portly figure walked in authoritatively. “May I help you?” Her English was heavily accented with a Russian flavor.
Millie stood up. “Are you Madame Sasha?”
The woman eyed Millie carefully. “I am. And you are?”
“Lady Millie Aldon.” She cocked her head slightly and stared at the older woman. By the simple authority of her stance, it was clear she was no modiste. What was Lady Chaselton thinking? “Please let me introduce Lady Aimee Wentworth and Lady Jennelle Gent.”
The Russian woman continued to stand just inside the study doors. “Hmm. Seems I am in the presence of high company, but I am unclear as to why. I am sure we have never met.”
Aimee stood up and joined Millie. “My deepest apologies, madam. My mother suggested we visit, but I think there has been some misunderstanding. We were supposed to meet a modiste or seamstress. We are very sorry to have bothered you.”
Madame Sasha raised her jeweled, wrinkled hand and dismissed the apology with a simple wave. She stared at Aimee for several seconds before asking, “Who is your mother?”
Aimee blinked. “Lady Chaselton.”
“Would her given name be Cecilia?” The woman smiled as if recalling a fond memory involving Aimee’s mother.
Aimee glanced at Jennelle and Millie, whose eyes were as large as hers. It was hard to imagine, but Madame Sasha and her mother knew each other, and based on the facial expression they were seeing on the woman’s face—quite well. Aimee turned back to Madame Sasha and replied, “It is.”
The woman’s dark eyes gave them each a piercing look and then she hollered quite unexpectedly, “Evette! Come! Fetch my bag and tell Henry he needs to bring tea. My blend.” Then, as if she had never bellowed a word, she turned back toward the group, composed as ever.
She looked directly at Aimee. “So, you are Cecilia’s daughter. Hmm. You look like her—except in the eyes. But Cecilia is not faint of heart. Are you as timid as you appear and act?”
Aimee was taken aback, but Millie was incensed. “Aimee is no such thing. She has a venturous spirit, as we all do.” Then, with more bite, she added, “She is simply the most polite of us.”
Raising a single eyebrow, Madame Sasha replied, “I can see that you do not possess that fault.”
Jennelle, who had remained sitting during this exchange, was perplexed. When was being polite considered a negative quality? “Madame Sasha. We are not in the wrong location, are we? You are the person Lady Chaselton suggested we meet. So, I assume that you know why we are here.”
The portly woman turned and looked at the redhead with an unwavering gaze. “Yes. The dark, petite beauty here needs a wardrobe.” The doors opened, and a young girl came in with tea.
Millie was able to keep her mouth closed, but her eyes were gaping. She swallowed. Jennelle reached up and encouraged her to sit down.
Millie plopped down beside her and leaned over to whisper, “Jennelle, I do not know what to make of this woman. Do you?”
“Not sure. Yet, it is clear she does know Aimee’s mother by the way she reacted when she heard the name Lady Chaselton.” The servant approached, and they both reached up to take the tea offered to them. Jennelle took a sip. “Mmm. This is excellent.”
Sasha raised an eyebrow and responded, “Thank you. It is a unique blend I came across while in Russia. You,” she said, pointing at Millie, “come here and let me take a look at you.”
Millie set her cup down and went over to join Madame Sasha as if the Russian had control over her. When the woman clasped her waist, Millie managed to ask, “Who exactly are you?”
“I am Madame Sasha. I met her mother”—Sasha pointed with her chin to Aimee—“several years ago. She helped me out of an . . . hmm, unusual situation. Quite a woman, your mother is. Most willing to elicit exciting activity.”
Millie was not daunted. “That does not explain why she directed us to you. Especially for our
Millie stood up. “Are you Madame Sasha?”
The woman eyed Millie carefully. “I am. And you are?”
“Lady Millie Aldon.” She cocked her head slightly and stared at the older woman. By the simple authority of her stance, it was clear she was no modiste. What was Lady Chaselton thinking? “Please let me introduce Lady Aimee Wentworth and Lady Jennelle Gent.”
The Russian woman continued to stand just inside the study doors. “Hmm. Seems I am in the presence of high company, but I am unclear as to why. I am sure we have never met.”
Aimee stood up and joined Millie. “My deepest apologies, madam. My mother suggested we visit, but I think there has been some misunderstanding. We were supposed to meet a modiste or seamstress. We are very sorry to have bothered you.”
Madame Sasha raised her jeweled, wrinkled hand and dismissed the apology with a simple wave. She stared at Aimee for several seconds before asking, “Who is your mother?”
Aimee blinked. “Lady Chaselton.”
“Would her given name be Cecilia?” The woman smiled as if recalling a fond memory involving Aimee’s mother.
Aimee glanced at Jennelle and Millie, whose eyes were as large as hers. It was hard to imagine, but Madame Sasha and her mother knew each other, and based on the facial expression they were seeing on the woman’s face—quite well. Aimee turned back to Madame Sasha and replied, “It is.”
The woman’s dark eyes gave them each a piercing look and then she hollered quite unexpectedly, “Evette! Come! Fetch my bag and tell Henry he needs to bring tea. My blend.” Then, as if she had never bellowed a word, she turned back toward the group, composed as ever.
She looked directly at Aimee. “So, you are Cecilia’s daughter. Hmm. You look like her—except in the eyes. But Cecilia is not faint of heart. Are you as timid as you appear and act?”
Aimee was taken aback, but Millie was incensed. “Aimee is no such thing. She has a venturous spirit, as we all do.” Then, with more bite, she added, “She is simply the most polite of us.”
Raising a single eyebrow, Madame Sasha replied, “I can see that you do not possess that fault.”
Jennelle, who had remained sitting during this exchange, was perplexed. When was being polite considered a negative quality? “Madame Sasha. We are not in the wrong location, are we? You are the person Lady Chaselton suggested we meet. So, I assume that you know why we are here.”
The portly woman turned and looked at the redhead with an unwavering gaze. “Yes. The dark, petite beauty here needs a wardrobe.” The doors opened, and a young girl came in with tea.
Millie was able to keep her mouth closed, but her eyes were gaping. She swallowed. Jennelle reached up and encouraged her to sit down.
Millie plopped down beside her and leaned over to whisper, “Jennelle, I do not know what to make of this woman. Do you?”
“Not sure. Yet, it is clear she does know Aimee’s mother by the way she reacted when she heard the name Lady Chaselton.” The servant approached, and they both reached up to take the tea offered to them. Jennelle took a sip. “Mmm. This is excellent.”
Sasha raised an eyebrow and responded, “Thank you. It is a unique blend I came across while in Russia. You,” she said, pointing at Millie, “come here and let me take a look at you.”
Millie set her cup down and went over to join Madame Sasha as if the Russian had control over her. When the woman clasped her waist, Millie managed to ask, “Who exactly are you?”
“I am Madame Sasha. I met her mother”—Sasha pointed with her chin to Aimee—“several years ago. She helped me out of an . . . hmm, unusual situation. Quite a woman, your mother is. Most willing to elicit exciting activity.”
Millie was not daunted. “That does not explain why she directed us to you. Especially for our
Similar Books
