The idea that she could sit in a bar with a drink in her hand (albeit tea with honey at that very moment) and a Musketeer at her side and there would be no repercussions for her reputation, no gossip spread among her neighbors or those in Court who acknowledged her existence, was...exhilarating. It was a freedom she had never been before allowed, and while she had made a spectacle of herself with d'Artagnan a time or two before, that new freedom had not been a part of what had had her reaching for her first cocktail.
That he did not remember or did not yet know that she was free of Bonacieux, yes. That she did not think she could tell him what had happened there, certainly.
Never that freedom.
Her eyes widened at his words, her shocked "No!" immediate. Where her voice had not risen with the quiet exclamation, Constance gaped at him before looking down at herself as if in contemplation of such a change. The sight of her own decolletage did nothing but remind her of her own shape (which she quite liked, thank you, all matters of station and freedoms aside) and leave her asking, "How?" and a moment after, "Have you-?"
no subject
That he did not remember or did not yet know that she was free of Bonacieux, yes. That she did not think she could tell him what had happened there, certainly.
Never that freedom.
Her eyes widened at his words, her shocked "No!" immediate. Where her voice had not risen with the quiet exclamation, Constance gaped at him before looking down at herself as if in contemplation of such a change. The sight of her own decolletage did nothing but remind her of her own shape (which she quite liked, thank you, all matters of station and freedoms aside) and leave her asking, "How?" and a moment after, "Have you-?"