May 1623...

Hortense's early years had passed in peace and wealth, though it wasn't what she desired. As a canary in a cage, Hortense was longing for a day she came of age and was relieved of the boredom in the little nursery, and that day had finally come.

This year she would reach the age of twenty-one, and henceforth be known by her family's hereditary title, a Duchesse. Shall she be married and continue the bloodline, which would be combined with another powerful lineage; or shall she enjoy the wonder of being a bachelorette?

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Château de Beaudelaire's garden...

"Milady!"

Mademoiselle Dupin frantically ran around the castle in search for the young mistress. She carried a letter and some silk and lace gowns in her arms, looking never busier than before. Passing across a high hedge, she stopped by the sound of metal clashing. Right after, was the familiar yelp of her dear butler, which she thought was lovely at first.

Mademoiselle Dupin peeked through the hedge's edge, slightly chuckling as she saw her fiancé losing the duel. The butler fell to the ground, sword off his hand, and Hortense stood triumphantly in front of him, panting, and pointing the rapier's tip jokingly at his throat.

"Touché, Monsieur d'Artois!", smirked Hortense.

"Needn't you thrust so hard! Gods, I think some ribs have shattered!", moaned the butler, then suddenly stopped as he sighted the graceful figure and chuckle of the young mistress's maid.

"It seems you are no longer the best swordsman in town, monsieur", joked Mademoiselle Dupin, offering him a hand. The butler blushed, at first embarrassingly refused, yet a moment later still accepted.

"Monsieur d'Artois is still the best swordsman, rest assured, for I will never be able to surpass him with just a match or two barely won", said Hortense, dusting her coat.

Though Monsieur d'Artois was not an overly prideful man, he still felt a little shame as he lost a spar to his protégée. That child, whose rapier always be knocked out of hand, to-day had managed to knock his rapier out of his skilful hand. The butler let out a chuckle, collected his rapier from the ground and sheathed it.

"Congratulations, milady. I will have my revenge the next time we spar", said him jokingly, then left to mind his business, as usual.

Seeing her nurse came with a heap of gowns in her arms, Hortense could vividly guess she was going to have to attend a ball or two, for her twenty-first birthday was coming nigh. Bidding farewell to Little Hortense, here came the heiress of this château and the whole duchy. There would be gentlemen, both of aristocrat and bourgeoisie, came to the Château de Beaudelaire, either to admire at the beauty of the heiress of this house and silently retreat or to bravely ask for her hands in marriage.

"So, what will have my attention to-night, my dear Mademoiselle Martine Dupin?"

"Because you will come of age this year, His Grace has invited well-known guests to a ball at our estate, including those from noble houses such as...", explained Mademoiselle Dupin.

"I know. Those noblemen come to be my suitors, do they not?", interrupted Hortense with a sarcastic smile.

Mademoiselle Dupin remained silent, clutching the gowns tight. She knew her little mistress too well, that every time someone reminded her of her marriage, her reply was always a smile. A smile that wasn't outright denial, wasn't acceptance either. Hortense kept her grace and pride in that smile, and she would smile, even she was forced into a marriage with whom arranged by her parents. However, that scene seemed unlikely to happen.

"Would my parents be home to-night?", Hortense shifted her voice.

"I'm afraid not, milady", replied the nurse, "The soonest I could tell is four days from now, because of the Queen's—"

"— affair with Duc Buckingham? I have known it already. There are rumours everywhere!"

"It's quite surprise you take an interest in rumours of the royal family, milady", giggled Mademoiselle Dupin.

"Actually... all right...", embarrassed Hortense. She would not be seen as a
gossiping duchess, would she? "I just... overheard... from someone, it seems?"

"Well then...", chuckled the nurse, "Shall you give that rapier a rest and try on these gowns for me?"

"All right, Mademoiselle Martine...", shrugged Hortense, the idea of suitors coming to-night wandering around in her thought. As the heiress of the house, Hortense could very well be given a voice in this matter, all but annulling the ball; she hated mentioning the latter. If she couldn't annul the ball, then what shall she do in order to— not— have a ring on her finger to-morrow? Walking in the manor, she devised a plan to drive out all the unfitting suitors (that meant all, literally) without disgracing herself and having to marry one of them.

In contrast to Hortense's unwillingness of the coming ball, Marie seemed to eager for it. The younger de Beaudelaire daughter had been fifteen then, in other words, considered herself to be old enough for a betrothed. At least this night she would have a chance to choose her own suitors, as well as impress them with her well-educated manners; an engagement could be settled later. The whole afternoon Marie spent trying on her best gowns and putting on make-ups, more diligent and delicate than she usually did. In the meanwhile, Hortense were literally being forced to try on some ballgowns, which she hardly fancied; though this ball was to celebrate her adulthood, she did not really like the suitor part that came with coming to adulthood. She honestly wished if she could refuse them, yet shrugged that thought off, as it wasn't going to happen.

That night, aristocrats from Champagne, bourgeoisie from Reims, all dashing young bachelors attended the ball held at the Château de Beaudelaire, hoping for a chance to have their ring on the beautiful heiress's finger. She was rumoured to be as pretty as a porcelain doll, with delicate etiquette of a fine high-born lady of quality; to top it all off, she was a cousin to the king, though rather distant. A marriage with the daughter of de Beaudelaire family could well potentially propelled a bourgeoisie to a nobleman, and from a nobleman to a high-ranked aristocrat. No one didn't desire that, it was like a stone struck two birds at once, just for marrying the duke's cherished daughter.

