And all at once, just for a moment, Jaques Beliveau’s world stood motionless. The soft breeze picked up his coat and held it there, his claret leaned against the crystal glass in mid-swill as his eyes came to rest upon the ravishing Mademoiselle Adelia De Rosier. Her presence from across the room was impossible to ignore. Her name, as beautiful as her presence. He was the last of the French poodle bourgeoisie and had a duty to continue his line, but she was intimidatingly elegant as she was beautiful. She could have her pick of anyone in the halls of Versailles. Why on earth would it be him?

Artist notes: I went through a phase where I watched a lot of historical documentaries about England and France court life. Of course it makes logical sense to create my own old time romance... doesn't it?