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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After screeching about Marguerite's revelation, Céleste paced. And paced. And paced more. The clock ticked away, each hour bringing on new waves of panic, new questions, new concerns.
When the clock's hands reached eleven, the Director—the Duchess!—insisted she had best get ready.
"Sébastien prefers simplicity," said Marguerite, choosing a pastel orange gown from the wardrobe. "He will not like you over-powdered," she added, while covering Céleste's skin in thin layers of face-paint. "You need to sweep your hair up, nestle it by your neck," she claimed, brushing through Céleste's matted curls.
As she smoothed her dress, she admired the small hoop that lifted the petticoat. As a basic girl in a pretty outfit, she had no clue what she was doing. Her cheeks flushed as she pulled up her collar, her breasts not quite filling the bodice.
She'd had no chance to fret over the fact that the timing of the invitation puzzled her, coinciding with her eerie dream about him. She'd protested, asking Marguerite to plead with the Prince for more time—but the former Duchess refused.
"There isno time," she'd said, inspecting every crease in Céleste's gown, ensuring the lip-balm she'd made her wear was in place. "Whatever the Prince's intentions... well, you heard the King. He must hurry and decide."
Céleste had clammed up at that, shocked that a Prince so handsome and mature would consider her as a potential bride.
Jaw clenched, muscles stiff, she swirled to Marguerite, who perched in her sitting area, sipping on her third cup of coffee. "I think I am ready."
With a weak smile, Marguerite deposited her mug onto the tea-table. "Yes, you are. As I advised you thirty minutes ago." She sighed and got up.
Céleste's hand swung out, as if to stop Marguerite from coming any closer. "First, I must ask: why did you lie to me? Why did you say the story in my book was a myth, a fantasy?"
Flinching, Marguerite set her hands on her hips and tipped forward to look at the tips of her shoes. "When I found out you had the book, I wanted to confiscate it." She shook her head. "But my handmaiden told me you were innocent and I prayed you would never guess it all. Guess who I was. So yes, I fibbed, hoping to persuade you away from the mystery that is my life."
"But how has no one at court recognized you?"
Marguerite fingered at a golden pendant around her neck. "The Dowager erased me from history. From what I understand, she also bribed the aristocrats at court to forget I ever existed."
Céleste deflated, overcome with a mix of sorrow and irritation that such a high-placed woman would stoop so low. "How awful. How cruel."
"Yes, well," Marguerite huffed, releasing her necklace as she swooshed closer, "it is in the past. So far no one has figured out who I am. And it must stay that way. Especially with the girls and how they enjoy gossip." She straightened up. "This is not the moment to dwell on such details. We must leave."
