Mademoiselle Bertin’s dress flowed around Lilas’s figure like a cloud. The gold colour in the candlelight emphasised the combination of her complexion and her slenderness that needed no other enhancement. The tight-fitting sleeves stopped at the elbow and bloomed with dainty ruffles which made her arms appear most delicate and feminine. Her bosom nearly spilled out of the low neckline. She’d pinned a flower in the centre.
Esme had outdone herself as she’d prepared Lilas’s hair. Her stepmother had wanted to hire the Queen’s own hairdresser for the occasion, but Lilas preferred Esme’s styling.
It had taken hours to get ready, but for once Lilas was thankful for the care that had gone into her appearance.
‘My belly is in knots,’ she said as she pursed her vermilion-stained lips. ‘I have never been so nervous in my entire life.’
‘Never, mademoiselle?’ Esme quipped with the ease of a trusted servant. ‘Not even when you had the exhibition almost a month ago?’
Was it really possible to have had her life change so drastically in such a short time?
Yes, it is, a voice in her ear reminded her. You need only to look at your life to know that it’s true.
To think that Her Majesty wished for her and Bastien to meet in her private apartments at the little château her husband, His Majesty the King, had given her when he’d ascended the throne this time last year.
‘Do you really suppose she has the walls covered in gold and diamonds?’ asked her maid.
Lilas tilted her head as Esme made an adjustment to the two-feet-tall pouf balanced on her head. ‘That seems a waste,’ she scoffed. ‘What use are gold and diamonds on a wall?’
Her maid pondered this, and then gave a quick nod. ‘It does seem rather silly, mademoiselle.’
‘There are many rumours about Her Majesty. Everything from the story that she spends the entire coffers of the country on one dress to the fact that she has twelve lovers at one time.’
Esme took a step back, her eyes shining as she looked over her mistress’s appearance. Lilas scrutinised her reflection but could see nothing amiss. She was as perfect as she could be.
‘Esme, you are truly the most skilled hairdresser in all of Paris.’
The maid blushed prettily under her mob-cap as she curtsied. ‘Merci, mademoiselle.’
The door opened behind her, and her stepmother entered. Her blue eyes assessed Lilas. As she waited for her to say something a wisp of sound caught her ears, and she saw Soeur Calme standing behind her mistress.
Although the nun remained silent, as usual, she managed to show her satisfaction. A smile graced the normally pinched face, giving her an illusion of beauty.
Still her stepmother said nothing. Finally, unable to stand the silence, Lilas asked, ‘Well, Belle-Mère. What do you think?’
When she met her stepmother’s blue gaze, she could almost feel the iciness piercing her skin. ‘The Duc de Languedoc will be here soon, Lilas.’ She shifted her gaze to Esme. ‘Go and make ready Mademoiselle Moreau’s wrap.’
The maid left to do as ordered.
‘Why aren’t you saying anything? Will I do before the Queen or not?’
‘You look very lovely, Lilas,’ the woman said as she stepped further into the room. ‘I only hope you don’t arouse the Queen’s jealousy.’
‘You mustn’t believe everything you’ve heard about the Queen, Belle-Mère.’
A shrewd look came into her stepmother’s eye. ‘You’re only saying that because she’s given you patronage.’
Lilas glanced once more at her exquisite appearance. Esme really had outdone herself. She would be sure to give her some sort of special recognition and privilege.
‘That may be,’ she agreed, with a downward bend of her head. ‘But I would never bite the hand that feeds me. Especially not the Queen’s.’
‘I think the Duc will not be able to keep his eyes off you once he sees you.’
She could only hope so!
What would Bastien think when he saw her? She had dressed for him as well as for herself and the Queen.
Esme returned with her wrap, and her stepmother and Soeur Calme left. She held out a long silk cloak lined with white velvet and a muff made of the same.
She exited the room and began her descent. Her feet carefully took one step before the next, as she couldn’t see the stairs. Thankfully, she had gone up and down these stairs hundreds of times over the last four years.
When she came to the landing that led to the second level of stairs she saw that Bastien stood there, waiting for her. Adorned in full Court dress, and a new white wig with curls tucked underneath, he wore a powder-blue waistcoat and breeches that hugged his trim frame with an almost womanly caress. For the occasion, he’d put the slightest hint of rouge on his cheeks, to bring definition to them.
