Felice grimaced under her blanket, her stomach whirling. The woman with the gentle voice had said that whatever concoction she'd administered would quell the queasiness in Felice's belly and throat. But it hadn't, not in the least! Every day-what day even was it now?-she was as sick as could be, her only relief what bit of sleep she could get.
A few hours ago, she'd felt so seasick that she couldn't see straight when Milady had come to see if she was still too delirious to recognize her own greater predicament. She'd heard the gentle voice but the nausea hit extremely hard. Mother? Felice thought hopefully. Mother? Are you here? Why am I so ill? Her dreams and thoughts sailed back home to Gascony, to the bed she and D'Artagnan had shared as children, and of Madame D'Artagnan's soothing tones and touch whenever she'd been ill. Their mother always made things better when they were under the weather, or at least her presence would put them at ease, and they could believe undoubtedly that things would surely become better.
"Not long now, dear one." Milady murmured over her.
"M-Mother?" Felice croaked. "I-is that you?" She hardly dared to hope, but wrought with exhausted muscles and constant bile, she needed something to be her anchor through this affliction.
"No, dear." Milady chuckled. Felice's heart sank. "You will feel much better in the morning. That's a promise."
Morning? Is it morning now? Was it yesterday? What even was yesterday? Ohhh! I wish I could just sleep without being awakened for another vomiting fit!
"I…" Felice breathed hard, wincing. Charles! Where are you? I want to go home! Please find me and...just take me home!
"Drink this." Milady told her.
"N-no. Please! No more. I-I can't." Felice refused, hugging her miserable stomach. "It does not help. No more."
"This is different." Milady persisted. "I assure you, it will help."
"Please, leave me be…" Felice begged, struggling to keep down another bout of bile clawing up her throat. Milady poured the liquid onto Felice's mouth. She sputtered, the shock of the unexpected drink startling her, which triggered the vomit she was trying to keep at bay. She threw up over the side of the table into the chamber pot. Milady patted her mouth with a towel.
"Drink." She insisted. Felice complied, praying she was telling the truth. The liquid was quite bitter. Moments later, she didn't feel as queasy, and began to feel extremely drowsy.
I-is it working? Or...wait! Poison! She's trying to kill me! Felice's mind raced. "N-no…" She protested, but her eyes fell hardbound and she drifted into a long, hard slumber.
Hours later, when Felice finally began to wake, she opened her eyes to a brightly lit room. She felt as if she were surrounded by clouds. This was the most rested, or even normal she had felt in-days? Hours? "Was I...dreaming?" She asked happily, greatly relieved that her stomach was finally settled. "Charles?" She smiled, glancing around the room. It was a lovely room, with a fur rug on the stone floor, a fireplace, an exquisite vanity, a rich colored wardrobe, and a canopy bed with lavish drapes. It was all beautiful! But...why and how was she even here?
"Is this...this isn't Athos's room." Felice frowned, sitting up. "Charles? Where am I? CHARLES!" She rose to her feet and stared in the mirror. She was adorned in a clean white shift. "M-my clothes! Where are my clothes?" She would've been thrilled, if not for the fact that she could not recall any memory of arriving here or changing her clothes. "Wait. Am I at the palace? Did the queen rescue me?"
A light knock at the door startled her. "C-come in?" She answered. The door opened, and an elegant, tall woman with ivory skin and sun-kissed hair, and rosebud lips entered. Felice stared at her, awestruck.
"Ahh, good. You have recovered." Milady smiled. "You look very well rested."
"Th-thank you?" Felice creased her eyebrows. "Begging your pardon, but who are you?"
"Oh, right. Forgive me. I am Countess Charlotte Backson." Milady introduced herself. "And you are Felice D'Artagnan."
Felice as taken aback. "H-how do you know my name?"
"Why, you and your brother are famous! Have you not realized?"
"Uhm...I suppose I haven't. Uh," Felice curtsied, "...are...are you a lady in waiting for Queen Anne?"
"Ohh, no, dear." Milady laughed.
"M-my lady? Can you tell me where I am?"
