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 gulped.
When lining up behind the contenders at the Dining Room entrance, they'd spotted her and snickered. They'd asked her why she was there and what she wanted, snorted at her formal-wear, commented on the eccentricityof her outfit.
When she'd raised her invitation, they'd laughed. Scowled. Snarled. Only Esther and Harriet had shuffled over to verify the note she held and flashed her weak smiles in acknowledgment. Cristina nodded at her, though with little kindness; but the remaining ladies continued to curl their lips while scrutinizing her as they all entered the Dining Room.
The golden threading of her dress glimmered in the candlelight as she swept into the room. Bright crimson walls enclosed them, littered with royal portraits and landscapes. A massive chandelier hung above the long and large mahogany table.
Céleste froze, thinking of retreating to her chambers—but Esther and Harriet nudged her towards where the Queen stood waiting for them.
An array of ladies in vibrant gowns of all colors of the rainbow fanned out around her. "Welcome," she said, as the contenders and Céleste lowered into curtsies.
The royal woman wore a pristine white gown that extended about her perfect figure like regal flower petals. Her ruby crown glistened atop her fiery hair, piled up in a giant bun of glittering curls.
They followed her to the table where she explained seat assignments; those closest to her were early favorites, she claimed.
The Queen motioned at who sat where, but Céleste worried. The farther they walked, she realized the Queen might have forgottenher, or sought to shame her by making her serve the meal, like her ladies-in-waiting.
Yet when they reached the extremity where the Queen's radiant dinner-throne rested, the monarch's wife pointed at the spot to its right. "Here, Miss Richel. At my side."
Céleste hadn't prepared for the option of sitting beside the Queen; she hadn't prepared to be exposed as Sébastien's front-runner so soon.
Cristina was given the chair to her left, which seemed to delight her, as she batted her lashes and smiled.
Directly across from Céleste, a brunette with lapis eyes that swirled with hatred glowered at her as she adjusted her olive-colored skirts.
Frances?
Céleste remembered her; daughter of the Marquess of Mara, disliked by Marguerite, and Prince Jules' plaything at the Inaugural Ball.
Just as she tried to picture Charlotte's reaction, the viperous blonde arrived. Her cheeks flushed with heat seeing Frances nearest the Queen.
She is second best, and she despises it.
By her was Harriet, her face reflecting her permanent surprise at being invited to anything important. She kept her gaze averted, but a few times peered at the person sitting across from her. Céleste tipped backwards to identify who—she caught the bouffant layers of pink silk belonging to Esther. She also saw Julia, in vivid scarlet and white, frowning as she settled to Esther's left.
