The Golden Girl (#2 in the GOLDEN series)

•F I F T Y - S E V E N•

Marguerite kept busy, but Céleste caught her slight smirk. "As your Director, I am your chaperone and guardian while at court. And since your true legal guardian—your father—is too far to attend, and your brother will not be present, it falls on me to escort you, if the King approves. And he did."

"The King? And Sébastien... and you will..." Céleste's jaw lost its battle with gravity, and her legs quavered so much she had to hold her vanity chair to not collapse.

"We will not let you swim in shame. You will get your official debut tonight. Now," Marguerite twisted to the closet, "do you have anything suitable for a royal Presentation?"

Céleste stuck out her lower lip. "Well, there is—"

"—aha!" Marguerite tugged out a pristine white number with short sleeves, ruffles down the front, and bunched at the bottom.

"That was the one I was about to mention." Taking a few uneasy strides up to the garment as Marguerite held it up, Céleste caressed the silky fabric and flashed a sorrowful smile. "But it was for the Masquerade."

Marguerite swished past to lay it out on the bed. "We can use it for both. For tonight, it will require a few minor alterations, and tomorrow we will leave it to the seamstress to make it Masquerade-approved. We will need to lengthen the sleeves, un-bunch the bottom..." She paused, fingertips drumming on her chin. "Any minute now. I told Johanna—"

A knock interrupted her, followed by a soft voice in the hallway. "Miss Richel? Miss M.? May I come in?"

Marguerite clapped. "There she is!"

As she darted to the door, Céleste pinched herself. Was she dreaming?

As pain lanced from her wrist to her elbow, and splotches of red stained her skin, she hissed; no, it was not a dream.

The previous night's nervous knots untied. The grimace pulling at her cheeks released. The numbness in her heart fizzled as a flicker of hope reignited inside.

He did this for me?

A short, middle-aged brunette wearing light gray garb blanketed by a navy apron entered the area, peering at Céleste from head to toe.

She didn't smile, but her eyes weren't unkind. "Come closer, child."

Céleste obeyed, scurrying up to the woman as Marguerite closed the door and leaned against it. "This is the lead royal seamstress. She altered my dresses back in the day."

Céleste jumped—from Marguerite's revelation or the woman poking her with pins, she wasn't certain. "She knows who you are?"

Marguerite placed her index finger over her lips. "We have little time, so less talking and more obeying what she asks you to do, yes?"

The seamstress bade Céleste to hop onto a stool and dropped her large box of utensils and materials with a loud sigh. "Stand still." She circled Céleste, mouth scrunching left to right. "And the dress?" Marguerite whooshed to the bed and picked up the precious garb, handing it to her. "Hmm... exquisite fabric. Should not be too difficult to expand. I have identical silks downstairs." She snapped. "Put it on, then! Quickly!"

With a gulp, Céleste hastened to her changing panel and dropped out of her nightgown. Marguerite handed her undergarments and stays, then helped her tighten the laces in the bodice.

She'd only tried it on once, but the wonder it had caused her then reanimated now as if it were the first time.

As the multiple layers of satin ruffles rushed down her thighs and calves, Céleste shivered. "It is like wearing a cloud."