His golden eyes locked on to her with such intensity she almost missed the last step and he helped her down.
‘Merci.’
‘I have never seen a more beautiful woman than you.’ Awe filled his voice.
She blushed at the way he couldn’t take his eyes off her. ‘And you are very handsome, monsieur,’ she said shyly.
What woman wouldn’t be attracted to such masculine beauty? He would shame the statue of Michelangelo’s David. And he was escorting her to the Queen!
She thought of their day on Pont Neuf, when they’d played a game of pretend. Tonight she was a princess, adorned in her finest, and Bastien her stalwart prince.
The night sky above them twinkled with stars, and as she peered out through the window of the carriage she couldn’t believe she was there. An orphaned girl turned servant was now going to meet the Queen. She would bow before Her Majesty and stand before the rest of Court as a wielder of colour.
Even as joy rippled through her, it was followed by a hint of uncertainty. Her stepmother had trained her well, but would she do anything to embarrass herself or Bastien? Would she be able to stand before the unrelenting scrutiny of the Queen’s Court as they assessed her? What about—?
‘Don’t worry about it.’
She pulled her unseeing gaze from the passing scenery. ‘How did you know what I was thinking?’
He opened his mouth, but she said it before he could.
‘There are no secrets between us.’
The carriage swayed back and forth as they made their way to the fabled court of Versailles. Butterflies took flight in her belly.
‘Do you know what this reminds me of? The day Madame la Comtesse and Pierre brought me into society.’ She laughed, seeing herself as she must have been. ‘I could barely believe it. I’d no idea of the hardship that would come later.’
‘What do you mean?’
Her mind travelled to the beginnings of her new life four years ago. ‘There are so many rules... From how one dresses to where one sits, and even the proper behaviour of men and women. I had to learn all those things. And not everyone was kind or forgiving when I fumbled in my learning.’
‘Is that what happened? Some were unkind to you?’
She gave a shaky laugh. ‘It didn’t matter about my station—whether I was a servant or a noble. All I could think was that I sat in a seat of nobility and had no right to be there.’
‘And now?’
She lifted her shoulders. ‘And now none of that matters. I wear the mantle of nobility well.’
Bastien’s eyes roved over her again. ‘That you do. Impeccably.’
Smiling, she glanced outside to see the towering, massive palace that was Château de Versailles.
Decorative fountains spewed out water in dazzling displays of artistry. The courtyards were manicured to perfection, with hedges cut and hewn within inches of precision.
From what she had heard and seen in illustrations, Versailles possessed the most exquisite, beautiful architecture. The Hall of Mirrors, where the King and Queen gave royal receptions and where nobles were received to see if they were invited to be part of Court, boasted mirrors from floor to ceiling.
The carriage turned towards the intimidating building and trepidation traipsed down her spine. Panic filled her. What did she know about being in the belly of a gilded beast like the Court at Versailles? If the people who lived under its roof could intimidate the Queen, how much more badly would she be intimidated?
‘Mademoiselle Moreau?’
She jumped and looked at Bastien, who had an understanding smile on his face. ‘Don’t let this building or all those people inside make you afraid. You will go in there and discover something you won’t have realised before.’
‘And what is that?’
‘You’re better than most of them.’
There were people everywhere. The women were dressed in gowns with poufs as tall as three feet, bearing all sorts of headdresses depicting anything from a simple and elegant work of feathers and flowers to a battleship with sails and miniature sailors. And men dressed in high Court fashion with shiny white wigs danced attendance on the women.
She’d dreamed of this moment ever since she’d received the invitation. And of being here with Bastien by her side.
She smoothed the material of her gown and turned a grateful eye on Bastien. Her breath caught as she realised he’d been staring at her the whole time. Did he see her apprehension? Her doubts?
Climbing out of the carriage, she waited while Bastien exited.
Turning to her, he asked, ‘Are you ready?’
She shook her head. ‘But that has never stopped me.’
The beauty of the palace glittered around them like the most majestic jewel of a crown. Bastien tried to keep his face impassive, so he didn’t look as impressed as he felt. Everywhere his eyes landed was a feast for the senses. Luxury was a pauper compared to this ostentatious display.
