Milady made herself comfortable on the chaise longue and started filing her nails. Constance couldn't help observing this perfect figure; her delicate turquoise silk dressing gown, a glimpse of slender legs underneath, those elegant fingers. How odd that someone so steely in purpose could have such a soft touch. Try as she might, Constance couldn't put the atmosphere of last night out of her head. She knew Milady was manipulating her but as much as she tried to turn away, she couldn't. She was fascinated by her. Such a beautiful woman possessing a heart of steel and a soul of shadow. She hid it well among company as she must but she needed it for her job.
Constance was a simple lady, sweet and unaffected. Her job in life was to be a wife and in appearance she was, but her husband being the type of man to be away most of the time, she had got rather distracted by the dashing young lad that now called himself her lover. If her husband could realise what a trial it is for such a lovely young thing to be left alone much of time, he would have taken more care to be home more often.
As different as the two women were, there were a few things they had in common, unnoticed by the younger until now, their connection being the men they both consorted with. D'artagnan was the obvious choice as he had been foolish to dally with both of them, the thorn between two roses. He had managed to lodge himself deeply in the heart of Constance who felt his affections daily. Milady was over his charm and well shot of him. He had yet to learn about the ways of the world. But Rochefort was another man to contend with. Both of them felt strongly about the mysterious Rochefort. He was a man with a shady past and subtle nuance about him. Constance wanted to know about him and Milady knew more than she should do about her colleague. And so it began.