Esquive d’Estouville put down the phoenix she had started embroidering many months before. The piece of linen cloth was fraying in places and covered in poor stitching that was coming loose. Needlework had always bored her, but it gave her the appearance of composure.
The young woman let out a sigh and her charming face became tense with frustration. It was such a long wait, and she was so eager to join her beautiful archangel, her Hospitaller. Her frustration was mixed with a curious happiness. To suffer a little each day for the one who would suffer so much. He did not know it yet and it was better that way.
When would she see him again, when would she permit herself to see him?
Esquive’s lady’s maid knocked at the door of the little room in the townhouse where she spent most of her time, when she was not handling weapons.
The maid was carrying a sumptuous cream-coloured dress over her arm.
‘It’s ready, Madame. I thought you’d want to see it straight away.’
‘You were right, Hermione. Let us look at this marvel I have been waiting for three weeks to see.’
Hermione approached her, avoiding as always the young Comtesse’s gaze, which made her so uneasy – those huge amber, almost yellow, eyes. The eyes of a little wild cat.