𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗆𝗒 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗁//𝒓. 𝒂. 𝒃

𝕠 𝕟 𝕖

Mother disapproved of fidgeting: the act, thought, or theory of application. Her children were expected to be composed, particularly in public settings. However, Augustin wasn't her biological daughter, and Callisto, Augustin's elder brother, wasn't her son either. Adrienne was merely their stepmother, having wed Lord Edmund Hywel sometime after his cherished wife passed away in childbirth.

A soft click of the tongue escaped the lady of the family. "Augustin," she uttered, rather sharply, "you shall sit properly." Augustin had been sitting properly, though perhaps her head was slightly inclined downward.

"Leave her be, Adrienne," interjected Madame Jean Sibylle in her distinct French accent as she grasped her friend's hand, "you cannot fault her, we all departed hastily just before dawn." Because Marguerite wanted to sleep in. They had used a portkey from Wales to Batignolles, and it seemed the farther the destination of a portkey, the more unwell Augustin would become. Augustin was certain Adrienne would find fault with her for that if it weren't true for her husband and youngest son as well.

Batignolles was enchanting. When they arrived, the sun was already in the sky, perhaps around seven in the morning. They had only a moment to admire the hills before they were ushered inside the Sibylle Estate, bathed, fed, and then dressed up.

And now, Adrienne, Augustin, and her younger sister Marguerite were ensconced in a carriage with Madame Sibylle and her daughter Camille.

"Mama," the girl inquired in her native tongue, "won't you instruct the footman to open the vent?" There was a hint of a whine in her voice. Camille was a mere fourteen-year-old girl who idolized Marguerite; it was evident she harbored no affection for Augustin.

"Yes," murmured Mother, "it is rather warm," she remarked, fanning herself briskly. Apparently, the French did not perspire, as Madame declined, stating they would arrive shortly.

Augustin, however, gladly accepted when Callisto cast a cooling charm over her upon learning that the carriages would be cramped.

The evening was pleasant enough, Augustin supposed, as the carriage joined the queue of others awaiting to disgorge their occupants at the House of Opal. The gentlemen had gone ahead of the ladies to assist them from the carriages upon their arrival. First came Madame Jean escorted by her husband, Monsieur Emile, then Augustin's own mother escorted by her father, only after a brief reminder to speak French and curb any impudence. Camille eagerly took Callisto's hand, and Marguerite would be assisted from the carriage by their youngest brother, Jules.

Augustin held onto the door frame as she alighted. Her father had encountered Lord Selwyn, and no doubt they were discussing ministry affairs. Camille clung to Callisto as if attaching herself to him would secure her a marriage contract.

Marguerite and Jules had clearly dashed off as soon as Marguerite exited the carriage, before Augustin had a chance to stand. She sighed as her heels touched the gravel. Tonight she had chosen her opera slippers; she enjoyed the click they made on the marble floors.

The House of Opal hosted the same ball every year, the only gathering they put on, by invitation only. It was a grand event that attracted pureblood families from across Europe. Augustin often felt the ball was a display of opulent grandeur rather than opal itself, but she would never voice such sentiments.

Madame Sibylle turned to Augustin with a wry smile, beckoning her with her outstretched hand. "Come, come."

Wrapping her arm around the older woman's bicep, Augustin nodded gratefully. "Thank you very much."