerite—"
"—Marguerite, no Miss. I do not deserve such formalities."
In truth, Céleste's father's title puts her above Marguerite in status; she should have been Céleste's lady.
Whatever Céleste planned on saying died on her tongue.
They passed Esther's silent dwellings and headed to the first-floor hall. She led Céleste down, and at the bottom of the steps, took a left towards the Long Corridor she'd so dreaded seeing earlier. Chandeliers cast faint lights on the chestnut walls, and a clock chimed seven times, meaning everyone would be preparing for supper in the Dining Room.
If they steered clear of that area, they wouldn't bump into anyone.
At the end of the aisle lined with painted landscapes, she veered left into a smaller yet elegant hallway with floor-to-ceiling windows lining its right side. They bypassed a narrow turn on the left—the Foreign Corridor—but Céleste missed it, her gaze glued to the glass panes.
"The Royal Gardens." Marguerite smiled. "Beautiful in daylight, intriguing at night."
Once they reached the edge of the hall, they found a wide light-wood paneled door, revealing a bright space of chaises and canopies. A tea table rested in its heart, a roaring fire beside it. On its other side, exotic plants encompassed a tall, curtained window opposite where they stood.