"Explanations will come later. Come, I will help you get dressed into something presentable. I am sure you will find some garments in the wardrobe. Best hurry. His lordship will be expecting you."
"His lordship? The king?"
"Hardly." Milady replied coyly.
Milady entered Buckingham's office. He threw her a devious grin when he laid his eyes on her. "Ahh, there you are." He cooed in his velvety voice. "To what do I owe the pleasure? I was led to believe we would not see each other until luncheon. Not that I object to surprises, mind you."
"Forgive me, my lord." Milady squinted. "Speaking of surprises, I thought I would grace your lordship with one. A token of admiration, if you will, from the Cardinal himself."
Buckingham cocked his head, intrigued. "Indeed? A gift, for me?" He nearly, literally licked his lips. "I am charmed."
"He knows that you have an eye for pretty things, and since gracing France with your superior company, his eminence has desired to display our thanks for your own pleasure alone." Milady said. "A young maiden from Paris. Young and pretty, who will only gladly return the generosity of my lord. I am sure you will not be disappointed."
"Splendid! Very well." Buckingham agreed. "Bring the wench to me."
Guards stepped inside, surrounding a small figure in their midst, attired in a cheery green gown that complimented her auburn hair. Felice froze, her breath hitching, when she locked gazes with Buckingham. Wait! No! She panicked. I thought...I'm...I'm not in France! I am...oh, lord! Oh, my g-!
Buckingham appeared just as surprised to see her here. But unlike Felice, he wore a countenance of pleasure, not mortification. "Ahh, you have exquisite taste, Milady. You know me well." Buckingham clapped with delight.
Oh my g-, how did I get here? Where is Charles? Felice began to shuffled backwards, toward the door, but the guards blocked it. Felice gasped.
"Come now, child." Milady said quietly. "There is no need to be afraid. You stand in the presence of the Duke George of Buckingham himself. Come." Milady reached out her hand, beckoning.
Felice trembled. "W-w-we've met." She stammered.
"Indeed we have." Buckingham agreed, too heartily. "Well, no need to stand on ceremony here. Come, sit." Felice felt dazed and bewildered. Milady came to her side, placed her arms around her and led her to the chair facing Buckingham's desk. She pressed on her shoulders and had the girl sit. Felice braced herself rigidly.
Buckingham waved his hand so that his soldiers departed. He walked around to the front of his desk and leaned against it. "Surprised to see me again, aren't you?" He asked Felice. "Although I expected a little more glee from your lovely self."
"I...I do not understand. What is going on here?" Felice asked.
"His eminence thinks very highly of your skill, dear. He thought it generous to reward you for your service." Milady lied smoothly.
Felice sharply looked up at her, a different kind of unease now settling down in her belly. Wait. What? The Cardinal. He loathes the musketeers. Or does she mean about my baking skills? No, he knows I am part of the musketeers. How does she know him? Who is this woman?
"Well, my dear, we should get along splendidly." Buckingham smiled widely.
"I don't recall being consulted regarding this...plot." Felice muttered.
"Plot?" Buckingham guffawed. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"What do you call it?"
"A magnificent chance of a lifetime." Milady sighed.
"I call it kidnapping, you prissy wretches."
"Aww, now. That's not very becoming of a lady now, is it?"
"I never said I was a lady."
"You show some spirit. I like that." Buckingham smirked darkly. "A little touchy, a little rough around the edges, but nothing that cannot be easily remedied. Very easy on the eye, considering. Ahh, well. If women were all the same, then I shall retire of sickly boredom."
"What do you want?" Felice groaned.
"Why, do you not realize?" Milady quipped dramatically. "This is your new home."
"What?!"
"Aye. You are mine now, my little country flower." Buckingham murmured seductively, stepping beside her. Felice bristled. "You will live here at my side, taking our pleasantries whenever we wish, and showing the peasants of this fine continent what some English good can do to squelch out that silly French influence of King Louis, a spoiled child."
"He is called Louis the Just." Felice said defensively. "And not without merit. France is my home. I do not belong here. I will not be any peacock of a duke's little pet, to grace his personal ego when seen in the public eye."
