Chapter 490: Jean And Florence
"Is it a secret tryst?" Sarah asked boldly, her tone half-teasing, half-serious.
Emma smacked her arm lightly. "Hush, you’ll embarrass her." She turned to Jean, lowering her voice. "But truly, something in your eyes has changed. You carry yourself differently. It is... lovely."
Jean lowered her gaze, trying to compose herself, though the corners of her mouth trembled with a smile she couldn’t quite suppress. "Whatever it may be, it is not for gossip."
The maids all groaned in protest, stamping their feet like children denied a treat.
Jean laughed again, this time freer. "Enough of this foolishness. Tell me instead—where is my lady? Where is Princess Salviana?"
The question sobered the room. The three maids looked at each other, hesitating, before Sarah answered with a little smile. "She is not here, my lady. The princess has gone to a tea party with the other wives and princesses."
"A tea party?" Jean repeated, brows lifting.
Emma nodded. "The former crown princess invited her last night, I already heard Princess Beatrice brewed a special tea for the occasion. They are all gathered in the golden salon."
Jean straightened in her chair, thoughtful. "So that is where she is..."
Thalia tilted her head, studying Jean closely. "Would you like to join her, my lady? You could still catch the party."
Jean hesitated, pressing her lips together. She had only just returned, and already her heart ached to see Salviana, to reassure herself of her safety. And yet, would her presence there be welcome? Tea parties among princesses were prickly enough without an outsider stepping in.
"Thank you," Jean said slowly, her voice carrying both yearning and restraint. "Perhaps I should join her. At least for a moment, to see that she is well."
Sarah clasped her hands together eagerly. "Oh, you must! Her Highness has missed you dearly. She mentioned it not an hour ago—how she wished you could have accompanied her today."
That tugged at Jean’s chest. The thought of Salviana, sitting among the glittering company of princesses and wives, enduring their sharp words and smiles alone—it pained her.
"Yes," Jean murmured at last, rising to her feet with new resolve. "I will go. It has been long enough. She needs me, and I will not fail her again."
The maids beamed, circling around her once more, adjusting her gown, fixing the fall of her hair, pressing a scented kerchief into her hand.
"Go then, my lady," Emma urged warmly.
"Remind them all who stands beside the Seventh Princess," Sarah added with a grin.
"Glowing as you are," Thalia whispered, her eyes wide with wonder, "they will think you carry blessings."
Jean laughed softly, but her heart beat with both nervousness and anticipation. She drew herself tall, her glow undeniable in the slant of afternoon light, and walked toward the door.
Whatever awaited Salviana in that golden salon, she would not face it alone. Not anymore.
She walked and the marble corridor gleamed with the faint reflection of the midday sun streaming in from high windows. The hush of the palace seemed to hold its breath, broken only by the faint echo of footsteps and the murmur of women’s voices ahead.
Jean Goliath, her steps light and steady, turned a corner—and her eyes widened. There, surrounded by a cluster of maids fussing and guiding her carefully, was Princess Florence. Her figure was rounded now with pregnancy, her hand resting often upon her belly as though guarding the life within.
Jean’s heart warmed at once. Salviana had spoken so often of Florence—her kindness, her quiet strength—and to see her again now, though tired and moving slower than before, was like beholding a familiar lantern in the fog.
Jean quickened her steps and bowed her head politely. "Good day, Princess Florence," she greeted with gentle formality, her voice carrying respect and warmth.
Florence looked up at once, her pale cheeks flushed from the effort of walking, but her smile radiant nonetheless. "Miss Goliath! Good afternoon. How are you, dear?"
Jean returned the smile, dipping her head again. "I am well, Your Highness. I just got back, only this noon and on my way to the tea party. And you? Are you also on your way to the tea party?"
Florence’s hand tightened briefly on her belly as she sighed. "Yes, I am. Though I fear I am rather late." She gave a small, rueful laugh. "I move more slowly these days than I wish. I cannot help it."
Jean’s gaze softened. "You should not trouble yourself with that, Your Highness. There is no shame in moving with care. Your health—and your child’s—is what matters most."
The princess smiled again at that, but the faint weariness in her eyes did not hide.
Jean tilted her head, her instinct to protect rising. "If you do not mind, Princess, we could walk together. I am also heading to the salon. It would be my honor to accompany you."
Florence hesitated, glancing at her maids, who all straightened as though uncertain whether they were being dismissed. Then Florence nodded graciously, her tone gentle. "That would be lovely."
Turning to her most trusted maid, she said, "Salsa, you may go ahead."
The maid’s eyes widened, and she looked uneasily between Jean and her lady. "Are you sure, my lady? Perhaps we should—"
"Yes, yes," Florence cut in with a wave of her hand, her smile firm but reassuring. "I am in good hands." She reached out then, looping her arm through Jean’s with quiet familiarity. "Miss Goliath will see me safely."
The other maids exchanged glances but obeyed, bowing slightly before withdrawing.
As soon as the two women began walking side by side, Florence sighed softly. "Forgive me, Miss Goliath, I must lean on you. My body feels so heavy these days, as if each step asks for too much."
Jean steadied her arm immediately, her touch light but firm. "There is no need to apologize. I am proud of you, Princess. Carrying life is no small thing. It is the noblest burden, and you bear it with grace."
Florence laughed softly, though her eyes grew misty. "Grace? I feel more clumsy than graceful. Every morning I wake with aches. Every night I struggle to sleep. Sometimes I think my body belongs to someone else entirely."
Jean’s heart clenched with sympathy. "It belongs to both of you now, does it not? To you and the little one. No wonder it feels different."