Diamonds sparkled. Gold glinted. Marble shone like sunlight.
‘How extraordinary!’ Lilas exclaimed as they followed an attendant to where the Queen would be hosting them.
‘Even during my Grand Tour I would have had difficulty finding something as spectacular as this.’
They passed by the Hall of Mirrors. The illustrations hadn’t done it justice. It was as if the King had taken parts of heaven and stored them in his castle. It was almost overwhelming. It was night now, but in the daytime it must be filled with the glory of the divine. Darkness wouldn’t be able to find a foothold there.
But perhaps that was the point.
‘Do you see their faces?’
At Lilas’s low murmur, Bastien pulled his gaze from the architecture and glanced around. A few of the palace’s occupants were gathered about.
‘What about them?’ he asked. He looked around. They all looked very unimpressed with their surroundings. ‘I wonder if it is because they are so used to this kind of glory that they no longer see it for what it is,’ he mused.
‘I could stay here all day and paint. There is so much to see.’
The attendant who led them was taking them by sparsely populated areas. However, it seemed the closer they came to where the Queen was, the more people became aware of them.
Bastien couldn’t help but remark, ‘They’ve all come to see the circus act.’
His resentment began to boil. When would it stop, this need for society to treat him as if he were different from them? Would he always be a source of curiosity?
More and more people followed them as they were led to the Queen. He could hear them whispering and talking about who they both were.
How important it was that they had both put their best clothing on? Lilas had taken his breath away when he’d seen her. And he was proud to have such a refined woman on his arm.
For a moment—just a moment—he felt the old weight of pressure on his shoulders. And then, for the first time, he did what his father had told him to do.
He ignored them all and concentrated on the woman by his side.
Lilas discreetly pressed her hand into his and squeezed it. That comforted him more than anything else.
When Lilas set her eyes on the Queen for the first time, she knew for certain that Madame Bertin only provided the very best for Her Majesty. Her own gown was a common rag compared to what the Queen wore.
Sitting in a high-backed chair, Her Majesty the Queen of France, Marie Antoinette, was adorned in the most beautiful gown Lilas had ever seen. The skirt was draped over extensive panniers—hooped undergarments that spread much further than hers, almost four feet on either side. The width provided everyone with the opportunity to see how well made her attire was.
The Queen was adorned with jewels and draped in a pea-coloured silk luxuriously textured with lace. She was topped with a three-foot powdered pouf bearing several peacock feathers, a large silk bow of a matching colour and a tiny bird’s cage.
The woman looked like a goddess.
No wonder the rest of the world eyed her. Lilas had seen fashion plates of the Queen’s gowns, but to see one in person was fabulous!
Lilas almost envied her—but then she looked at the Queen’s face. The artist in her delved behind the white-painted face and vermillion-tinged lips. She looked past the pomp of her rich surroundings and saw...
A child.
Not a bad child, but one who didn’t understand what her place was.
Lilas had heard rumours of how she had not been able to entice the King to her bed since they’d married when she was four and ten, only seven years ago. It was whispered that the Queen’s Austrian mother berated her constantly for this inability.
One could not say that Her Majesty was a naturally beautiful woman. But she wasn’t plain or hideous. And she’d been made to be beautiful.
There was something rather tragic about it, although Lilas didn’t exactly know what that was.
She sent all other thoughts away as she moved with Bastien to stand before the Queen. With as perfect a motion as possible, she gave a deep curtsy while Bastien gave a formal bow.
A woman stood next to the Queen, obviously a servant of some closeness, and said, ‘Vôtre Majesté, may I present the Duc de Languedoc, Bastien St Clare, and his betrothed, Mademoiselle Lilas Moreau.’
A hush settled over the room where everyone was gathered. One of the Queen’s private apartments in the château, where only those most favoured were permitted entry.
A former servant girl...summoned before the Queen.
Yet this was where she was meant to be. What she’d always believed. It didn’t matter about her past. She had truly become what she wanted. And no one could take it from her.
A deep sense of satisfaction settled over her as she stood and lifted her head to meet the frank gaze of the Queen.
