19: Madame Charlamaine

*Everly*

The carriage comes to a stop. Thank God.

“And we’re at the dressmaker’s. Let’s see about getting you some proper clothing”. He says.

Proper clothing ? As though what I am wearing isn’t proper.

But when I step into the shop, my irritation with him dims. I have been in shops before, but never a dressmaker’s. Two well-dressed ladies are at the counter, obviously making their purchases. Another elegant woman is sitting in a plush chair in a corner studying what appears to be drawings of patterns.

A large woman bustles toward us. “Sir, how might I be of service ?”

Tristan tugs on his waistcoat, as if it annoys him. “I wish to be attended to by the proprietor”.

“I am she. Madame Charlamaine”. She purrs.

“I expected a foreign accent”. He says.

She smiles, her teeth straight and white, her lips as red as cherries. “I excel in providing my customers with the unexpected”.

Tristan seems to be taking measure of her. I remember that he said he is a good judge of charact