"Wait. Did you just call me a peacock?" Buckingham chuckled loudly. "Amusing! Very amusing! Ahh, my dear," he gripped her hand and kissed it. "I shall have to remember that one. You are not in error with your description of me, cold as it may be. Birds of beauty they are. Yes." Buckingham stooped closer, very close to her face. "I will be your lordly peacock, your master of eloquence," he ran his fingers against her cheek, "and you shall be my sweet little country flower."
Felice was breathing heavily. His foreboding voice, his intrusive touch, reminded her of Rochefort, albeit not nearly as brutal or ugly. Her head was beginning to spin. "I...I…" She tried to pull away from the clingy duke. Rochefort had also ran his fingers along her body before, with vile intention. What if Buckingham did more than caress her face? What if he wanted to do more?
"I...I'm feeling a bit ill." She said quickly. It wasn't untrue. "Will your lordship please excuse me?"
"Oh." Buckingham sighed, grunting with disappointment. "Of course, love. Feel better. But do not lie around feeling poorly for long." He drawled on dramatically. "I wish to see you again later."
Felice chewed her lip, rising from her chair and scurried from Buckingham's office. "Not so fast." Milady warned from behind her. "Strolling so briskly will only aggravate the ailment."
"I...wish to go to my room." Felice said, shaking. Milady led her back to her room. "Th-thank you. Please, I wish to be left alone."
"Certainly, dear. Rest." Milady grinned and quietly closed the door.
Felice nearly fell down onto the bed. Tears of fear ran down her face. She was hundreds of miles from home, from her friends, and her brother. Stuck in this fortress, with a cunning lady and a sneering playboy who wasn't about to let her escape so easily. Buckingham could look like a gentleman, but if his dispute with Queen Anne on his arrival was anything to go by, he apparently often used his appearance to get his way. Felice couldn't stop shaking. No man had touched her like that since her encounter in Meung, not even Aramis!
Aramis! She missed his comforting presence dearly. He was always courteous enough to offer physical assistance or affection rather than just brazenly giving it. She was still not comfortable enough to let him touch her closely, but how she ached for his calm voice and words of wisdom to tell her how she should cope! She could really use them right now!
D'Artagnan would turn Paris upside down to find her, she knew. But...how would he ever know to find her here, across the channel?
A knock at the door jarred her. "Wh-who is it?" She called.
"Only me, miss!" A small voice answered.
"That sounds like...a child. Come in?" Felice wiped at her eyes and waited curiously as her visitor stepped around the door.
It was a child. A lovely child of 11, with chocolate colored skin and black curly hair, with beautiful dark eyes. She wore a simple gray frock with a white pinafore, and stood against the wall with her hands folded.
"Who are you?" Felice asked.
"Kitty, Miss." The girl curtsied, with a shy smile. "I am Milady's personal maid. She says I am to look after you for the duration of your stay here."
"While I would be grateful for the company, I do not consider any propositions from your mistress to be rooted from true generosity." Felice said coldly.
"Nevertheless, I have been instructed to serve you. Milady says I might keep you entertained."
"Pfft. I don't think I would prefer her definition of entertainment." Felice snapped, rolling her eyes.
"Well, uh…I must...I..." Kitty shuffled uncomfortably. Felice gazed at her pensively. The girl appeared nervous at all her blank refusals, fiddling with her small fingers. "I must do as I am commanded. And...if I do not...well…" Her brown face had dropped with what appeared to Felice to be, dread.
"Pardon me." Felice said more softly. "You are only doing as you were commanded. You are not responsible for the motives of your mistress. I was wrong to take my vexation with her out on you. That was unjust of me. But you needn't prance around for me like a court jester, Kitty. That would do little service to me."
Kitty sighed, apparently relieved. "Well, how may I serve you, my lady?" She offered cheerily.
"Oh, please don't call me that!" Felice cringed. "You may call me Felice, for that is my real name. Or Miss is fine too."
"Well then, Miss Felice, how may I serve you? I am required to grant your every command or wish. I could bring you a book to read, or fetch some crumpets. They are quite scrumptious."
"No thank you. Sit. You may talk with me. I would prefer some intelligent conversation for a change." Felice smiled warmly.