‘I am honoured that you have summoned us, Vôtre Majesté,’ Bastien said, his deep voice seeming to reverberate around the room.
‘I am glad to meet you, Monsieur le Duc.’
Her eyes came to rest on Lilas. ‘You are a wonderful artist, Mademoiselle Moreau. I was so impressed with Almost Eve.’
‘You are very kind, Madame la Reine.’
‘Not at all.’ The Queen laughed with a soft titter. ‘False modesty will not get you anywhere here, Mademoiselle Moreau. You have a superb talent.’
‘Merci beaucoup, Madame la Reine.’
The Queen’s eyes drifted to Bastien, who had stood silent during this exchange. ‘And you are the son of the last Duc de Languedoc. The King’s father did not extend an invitation to Versailles to him because he had done something no one among us had.’
Thinking of all he had told her, Lilas wondered where the Queen was going with her words.
Bastien looked stunned. ‘And may I ask, Vôtre Majesté, what was that?’
‘He loved your mother.’
The simplicity of the statement made Lilas’s heart lurch. She glanced over at Bastien, but he kept his face inscrutable.
The Queen motioned for Bastien to approach her. He sent a quick glance to Lilas before he did so, moving to stand just a few feet away.
‘Madame la Reine...?’
‘I hope by inviting you here I have in some way atoned for that gross error. You are welcome to stay at Versailles if you so wish, for you are the son of a noble house.’
Bastien stiffened, and Lilas fought to keep the tears from her eyes. It was an honour to be invited to Versailles and Bastien deserved it.
After a moment he said, ‘You are most kind, Vôtre Majesté. I shall consider your offer.’
‘As you should, monsieur.’ She gave another curt nod. ‘As you should... For once you are here you can never escape, as your father did.’
There was a note of warning in her voice. Not in a dark fashion, but in a way that said should Bastien accept her invitation to stay at Versailles he would be irrevocably drawn into Court life and all its vices.
The Queen’s words had sent a surge of emotion through him, but Bastien masked it with a bow of acknowledgement. He’d done it. The House of St Clare had regained favour with the Crown.
So why, though he was pleased for this happy event, did he not feel quite the resounding sense of accomplishment he’d thought he would?
His father had claimed he’d never once pined for entrance into Versailles, although Bastien hadn’t believed him.
‘Should I live in a castle or eke out an existence in a hovel, as long as your mother is with me I am the happiest of men,’ he had said.
Perhaps the old man had truly meant it after all.
When Lilas turned, Bastien could see that her eyes shone with pleasure. She looked as regal as the Queen herself...graceful and lovely. So far from the tearful cinder girl he’d held in his arms all those years ago.
A longing to share his triumph with her pervaded his being. So it was disappointing when he and Lilas were separated for dinner.
Everything about the meal was meant to engage all the senses. Roasted pheasant dressed in feathers, pâté stuffed inside a golden crust, and yet more delectable dishes, dressed and decorated to tempt the appetite. No less than ten courses were served, consisting of all sorts of food: cooked turtle served in its shell, clear soup and broth, new vegetables and airy and creamy desserts, along with other mouthwatering delicacies.
Bastien had been seated next to Fleur, the Duchesse de Villers-Cotterêts. Through their conversation, he learned she was a princesse du sang. A beautiful widow with pale skin and unpowdered black hair coiled about her head. Dressed impeccably in a gown of sky blue and white, she was a vision of loveliness.
‘Is the turtle not to your liking?’ she asked him now.
Bastien blinked from his unseeing stare and turned to the woman by his side. ‘It is, Madame la Duchesse. I was simply lost in my thoughts.’
‘I can understand that, Monsieur le Duc. Madame la Reine has bestowed a great honour upon you.’
At her answer, he cocked his head to one side, sending unwanted thoughts away. ‘How perceptive of you.’
‘I am a very observant woman.’ Her heavy-lidded eyes roamed over him. ‘I make it a practice to be aware of...interesting people.’
Bastien saw encouragement in her eyes, but she wasn’t as blatant as some women he’d met in the past. She simply looked as if she wanted to know more about him.
‘Is that so?’ he said.
‘Who hasn’t heard about the new Duc de Languedoc and his betrothed who was once his servant? An extraordinary story, to say the least.’
