Page 47 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
Argent gritted his teeth, for he knew what awaited. But this was the simplest expedient to ensure the safety of all members of the household.
Tsumiko asked, “Couldn’t you simply contact the appropriate authorities and tell them Lady Nona lost to Argent?”
Michael rubbed at the side of his face. “Unfortunately, sheisthe proper authority; but yes, I can appeal to the other four clans. They might be able to pressure her into yielding or, at the very least, insist on a rematch. But before that can happen, Argent needs to regain his strength. So a safe haven is our first priority.”
With a small nod, she quietly asked, “Where are we going?”
Patting her tight fist, Michael tried for a brighter tone. “Merry old England.”
TWENTY EIGHT
Hand-Me-Downs
Tsumiko was not accustomed to wealth, let alone its trappings. Until the inheritance, she could have fit all her belongings in one suitcase. Nothing about the lifestyle at Saint Midori’s had encouraged accumulation. Any excess was given to those whose needs were greater. Even now, Tsumiko only owned three changes of clothes. Four, if you counted her nightgown.
“The Uppington Smythes live in high style, so we must prepare you for social events and outings.” Sansa led the way along a quiet hall and opened the door to a room that smelled of cedar. Pulling overhead strings as she walked, three sets of lights winked on, revealing a long room lined with wardrobes, chests, and trunks. “That means at least one new ensemble a day. They dress for dinner, and it would be too shabby for the heiress to show the same ensemble twice.”
Tsumiko quailed at the prospect of spending a month or more overseas. Thirty-some days would give her thirty-some ways to demonstrate her inability to meet such lofty expectations. “How can I possibly do that?”
“Lady Eimi always wore traditional attire. You will do the same.” Sansa opened a drawer and folded back tissue, revealing shining silk—deep red with sprays of white chrysanthemums. “Today, you shall choose many beautiful things.”
Sansa’s smile was nostalgic as she opened doors and drawers, revealing a trove of silken elegance. But Tsumiko’s trepidation multiplied.
“This is beyond me,” she protested. “I’ve only worn rented yukata … three times.”
“Rely on Argent. He maintained Mrs. Eimi’s collection, and he will serve as your dresser.” Moving to a box filled with jeweled hair ornaments, she said, “He understands the layers, the knots, and the arranging of hair.”
Tsumiko tentatively opened a drawer, revealing a rainbow assortment of embroidered wraps. “Why would one person need so many?” she murmured. “There must be hundreds.”
“Some of these are hundreds of years old. Mrs. Eimi inherited them as you have, from past generations of Hajime women.”
A museum of past mistresses. “Doesn’t that mean Argent would have bad memories attached to these?”
“He has never complained.”
“Would he?” asked Tsumiko.
Sansa’s head dipped. “No. Give him final say. That is the best you can offer.”
Tsumiko nodded.
Pulling forward several kimono racks, Sansa said, “I know which ones Lady Eimi used recently. Avoid those. Once he is able to supervise, Argent can steer you toward the best combinations for layering and accessories.”
“Yes.” Tsumiko trailed her finger along a pale green sleeve. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“Do you have a favorite color?”
“I’m … not fussy?”
Sansa laughed and brought a coral kimono over, laying it against Tsumiko’s shoulder. “Taste will develop, yes? Especially if a gentleman compliments you for wearing his favorite color.”
“Is that why you wear green?”
With a low chuckle, Sansa confessed, “At school, my Dimityblest friend said it was a charm to draw Michael’s eyes to me. Perhaps she was correct, yes?”
“Was that at a reaver school?”
“Ingress Academy.”
