Following their actions in The Golden Girl, Marguerite and Céleste must deal with the repercussions of their recent behaviors.
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Marguerite has landed herself in quite the shameful predicament, but she needs to make priorities; to somehow mainta...
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Pacing, for once, didn't seem like a good idea to Céleste. Her head already spun, and she was dizzy from her inability to make a decision; to bounce to and fro wouldn't help her in the slightest.
The dizziness worsened when she realized she might not have a choice. Cordelia's revelations, her deep knowledge, her links to Dowager Clémentine—such things unsettled Céleste too much to hold her tongue.
She had to talk to Marguerite.
She'd been standing before the adjoining door for several minutes, tapping her foot so fast that pain shot up her calf, cramping her upper thigh. Her thoughts ate her on the inside, and to keep mum, to pretend she knew nothing, would make her no better than Marguerite and her lies.
Before she could convince herself to touch the door, it blew open, sending her teetering backwards.
"Céleste?" Marguerite appeared in the doorway, hair a mess, eyes alert, breaths hard and heavy. She sighted Céleste hunched over and gasped. "Oh dear, I am sorry, I did not mean to frighten you."
Céleste was mildly concerned with Marguerite's disheveled appearance, and straightened herself and crossed her arms. "What are you—"
Marguerite swished further into the room, biting her lip. "I am also sorry for barging in; I respect your pain, but I..." Her tone broke off as her gaze fell to the floor.
"You could have knocked—"
"—I had no one else to go to!" Marguerite scrunched her nose at the desperate sound of her voice. "I mean... yes, I should have knocked, but I feared you would not answer. I cannot disturb Antoine, and Sébastien still hates me..."
Céleste snapped—her only means to silence the Duchess long enough to get a word in. "You could also let me speak." The woman's mouth gaped open. "I was about to come to you."
Marguerite squared her shoulders and poked her chest out. "Coming to me?"
With a groan, Céleste spun from her and meandered to her vanity chair. "Not that it pleases me that I have to break my word." Once seated, she waved at Marguerite to continue entering the room. "But you first. What is it?"
Marguerite closed the door behind her and hobbled over, peering about for somewhere to sit. She grabbed at her wrist and stilled herself by the bed.
"Prince Jules summoned me to chat with him in the stables."
Barely settled on the cushions, Céleste hopped to her feet again. "He what?" All the emotions she'd worked so much to conceal resurfaced as if they'd never left her system. Did you accept?"
"I did." Marguerite's fingers wrapped tighter around her lower forearm. "And he told me everything. He is sick of operating for his mother. Romain does not want Adelaide, but Clémentine begged him to stay, anyway. The pregnancy is fake, a stunt to wound me. And he confirmed most of the Dowager's foul goals revolve around me and her desire for me to leave. Forever."