He glanced down the long table to see Lilas in conversation with another man, her face animated and bright. Forcing himself to not scowl, he took in the other man’s features, seeing that he didn’t lack in physical appeal. Bright skin. Robust physique. Alert eyes riveted on Lilas. Like himself, he wore a touch of rouge on his cheeks to add definition, and a white wig crowned his proud head.
‘I see Mademoiselle Moreau has captured the eye of Saint-Georges.’
‘Saint-Georges?’ Why did that name sound so familiar?
‘In full, Joseph Bologne, Chevalier de Saint-Georges.’
‘I thought I recognised him. We enjoyed his violin concerto performance not too long ago.’
As if the man had heard his name—although that was impossible with the noise—he glanced up and met Bastien’s eye. He gave a small, elegant nod, and Bastien returned it.
‘Believe me, Saint-Georges and yourself are the kind of men many a woman would love to...’ The woman stopped suggestively and then went on. ‘He’s a skilled violinist as well as a composer and a fencer. And a confidante of the Queen.’
From the way Lilas was gazing at the man, he could tell she was enamoured of him. Saint-Georges bent his head and said something, causing Lilas to grace the man with a genuine smile.
Perhaps because he had heard Lilas say the phrase so often, he was easily able to read her lips as she said to Saint-Georges, ‘How wicked you are!’
Bastien pulled his eyes away. She’d often said that to him, and he’d felt as if the phrase was only meant for his ears. How dared she call another man wicked? Bastien was her wicked one!
You’re mad...and you’re starting to sound like Père.
Tonight, the thought didn’t upset him as it usually did. He pulled his concentration from them and set himself to enjoy the company of the Duchesse de Villers-Cotterêts.
The meal went on for more than two hours before the Queen stood, signalling its end. During that time it occurred to Bastien that the Duchesse was exactly the sort of woman he’d been searching for to solidify his place in society. As a princesse du sang, she had the pedigree. As the widow of a man twenty years her senior, she had wealth equal to his own. As a woman, she wasn’t a true beauty, but she had striking features which drew the eye.
She’d made it obvious that she found Bastien to her liking and held a genuine interest in him as a man, not simply as a duc. Despite that, her conversation tended towards gossip, and remarking on the other guests in cold, cutting ways. Never vulgar, however. She was a duchesse after all.
Perhaps for some other man Fleur would be a delightful companion. As for him, he knew she would bore him to tears before the ink had even dried on the marriage contract. A woman like her wouldn’t challenge him or set his mind afire. When her eyes touched his, though they gleamed with interest, there wasn’t a spark of flame in their depths.
She could never ignite him like Lilas did.
The admission almost made him start to sweat. It sounded far too much like his father’s feelings for his mother. That overwhelming desire for her which had utterly consumed his sire.
Like an automaton, Bastien escorted the Duchesse when everyone followed the Queen as she went to another room that had been arranged for dancing. Lilas still stood with Saint-Georges, who gallantly kissed her hand, drawing laughter and teasing from the surrounding crowd, before joining a small ensemble of musicians and beginning to entertain them with lively music.
The pleased expression on Lilas’s face only made Bastien angrier.
‘Shall we join in the festivities, monsieur?’ Fleur suggested.
Inhaling a deep breath, he forced a grin. ‘It is a party after all, isn’t it, madame?’
One that couldn’t end soon enough for him.
Lilas searched fruitlessly for Bastien. Was he still with that stunningly beautiful woman who had kept his eyes focused on her the entire time during the meal?
When she’d looked at them together, Lilas had known immediately that Bastien had found the ideal woman he’d been searching for. From the top of her coiled head to the silver shoes, she met the description of what he wanted for his wife in every way.
That woman was perfect for Bastien.
It had taken all her strength to focus on Saint-Georges as he spoke with her, but then he’d drawn her out of her melancholy until she was truly enjoying herself, despite the pang in her heart.
When the dancing began, and a gentleman asked her to dance, she accepted, praying she’d remember all the steps she’d learned.
Soon, she thought nothing of it as the music became livelier and more energetic. Sweat moistened her face, but no more than anyone else, and she enjoyed herself. She danced for an hour before she stopped to catch her breath, ambling over to a secluded corner near the exit from the room.
