The Golden Girl (#2 in the GOLDEN series)

•T H I R T Y - F O U R•

As they grumbled—some glared at Céleste, well aware she outed them—Marguerite took note of their outfits. Harriet's open-back bodice was a bit daring, but she accepted it. Cristina's plunging neckline made her hiccup, but she conceded; the girls needed to make their own impressions.

Downstairs, they glided by servants and butlers; and closer to the Ballroom doors, they swerved past nobles in radiant silks and mountains of jewels. A faint piano melody reached Marguerite's ears.

From what she could tell from the clusters of aristocrats out in the East Wing, the royals hadn't arrived.

"Go on in," she said to her girls. "The herald will announce you, and you may wait close to the dais." The five hurried inside, but when Céleste tried to follow, Marguerite snatched her wrist. "No, you stay with me."

Céleste squinted at her. "Are we not going in?"

She applied pressure on Céleste's shoulders, urging the girl to look at her. "Tonight will be hard for you." She drew a sympathetic smile across her mouth, taking in Céleste's pastel pink gown. The rosewood bows trailing down its bodice gave her an air of innocence. She appeared so put-together; but Marguerite knew better. "You have a lot on your mind, and your heart must be heavy."

A visible lump formed at the top of Céleste's exposed throat. "I will be all right."

"You will." Marguerite squeezed her shoulder tighter. "It is preferable this way. When your turn comes, you will meet a wonderful man who will not be in such a hurry to marry. He will not mislead or lie to you. Séb is a Prince with a deadline. He cannot follow his heart, but when it is right, I hope you can."

Her soul ached as she spoke—she knew Céleste's pain better than most.

"Thank you, Marguerite."

Marguerite guided her through the crowds clogging the entrance. The grand chandelier sent glittering dots onto the polished burnt-orange floors. Seas of colorful nobles stood on either side of the crimson carpet, chatting, laughing, fanning their faces while surveying the arrivals. The Royal Orchestra, filling the room with gentle hymns to pass the time while waiting for the royals.

The herald cleared his throat. "Miss M., Director of the Totresian Royal Academy for Noble Girls." Heads turned, eyes scanned her, whispers erupted from painted mouths. "And her lady-in-waiting, Miss Céleste Richel, daughter of the Marquess of Valeville!"

Curious onlookers ogled them as they swished inside. Marguerite's chin weighed more than several tons of marble, but she held it up enough to show she had no fear. She kept her shoulders straight, sucked all her anticipation into her gut.

They settled behind the eight contenders, near the platform. Marguerite sidled closest to Charlotte, eager to survey her behavior with Jules.

Céleste nudged Marguerite, about to say something; but the herald's thrumming staff stopped her. Last-minute courtiers poured into the area, anxious to get to their spots. The Orchestra halted its melodies, and everyone swiveled to the doors.

"Their Royal Majesties, King Antoine and Queen Adelaide of Totresia!"

Marguerite spun to witness their arrival. They marched in fast, as if on a mission; Antoine in a vibrant red coat, the rest of him in white, and on his arm, his stunning Queen in a white dress trimmed with gold, sprinkled with roses. He appeared on edge, stressed; she smiled wide, happy as ever.

As if she had not confessed her woes to me.

Attendees lowered into bows and curtsies as two more figures paraded up to the doors.