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 had read about Presentation Ceremonies. She knew the rules, the general proceeding of the festivities, the customs; but a royal Ceremony was different. The frills, the extravagances, the mix of traditions—it all sent her into a pleasurable trance of excitement.
The polished floors seemed to oscillate beneath her feet, reflecting the heaps of jewels dripping from sumptuous gowns and milky necks. She smelled the pastries and finger foods from the lavish buffet. A sea of noblemen in their best frock coats and shiny shoes pranced about, ladies in hooped dresses on their arms. The clashing colors bedazzled her; the vibrant and striped patterns, the silk and velvet fabrics, made it difficult for her not to gawk.
Atop the dais, the Queen bewildered everyone with her ravishing crimson number and her scarlet locks crashing over her shoulders. At her side, the King was dashing too, but appeared elsewhere. He winced at any contact with the Queen, skimmed through the cluster of courtiers with little interest, and stared at Marguerite a lot.
Céleste fought to ignore that minor detail. No one else noticed, after all—or if they did, they didn't care. Yet the King continued to drink in the Director's features, her silhouette, the small curves beneath her mustard dress.
At first, Céleste couldn't tell if Marguerite was aware of it. The longer she sought to figure it out, the more the situation made the wheels in her brain spin too fast and caused a migraine.
It had to be nothing. A mistake. Her eyes misleading her.
To disregard the nagging thoughts inside, she studied the contenders. None drew her intrigue more than Harriet, deflated and depressed, her shoulders slumped, her chin dipped down. Beside her, her father whispered to another man Céleste had never seen. Then both glowered at someone on the platform.
That is strange.
Her stomach growled, drawing her from whatever the sordid Vidame was concocting. She yearned to discover what type of baked goods were available at the buffet. She prepared to ask Marguerite to come with her, and that was when she saw it—
Marguerite glancing at the King; and the King glancing back.
So she does know he has been ogling her!
He didn't participate in the rumbling discussions taking place by him and had no care for his beautiful wife. Shutting out everyone, he only paid attention to Marguerite. His lips tugged up in a slight smile, but Marguerite whipped around to disconnect from his prodding—and jammed into Céleste.
Moments had passed since then, but Céleste frowned now, recalling it. Had she compromised her chance at gaining the Director's trust? Marguerite acted as though nothing had happened, as if there was no odd connection between her and the King.
As Marguerite fetched them drinks, Céleste couldn't help peeping at the platform. The King had disappeared, but the Dowager sat in her chaise, scrutinizing the crowd as her ladies fanned about, gossiping. The Queen hid behind the thrones to adjust her décolleté. Prince Jules lingered to the right, in deep conversation with someone Céleste didn't know, and Prince Sébastien, standing at the other extremity—
