Life of Being a Crown Prince in France-Chapter 560 - 471 Camellia’s First Battle Ends in Defeat (Begging for Monthly Passes! Last Few Minutes!)

After returning from Silesia, Camellia still stayed by the side of the Crown Prince.

Her Majesty the Queen, intending to have this attentive girl take care of her son, made her the Crown Prince’s temporary maid—this was absolutely a tremendous promotion for her status, causing countless noble ladies to drool with envy.

At this moment, the maid to the Crown Prince was carrying out a plan she had long prepared.

She always remembered her mentor’s instructions, to try hard to make the Crown Prince fall in love with her, and she was working to put it into action.

But previously, Doctor Perna was always inseparably following His Highness, which left her, lacking experience as she was, with no opportunity.

Now that Miss Perna was still in Silesia, she had to seize this rare chance!

Camellia stole a glance at Eman sitting beside her and saw him looking out the window, which immediately boosted her confidence.

She quietly slipped her silk-stockinged foot out of her shoe and, hidden by the hanging tablecloth, slowly extended it toward His Royal Highness the Crown Prince across the table.

It was her first time attempting such a thing, and her face was already burning with embarrassment, but her heart was still trying to recall the "secret techniques" taught to her by Lady Celes—the most desirable lady at the Palace of Versailles, according to the men. After a substantial tuition fee, she finally acquired Lady Celes’ "true teachings". According to Lady Celes’ maid, she had seduced at least 12 gentlemen with this move.

"Slide your feet past his knees, along the inside of his thighs, then draw them together, gently rubbing, and then…"

Camellia silently recited those shameful steps in her mind, feeling her toes already touching the lace of the Crown Prince’s trouser hem.

Her delicate body trembled slightly, she bit her lip, and began to lift her foot upward, her heart pounding wildly, hoping he would enjoy this.

Joseph finally made a decision, and to commend the establishment of a battlefield hospital, awarded Doctor Perna a Silver Medal of the Fleurie.

He reached for his pen, preparing to write an Order of Commendation to the General Staff, but accidentally knocked over a teacup on the table.

Hot tea spilled from the exquisite East Asian porcelain, instantly covering the table and streaming down its edges.

Camellia’s foot was less than two millimeters from His Royal Highness’s breeches when she suddenly felt a scorching hot stream cover her silk stocking, followed by a searing pain on the top of her foot.

Her tears nearly came out, but she could only bite down hard on her teeth, daring not to show any sign of distress. Just as she was about to retract her feet, she saw the Crown Prince leaning over to take care of the spill on the floor—panic struck her—the foot was still suspended in mid-air!

"Your Highness, please allow me,"

Eman’s voice saved her life.

Joseph sat up straight again and moved aside, nodding his head in thanks, "Then I’ll trouble you. Thank you very much."

While Eman was getting up, Camellia quickly withdrew her foot and, despite the pain, forced it back into her shoe.

Joseph looked up to see Camellia’s face flushed with heat, tears welling in the corners of her eyes, and he quickly asked with concern, "Are you feeling unwell?"

"No, no," the maid managed to squeeze out a smile, "I’m, I’m fine. I’m okay…"

Back at the Tuileries Palace, having lost her first battle, Camellia saw the Crown Prince discussing matters with Archbishop Brienne and rushed back to her resting room. She took off her shoes and stockings only to see that her tender little feet had turned a bright red from the heat. Fortunately, the tea had been out for a while by then, and the temperature had lowered somewhat, so she wasn’t scalded.

Shame and pain surged together, and the young girl’s tears simply could not be held back any longer…

…

London.

In a villa on the southwestern outskirts, Mr. Pascal Paoli, dressed in a brand-new blue-gray suit, bid his wife a smiling farewell with a kiss and, clutching his cane, boarded his carriage.

A gentle breeze brushed his face, prompting him to hum a tune.

Mr. Paoli was in a very good mood, having achieved great success in both his career and love life recently.

Just last month, at a salon, he had met Isabella, a gentle and beautiful noble lady. Her father was a baron with a substantial fortune, and the queue of young nobles vying for her affection stretched from St. James’s Palace to Buckingham Palace.

Unexpectedly, this angelic beauty, who was cold to everyone else, was attracted by his manners and eloquence and quickly fell in love with him.

Though he had been married for many years, having a mistress was quite normal for a politician of his renown.

While he was immersed in love, just last week, a Scottish merchant who highly valued the spirit of freedom heard of his cause and was immediately moved. He expressed his willingness to support the Corsican people’s pursuit of independence and liberty.

According to what he had learned from acquaintances of Mr. Chalmers, the Scot owned two coal mines, a textile factory, and shares in the East India Company, with a fortune at least upwards of 200,000 British Pounds.

He believed that such a magnate, once involved, would contribute at least 10,000 British Pounds, if not more.

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Paoli’s carriage stopped in front of a luxurious villa not far from the Thames River, and a short middle-aged man immediately came up to greet him and opened the carriage door, smiling, "You’re finally here, Mr. Chalmers arrived half an hour ago."

Paoli hurried after him towards the villa with a quick step. At today’s salon, Chalmers was likely to confirm the amount of his contribution.

"Are Balster and Eriok here as well?"

The middle-aged man nodded, "They’ve just arrived."

"That’s good," Paoli sighed in relief, "It’s understandable, after all, Mr. Chalmers does not know me.

"It’s also good that they are here in England this time. They should stay and expand the influence of the Restoration organization."

Though he said this, he still felt some dissatisfaction in his heart.

That Chalmers actually feared that he, the Corsican leader, was an impostor and requested three high-ranking members of the Corsican Revival Organization to participate in the funding.

He had no choice but to have his three lieutenants travel to England by ship. Although this might delay them in vetoing the Pro-France Faction’s proposed tax law in the Corsican Parliament, if they could secure a large fund, they would be able to bribe more members to support him later on.

The salon had not yet started, and Lady Henry, the hostess, warmly instructed the servants to take care of Paoli and the others.

Then Paoli saw the astute and capable-looking Scottish merchant with gold-rimmed glasses.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you." After exchanging greetings with Chalmers and taking their seats, the latter raised his glass, "I’ve heard a lot about you in recent days, Mr. Paoli, and I must admit that I have the utmost admiration for the feats of you and your father.

"So I’ve decided to contribute 20,000 British Pounds to support your noble cause."

Paoli had not expected the other party to speak so directly about the funding, and the amount far exceeded his expectations.

"This is truly wonderful," he quickly raised his glass as well, "On behalf of all Corsican people, I offer you my sincerest thanks!"

Their glasses gently clinked, but Chalmers seemed somewhat hesitant, "However, Mr. Paoli, I have one small request."