She hid behind a large plant, trying to calm her breathing and soothe her disappointed heart. Her eyes flitted over the throng of people still dancing. After tonight, Bastien would come to her and formally ask her to break off their engagement, as that was what they’d agreed upon. Then she’d have to watch him and listen to the gossip as he and that woman...
‘Mademoiselle Moreau?’
Her breath caught in her chest at the sound of Bastien’s voice behind her.
She spun around. ‘Monsieur? What are you doing here?’
The moment the words were out of her mouth she wanted to take them back. What a silly question to ask!
He stepped closer to her. ‘Do I really need to tell you?’
She shook her head, and at the same time the music began again. Without breaking eye contact, Bastien extended his hand and she took it. She couldn’t do anything but take it. He led her out to the floor just as the music for a minuet started—a haunting tune with a violin that was undoubtedly being played by Saint-Georges.
Lilas was sure there were other people around her, but they all seemed to disappear from her sight.
Only she and Bastien remained.
He was a good dancer, moving with the masculine grace and precision the dance called for. His eyes were locked on hers, and no matter how far apart they were, she felt the pull of them like a magnet. Whenever they came back together their hands touched, and Bastien allowed his fingers to brush against the flesh of her arm, sending her nerve endings tingling with sensation.
It was so wicked of him, for just as she began to enjoy it, the dance called for him to move away. And then, when they came together once more, he’d do it again.
It was a strange sort of seduction that left her breathless and teetering on tenterhooks, waiting like some eager child for the next brushstroke of his finger, even as she knew it would torment her anew.
This was perhaps another game of pretend. In which she could forget that their engagement was only for show. That his ideal bride was waiting for him in the crowd. She could pretend that the look in Bastien’s eyes meant he wanted her, Lilas, in every sense of the word. That she was more than good enough for him. That she was perfect...just as he was perfect for her.
When his hands touched her again, he stared at her intently, and awareness arced through her like lightning. His finger trailed down, caressing her inner wrist, and she forgot everything else as she shuddered at the sensation. Bastien’s eyes shimmered like molten gold.
The dance came to an end, and Bastien looked as if he wanted to eat her alive. Lilas wanted nothing more than to be devoured by her lion.
‘Perhaps,’ he said hoarsely, ‘we should go to the—’
‘Mademoiselle Moreau?’
Lilas jerked round and curtsied as the Queen came towards her, followed by her entourage.
‘Madame la Reine.’
‘Come...talk to me,’ the Queen commanded, although she smiled in a gracious way, and Lilas did as she bade—although she peeked behind her for one last chance to see Bastien.
He’d just straightened from his bow when she saw his ideal woman come to him, laughing up into his face.
Lilas felt her heart drop.
Without a word, she followed the Queen, with a gaping wound in the centre of her chest.
‘Tell me about yourself, Mademoiselle Moreau.’
Lilas didn’t know if she could even speak. The sight of Bastien, staring so intently into that woman’s face...
‘What would you like to know?’ she asked.
‘Everything you can tell me. For instance, what about your mother and father? What do you know of them?’
She swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘Very little, Madame la Reine. There is much mystery surrounding my birth.’
‘Is there?’ The Queen’s eyes widened. ‘Such as?’
‘How did I end up at the orphanage? Who told my father I had died?’
‘Fair...those are important questions. How long will you search for the answers?’
‘I do not know, Madame la Reine. But I have taken the philosophy that I cannot change what I do not know.’
‘Indeed.’
They were walking outside Versailles, along a secluded pathway hemmed in by conical trees all standing together like soldiers. A soft wind blew against them and Lilas lifted her head into the breeze.
‘The wind feels fresh and invigorating here,’ the Queen remarked. ‘Heavenly scented by all the flowers in the garden. There are times when I come here to smell the flowers and remember...’
Her voice trailed off. Lilas wondered again at her sad expression. ‘Remember what, Madame la Reine?’
‘A simpler time,’ was all she said.
Lilas suspected it had to do with her childhood.
‘But I do remember a fairy story I once heard. Of a fille des cendres who found her prince.’
