French Angel

I. Chapter one

April 1666 LONDON, ENGLAND

Never had Angélique thought her father and brother would do such a thing. Shipping her off to England, only to preserve their reputation, was the most disturbing act her only remaining family could have ever done. Not to mention her King could not more supportive of the notion, thinking once she will return, she will fain accept his offer.

"My Lady, you should take a bath. We have only so much time to prepare you for the ball." Her English maid tore through Angélique's wandering mind.

"Thank you, Daisy. I'll call on you once I am finished." Her voice held a strong French accent, making it even more impossible for her to ease into her new life. She had secretly learned the English language upon her mother's wish. French people had never taken an interest, because of their pride, in learning the tongue of their enemies, Englishers especially. The long-lived rivalry was not something easily forgotten, hence confusing Angélique why she was sent to their enemy's soils, especially when there was so much danger lurking around.

Albeit, Angélique, as proud as any other, was swayed by words in her mother's diary describing the adventures in England in her youth before she came back to her homeland, France. And so, since a young age, Angélique studied the beauty, and mystery of one's tongue. Unfortunately, since her mother was not present during most of her life, Angélique had to embark on this journey with no help, allowing her too much space for mishaps.

By now Daisy knew not to voice her disapproval. Being her maid since she first stepped on the English soil, six months agone, Daisy knew it was a complete waste of energy and time to argue it was her duty to attempt the Lady in all ways possible – even to bath her. Angélique was used to fend for herself, after all, she lost her mother at the tender age of six and grew up with her brother, and her governess.

As soon as the door closed behind her maid, Angélique reached to the back of her light blue day dress and pulled at the laces, which held it in place.

The satin slowly sunk to the wooden floor, followed by her simple white garment.

Angélique carefully stuck her toe in the water, testing the temperature. When she found it to her liking, she laid down with a delighted sigh slipping from her lips.

Hot water made her sore, tensed muscles relax, after long hours on horseback. There was one thing good about being sea-far from her family. She had a sanctuary where she could shred all the pretences and indulge in most scandalous activities – reading, horseback riding astride, debating with her dear friend, and studying.

Occasionally, she had to make an appearance at a ball or other social gathering – but that was only for the sake of her family name – which Angélique attended with her mother's English friend, and her very own dear friend, Rosalinda.

Rosalinda - otherwise known as an English Rose, with her rich brunette locks and as dark brown eyes, was a complete opposite of Angélique, as far as appearance was concerned.

But in the spirit, the two girls were very much the same. Both of them harboured playful spirit in their small bodies, even after all bad things that had befallen them. One and twenty years, they had spent in a company of noblemen, and they dreamed of nothing else than to fall in love with simple ordinary men, who had no desire to mingle with the unpalatable ton.

October-February 1665/6 ENGLAND

The ship was violently swaying from side to side under the command of the waves, crashing into them from every side. Angélique, at some point, was certain they would meet their end in those unpredictable, uncontrollable waters. They have been underway for days, and it seemed the God was against their notion to reach the Brutes' ground.