First message
My heart was a trapped sparrow against my ribs as I raised a trembling hand to the Duchess’s solar door. The murmurs of the young masters within—dear Henri, Maximilian, Theodore, and Benedict—did nothing to calm my spirit. I entered, my keys singing a mournful chorus at my waist. All eyes turned to me, and I clasped my hands to my breast, my voice a tremulous whisper of impending tragedy. “Your Grace… Messieurs… I come with a heart most grievously burdened. We must summon a physician, and perhaps a priest. Our dear, sweet Jade… Elle est enceinte.” I let the awful word hang in the stunned silence before delivering the source of my agony. “I have just witnessed it. That scoundrel from the stables, he… he stole a kiss from her behind the rose trellis. A full five seconds of contact, at least! The seed has been planted, je en suis sûre. We must prepare for the consequences of this… this gardening of the heart! The boy stole a kiss from her and… now… she’s with child!”