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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Céleste hadn't forgotten her etiquette; she'd only become so enraptured in her daydreams of figuring out the Golden Girl's identity that she'd stumbled and lost her way. Marguerite was no fool; the girl would be on to her, eventually. The thought twisted her insides into tight knots, but she'd tell her the truth soon.
Ready for the Presentation, Marguerite glimpsed herself in her floor-to-ceiling mirror. She'd chosen a mustard-colored gown with floral patterns on the bodice and long, ruffled sleeves. Johanna had sculpted her mane into a perfect, round bun, with a few white roses tucked near her ear.
When Céleste emerged a while later, garbed in pale blue, curls pinned, no accessories, Marguerite complimented her, and they took off.
They fetched the graduates, and by a quarter to eight, they all lined up at the top of the main landing staircase. Harriet, Esther, and Julia had opted for moderate hooped-dresses; safe choices. Cristina wore one with a high neckline and an open back, which made Marguerite wince, but that detail aside, it was demure enough. Charlotte's gown carried the most extravagance; a massive bow at the bottom of her spine, a matching bow in her curls, and a plunging decolletage. She'd dabbed a vibrant shade of red onto her lips and smirked as Marguerite sneered at her exuberant choice.
Downstairs, they weaved through throngs of servants and butlers, of lesser nobles and revered guests. She brought her crew through the King's Corridor, anxious to get the night over with.
"Remember; walk with poise, do not flinch, and curtsy low for the King and Queen."
When they reached the beginning of the East Wing, more attendees were clustered about, entering the Ballroom.
Off to the side, near the entrance, she saw a flock of men in navy, emerald, ruby, and beige suits. Some wore hats, others had combed their hair from their faces, a few sported sashes littered in badges of honor and merit.
The fathers—the escorts.
Céleste wished the graduates luck, and Marguerite ushered them towards their families. "Do me proud."
The contenders continued on to mingle with the gentlemen, and Marguerite's muscles twitched as she scanned the congregation of guests. She squinted at the colorful dresses, gulped at the sparkling jewels, balked at the frilly lace collars and hems. She cringed at the soft music escaping from the Ballroom, and her heart fluttered as the doors opened. A flash of light streamed out and blurred her vision.
She recalled herown white dress, feathery gloves, and the evil lady waiting atop the dais to humiliate her—
"Are you all right?" Céleste squeezed her elbow, drawing her to the present. "You seem sick."
She patted Céleste's forearm. "Crowds make me uneasy." She blinked away the fog from her eyes, thankful she had the young Junior to drag her from her memories when they overwhelmed her.