The Queen tilted her head slightly, and Lilas marvelled at the exceptional skill of her hairdresser for not a single item moved.
‘You and the Duc de Languedoc remind me of it,’ she said.
‘Is that so?’
The Queen made an agreeable sound. ‘Just like her, you have found your rightful place despite those powers that wish it otherwise. Despite the machinations of an evil stepmother.’
‘My stepmother has been good to me.’
‘Has she?’ The Queen frowned. ‘I seem to recall some rumours about her... She was married to a minor baron who had fallen on hard times, and he died in rather suspicious circumstances.’
‘Rumours certainly seem to abound, don’t they, Madame la Reine?’
A look of sardonic amusement came upon the Queen’s face. ‘That is true. You should hear what is said about me. Go on, Mademoiselle Moreau, tell me more about yourself.’
By the time they returned to the palace grounds the clock was striking midnight. Lilas let her eyes search the room for Bastien... And her heart plummeted when she saw him dancing once more with his ideal.
Lilas knew she’d found a friend in the Queen of France. Yet as the last gong of the clock sounded the magic of the evening dissipated, like dew under a hot sun. Though dressed in her finest, as she gazed at Bastien with his perfect bride she’d never felt more like a cinder girl.
As the carriage made its way from Versailles in the wee hours of the morning, a strained, stony silence filled the cab. Moonlight spilled through at intervals, revealing Lilas’s averted profile, lined with tension.
‘What is wrong?’ Bastien asked, concerned.
Slowly, her head turned in his direction. ‘Nothing is wrong, monsieur.’
Which meant the exact opposite.
‘I want to know.’
‘It has been a good evening...but rather taxing, wouldn’t you say?’
Bastien almost believed it was mere tiredness that kept her so silent. But her voice held an odd high note, which proved she was holding back for some reason.
‘Need I remind you, Mademoiselle Moreau, we do not allow secrets between us?’
‘Perhaps it is you who needs reminding,’ she said pointedly.
‘What are you referring to?’
‘Who was that woman you were with tonight?’
His brows met in the middle of his forehead. ‘Woman? What woman?’
‘The beautiful one with the dark hair.’
‘That is the Duchesse de Villers-Cotterêts,’ he replied. ‘A widow who is also a princesse du sang. A cousin of the King several times removed, I believe.’
She turned her head away. ‘She looked like your ideal. The kind of woman you need to help return yourself to good standing with society and the Crown.’
He shook his head at her perception. ‘She did look like my ideal, didn’t she?’
‘You seemed very interested in each other.’
He shrugged. ‘She was a delightful companion for the evening.’ Remembering the kiss Saint-Georges had planted on Lilas’s hand, he scowled. ‘You seemed to find equal delight in your companion.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Saint-Georges.’
The tension eased from her, which only made him more annoyed.
‘He is a fascinating man. Did you know he bested a fencing master when he was only seventeen years of age?’
‘Impressive,’ he said in a bland tone. Why did she sound so appreciative of the man’s fencing prowess? ‘Do remember you’re my betrothed, Mademoiselle Moreau. And I expect you to act accordingly.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘He kissed your hand.’
The memory of it sent a hot thread of something through him.
‘It wasn’t a declaration, monsieur,’ she said incredulously.
‘Be sure that it was not,’ he warned, all the while silently yelling at himself to be quiet.
‘I would expect you to practise the same discretion with that duchesse,’ she said.
‘There is no need for your concern.’
Did she think he wanted the woman? Bastien paused as an incredible thought came to his mind.
‘You’re jealous.’
Lilas scoffed. ‘Hardly. But I daresay the green-eyed monster sits upon your shoulders.’
Was he jealous about Saint-Georges? He couldn’t be. That would mean he cared about Lilas in a way he’d always sworn he never would.
And he didn’t.
End the engagement now, then. Call an end to this while you can.
That voice in his head was logical. Reasonable. And it sent a cold draught through his body. If he simply said the words now, they would begin the process of removing any need to spend time with her.
But the words clogged his throat. He couldn’t get them out. Instead, he sniffed and said, ‘Let us both remember we are in this situation until the betrothal ends.’
‘I know that,’ she snapped.
The rest of their carriage ride to Hôtel de la Baux was made in silence.