Outside the door of Alessandra’s chamber the only sounds are the shuffling of the people coming and going and their careful whispering. It was not the same when Sylvie gave birth. It was not the same when Petite was born. It was never this quiet. Seated next to Athos at the bench outside Alessandra’s room, … Continue reading Chapter Seventy, Veiled Child, by Mordaunt
Chapter Sixty-eight, Ne m’oublie pas (Forget me not), by Mordaunt
Athos has been here before and remembers every painful moment. At Bragelonne when Sylvie died. At Saint Denis before Petite was born. After Rouen, when he followed Alessandra to Venice. He has been here before, and yet, remembering offers him no solace. Before, he was a different man. Sophia, his sister, lays a gentle hand … Continue reading Chapter Sixty-eight, Ne m’oublie pas (Forget me not), by Mordaunt
Chapter Sixty-Six, Bitter, Painful, Necessary Truths, by Mordaunt
Constance knows she is not needed. Milady–Constance cannot think of her by any other name–is in the care of two doctors, two midwives, a nurse and those closest to her: Sophia, Elodie and their daughters, Marie Cessette who is her daughter-in-law, even the duchess d’ Aiguillon who holds masses for her twice every day in … Continue reading Chapter Sixty-Six, Bitter, Painful, Necessary Truths, by Mordaunt
Chapter Sixty-Four, When the Devil Whispers Sweetly, by Mordaunt
Aramis will step no further than the threshold of the cell at Val de Grâce, where they meet in secret. He raises his hand: “Anne, please, you must keep away. This is as close as I dare come.” “I will do no such thing,” Queen Anne reaches for his hands. “I survived this infernal plague … Continue reading Chapter Sixty-Four, When the Devil Whispers Sweetly, by Mordaunt
Chapter Sixty-Three, Contratempo, by Mordaunt
In 17th c. Italian fencing, contratempo meant an attack whereby the tempo for offensive action was the opponent’s own attack. It is a sophisticated technique of timing so that offensive action happens precisely when the opponent thinks they have an opening, thus turning their own tempo against them. ⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️ "Halte!” M. Beauchamps, the King’s young … Continue reading Chapter Sixty-Three, Contratempo, by Mordaunt
Chapter Sixty, Lines Drawn, by Mordaunt
In the library, they are recounting all those events which must determine their future. “I cannot stay,” Athos declares after a few restless moments. “Lucien knows what has transpired, how we found Alessandra, and will speak in my stead. I trust your decisions about what must be done next.” It is his heart that moves … Continue reading Chapter Sixty, Lines Drawn, by Mordaunt
Chapter Fifty-Eight, Light that Remains, by Mordaunt
“Agreed. You drive the carriage. But I will be riding right beside you.” Lucien’s patronizing tone should have annoyed Athos once, but he is no longer bothered about such things. There is planning involved in their escape, but besides insisting he drives the carriage, Athos is content that Lucien has taken charge. All Athos cares … Continue reading Chapter Fifty-Eight, Light that Remains, by Mordaunt
‘Mid-Season’ Break, by Mordaunt and Corso
Dear Readers, Thank you for following our story so far. We take a “mid-season” break for the summer months. We will return in September to continue our story. The blog will be active. During the summer months we will be adding background stories, discussing books, music, historical characters, and events pertinent to our story. We … Continue reading ‘Mid-Season’ Break, by Mordaunt and Corso
Chapter Fifty-Six, The Brothers d’ Aiguillon, by Mordaunt
Swords drawn, they turn to face each other, surrounded by their hapless attackers now dead or wounded. Even in the darkness, Athos knows the man. He fought against him and almost killed him. He fought against him and was almost killed. He has fought beside him more times than he ever expected. Athos lowers his … Continue reading Chapter Fifty-Six, The Brothers d’ Aiguillon, by Mordaunt
Chapter Fifty-Four, Le Sourcier, by Mordaunt
It bothers him. In the mornings, long before Petite wakes, Athos rides with Balignant down to the sandy cove. Even after a week he refuses to walk there using the shortcut through the back of the garden. From the old pier he watches the dawn, every dawn a different array of colors, and the low … Continue reading Chapter Fifty-Four, Le Sourcier, by Mordaunt
Twelve Years After 