Page 32 of Doxy for the Ton
“Chaque robe est très cher,” Mimi said.
Confusion clouded the modiste’s expression. Then she shook her head.
Madame Deliet, you’re a fraudster.
“I doubt you could afford anything in my establishment,” she said. “I’d advise you to look elsewhere. There’s plenty of establishments where you can purchase a gown.”
“Charitable establishments,” the blonde said.
Her companion let out a giggle. “Sarah, we mustn’t be unkind, I’m sure my maid has donated some of her old gowns to such places—those she doesn’t cut into rags and give to the butler to polish the silverware with.”
Their laughter filled the air.
“I have money,” Mimi said. “My late husband’s friend, he—”
The modiste strode to the door. The bell overhead tinkled angrily as she yanked it open.
“Please leave,” she said, her voice cold and hard, with no trace of a French accent. “Do not attempt to enter my establishment again.”
She pushed Charles toward the exit and faced Mimi, contempt in her eyes. Then she called over her shoulder, “Evelina!”
“Yes, Madame?” a thin voice called in the distance.
“Bring my cologne—there’s a nasty odor I must see to.”
Mimi retreated through the door, and the modiste slammed it shut.
Mimi turned from the shop, blinking back the moisture in her eyes. She’d be damned if she’d give them the satisfaction of seeing her tears.
“Charles, take me home.”
“Ma’am, it’s raining.”
Mimi stepped out from beneath the awning and tipped her head toward the sky, letting droplets splash onto her face.
“I care not,” she said. “I’d rather be out here in the rain than inside with those creatures—withanyof their kind.”
“So would I, ma’am,” Charles said, then his color deepened. “Forgive me. My aunt’s always sayin’ I shouldn’t speak out of turn. In fact, she says I shouldn’t speak at all most times—certainly not in front of my betters.”
“On the contrary,” Mimi said. “You have shown me that you’re a better person than those…” She gestured toward the shop.
“Ladies?” he asked.
“Oh, I think we can do better than that,” she said.
He hesitated. “Nasty ladies?”
“How about vipers?”
He let out a nervous laugh. “What about cheesers?”
“Cheesers?” she asked. “As in lumps of cheese?”
He lowered his voice. “It means… It’s when you…” He gestured to his behind and waved his hand to and fro. “When you do a particularly potent one. If it stinks, it’s called a cheeser.” Mimi bit her lip to suppress her laughter, and his eyes widened. “Beg pardon, ma’am, I didn’t mean to offend!”
“And you didn’t, Charles,” she said. “In fact, I think my life will be the better for having you in it. You’re a credit to your aunt, and I’ll tell her as much when we return. Now, shall we?”
He nodded, then led the way as they retraced their steps to Grosvenor Square and the rain began to fall more steadily.
