Four years later

Antoine looks up from the shipping newspaper.  He smiles indulgently at his daughters eating late breakfast in the huge dining-room designed by royal commissioned craftsmen.  Fruits that adorn the serving table are imported so is the finest tea from China.  The first floor dining-room overlooks extensive manicured grounds.

Marthe the eldest daughter is showing off a fashionable pink and white silk gown, Marie is in a similar blue silk gown made by the best modiste in all Paris.  His youngest daughter wears a plain black mourning gown.

"When you were born, Mama and I named you Marguerite, but your striking symmetrical features, naturally tanned complexion and rich brunette hair earned you the nick name 'little beauty'.  You'll always be Beauty to us, happy birthday my dear," he passes her a single stemmed red Rose.

"Thank you Papa."

A liveried servant delivers mail and calling cards in a silver tray that Antoine accepts nodding thank you to Gérard, the under butler.

"Ah your brothers say the Queen Mother, led the charge when they repelled treacherous nobles that allied with our neighbours.  They expect another fierce battle soon."

"Only a queen of Spanish decent could do something so unladylike," interjects Marthe.

"When Blanche of Castile married the late King, she was crowned Queen of France.  Their son, young King Louis is worthy of our allegiance just as the Queen Mother who risks life and limp to keep this country safe while suing for peace."

"I can't bear the pain, suffering, death and disease.   I long for the peace of our childhood.  We need the trade routes secure so you can provide for us too Papa."

"If only, Beauty."

"I wish the Queen Mother didn't set taxes so high, everyone we know is complaining about it," Marthe retorts pouting.

"Everyone? You, exaggerate my dear," Antoine smirks, "Being at war is expensive, paying taxes is how we at home support those who fight for us.  As the only tax payer in this house, let me be the one to worry about whether it's high or low."

"Did Raphaël, Jérémy and Pierre say if the food and clothes parcels arrived to them at the front Papa?"

"Your social calendar isn't a consideration, of that I'm sure Marie," Antoine rubs his chin, "We need a resounding victory if the peace is to last this time."

"Peace can't last with a weak King," scoffs Marthe, "He has not been seen in public for years, unlike his four brothers and sister.  They say his death will be announced when the Queen Mother returns."

"People say the warrior Queen Mother is so intimidating the King fled rather than face her."

As they burst into giggles, Antoine tries to frown but his suppressed smile beams through instead, "Don't engage in idle gossips my darlings."

"Yes Papa," they attempt to look chastised.

"Do we have callers this afternoon," Marthe asks tentatively tucking into freshly baked croissants, eggs and bacon.

"Two gentlemen callers for you, three for Marie and one for Beauty," Antoine replies cheerfully passing over the cards of the callers left with Gérard.

Marthe and Marie exchange looks of wonderment.  Someone was calling on their youngest sister. Their eyes narrow, fraught with restrained emotion.

"If any of the young men coming today win the heart of any of my princesses, I'll be in the study going through the accounts."

"My callers are from merchant families, I'm holding out for a man of leisure, a gentleman of Quality."

"So am I," the golden curls bounce framing Marthe's face as she nods.

"What about you Beauty," Antoine presses.

"Ever since Mama died of consumption nine months ago, you need someone to do what she used to, the housekeeping, planning the menus and more besides."

"I'm sixty years old Beauty. There's a whole lot of life in this old dog yet," he winks at sixteen year old Beauty, "Anyway I need to get back to my accounts and keep up with these eye watering modiste and jeweller invoices," he stares pointedly at Marthe and Marie.

"You can afford them can't you Papa."

"Of course my princesses, I have a dowry to make the man who wins your heart rich enough to keep you in the opulence you have become accustomed to."  His future sons-in-law better indulge his daughters' whims like he does.

"I could marry a Duke or some other wealthy noble," Marthe pipes in.

"Noble families have large castles and mansions that need money for year round repairs and heat.  They show off the finest fashions at the most lavish parties, balls, plays and concerts. But many old families have cut excesses in these trying times.  Do you want to marry a nobleman too Beauty?"

"Noble families do not allow their sons to marry someone who was pronounced dead at birth," Marie replies and Beauty blushes and lowering her eyes.

"Beauty is my and your late Mama's little miracle."

"So miraculous that her darker Mediterranean looks are nothing like any of her fair skinned blonde sisters and brothers," Marthe and Marie burst out laughing.

"When you cast aspersions on your sister's legitimacy, the blow back ruins your marital prospects too.   Come on, you're both older than Beauty.  Be kinder to her, huh?"

The front doorbell rings...

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May, 16, 2015