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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Marguerite struggled to get Céleste into the castle. Getting upstairs was the worst—every few steps, Céleste would stop, fan her face, and mutter, "Why me? Why me?
It took so long to haul her into her bedroom, Marguerite worried she'd be late to oversee the meeting between Esther and Emeric.
"What did he tell you to get you so flustered?"
Céleste meandered to her bed and plopped atop the mattress with a sigh. "He said I fascinatehim." Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson as she shoved her head into a pillow. "Fascinate? Me? Why me?"
Rolling her eyes, Marguerite exited the room and took a heavy breath. Teenage hormones—she didn'tmiss those. But as a Director and chaperone, she'd have many more meetings like this one to supervise.
Bracing herself for more flushing and gasping, she hastened to Esther's door, and knocked. "Round two."
***
Clad in a bright pink dress with a voluminous magenta flower weighing on her auburn curls, Esther appeared jittery as they entered the gardens. When Marguerite introduced her to Emeric, she smiled widely as he drank her in, already enraptured by her exuberant personality.
Marguerite gave them space and settled on a bench as they paraded near the pond. Distracted, she lost sight of them while thinking back on Céleste's encounter with Sébastien.
Why her? Marguerite also wondered. Yes, Céleste was a beauty, but she was young and clueless.
She'd sensed the spark between the Prince and her ward the moment their eyes met. An invisible link establishing between them, an attraction wrapping them in an isolated bubble. Their encounter had woken butterflies in her stomach, too, reminding her of the night she and Antoine had first admitted their feelings.
But the butterflies exploded, and pangs of pain replaced the gentle flapping of their wings. Hatred took her nostalgia's place, and she cringed as her heart was tearing apart all over again. Ripping, puncturing, shredding.
Would Sébastien betray Céleste as Antoine had betrayed her? Would he dare?
She gritted her teeth. She wished she hadn't allowed them to meet. Sébastien was nothing like his elder brother, but who knew what had happened to him while he was abroad? Who knew if he hadn't become a heart-breaking scoundrel, or a flirtatious alcoholic like Jules?
What if Clémentine did pull his strings, using him as a puppet for her sick games?
Marguerite would have to pay for Céleste's agony if the Prince had led her on. She'd have to pick up the pieces of the girl's shattered spirit if he deserted her.
A giggle from nearby yanked her back to the garden, to its fresh breezes, its pine-scented air. Away from her not-quite-healed heartbreak and back to the task at hand—chaperoning.