Normally, should a noblewoman be married, she would adopt her husband's name and title because the inheritance of the family would likely not to have her name; this wasn't the case with de Beaudelaire family, as their eldest daughter was first in line of the duke's inheritance and her family's name would also be preserved. That was the reason there were too many gentlemen wanted to be in-law of this family, yet they knew only one luckiest man received the honour, the man whose ring was accepted by Mademoiselle Hortense de Beaudelaire. Though many people attended the ball that night were hopeful and excited, including the younger daughter of the family, Hortense just didn't fancy it. Neither her pride allowed.

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"May I ask you for a dance, mademoiselle?"

A young baron offered his hand to Marie, which she gladly accepted. Marie knew too well he was here wasn't because of she, but her elder sister; however, being noticed by such a gentleman, though lower-ranked than her family, was a blessing for her, she thought. When dancing by the baron's side Marie looked nothing more than a child, at least it was what the young baron saw her so.

As the guests were dancing and chatting in the ballroom, the servants running busily back and forth the corridors, Hortense just sat in her bedchamber by the vanity, quietly listening to the music echoing beneath the floor. She was just attending this ball because she was being made to attend. The butler, the nurse and her parents all wanted her presence there, and she just couldn't refuse. Could she simply not accept anyone of the guests that came to be her suitors?

"Young Mistress..."

Mademoiselle Dupin called her from the threshold, and immediately she turned over to see her nurse with a worry look on her face.

"Why don't you join the dance, milady?", asked Mademoiselle Dupin.

"I would love to, yet I would not fancy...", replied Hortense, "them..."

"I know what you do not fancy, my dear, but I don't want your twenty-first birthday to be all grey either... Maybe you would like to join us for a toast?", said Mademoiselle Dupin, with a caring voice like that of a mother.

Hortense just sighed. "If it is what you want, then I will to please you...", said she. Sometimes, too nice to deny something was a nuisance, it seemed.

In the ballroom, music stopped playing and the guests stopped dancing abruptly, as a person stepped in to join. The person whom they came here for, the soon-to-be duchess, the most elegant blooming rose in this whole duchy. Though contrast to what people expected, the young duchess appeared in hunting gown and feathered hat, not a ballgown, yet she still looked as gorgeous and elegant as ever.

Hortense de Beaudelaire, with her utmost dignity, attended the ball. The gentlemen in the ballroom were immediately charmed by her grace, which prior it was only rumoured. She dipped a curtsey to her guests, then walked toward the long table by the windows.

The gentlemen wanted her to be their wife, yet she wanted no one of them to be her husband. People said the daughter of the duke of Champagne was too polite to even refuse a proposal, so the gentlemen all hoped their treasured ring could rest on that porcelain finger. At least it was what they hoped.

"Mademoiselle, I am honoured to be asking for your hand in marriage. Would you—"

A brave merchant's courageous proposal was cut short as a dazzling viscount held his ring out.

"Mademoiselle, I am from a noble family from Marseilles, and it would be my utmost honour if you accepted my proposal."

Hearing the "proposal", Hortense turned over to see the guests arguing over each other whether or not should they be worthy to be her suitor. None of them, thought she.

"Good sir, if you want to prove you worthy to have Mademoiselle de Beaudelaire's hand, then prove it right here with your pathetic heirloom of a ring!"

"Good sir, you call my mother's ring pathetic? I would risk the Cardinal's order to ask you for a duel!"

The arguments escalated, until it was almost resulted in a sword duel. Men fought over fair maidens, a tale as old as time. The servants tried to calm the noblemen down before a fight bursted out, but to no avail.

"I will accept the proposal of no one, good sirs!"

That statement, when spoken out, quelled the fierce suitors and immediately countless eyes with utter surprise glanced at the young duchess.

"Are you insane, sister! Refusing the proposal of these gentlemen? Such nonsense!", startled Marie.

"I am absolutely sane. These pointless fights over a fair maiden have just gone too far", said Hortense calmly. "If I were given a choice, then I would settle this matter down with a duel— a spar. Whomever fails me would have to leave and whom who wins shall have my hand, is it fine enough?"

The gentlemen, obviously denied the duel. They were taught not to strike women, even with a rose. What if they inadvertently wounded their would-be wife in that duel, even then they would have her hand? Yet, Hortense's pride would not let her bow before any of these gentlemen's desire. She was the honoured daughter of the Second Duke de Beaudelaire, a treasured rose only Devil would dare touch.

"Please, Mademoiselle, let this just be your coming-of-age ball. Let us dance and rejoice. If you were not ready for marriage then—", said a viscount.

"All of you are after the woman's heredity and her family's honour, not for the woman herself. All of you think I would bow humbly before your straight and proud stature as a wife should do. What do you think the heiress of de Beaudelaire is?", said Hortense coldly.

"You would never found a gentleman good enough for you, sister. Fastidiousness is not a good feature, I say!", remarked Marie.

"I have my choice to be fastidious, dearest sœur. High-born ladies of quality should be treasured, and happiness may come from love of many things other than a gentleman", smirked Hortense sarcastically.

In a corner of the ballroom, the butler was silently rejoicing. He knew his teachings were not going to waste, his protégée would somedays reach the greatness the duke had expected from her birth. Saint Jeanne d'Arc wasn't alone as a sword-bearing female of this realm anymore. The legend of a certain Crusader princess had been reborn, in another incarnation created by the Goddess of Creation.