Mrs Beauregarde Novels & Stories

Rosalie stated confidently, the man looking unperturbed. "That trail ran cold a long time ago, sweetheart." The man told her. "I am here to review the information and that is what I'll do." "And who are you again?" "Rosalie Allegro." She informed, standing straight before him. "Commissioner Allegro's daughter," "Right, and I'm the President of England." The man chortled sarcastically.

Why send it to me and not Charlotte's parents or even the Police? "Genie, are you ok?". Maise looks at me concerned with her big brown eyes. She's as blonde as I am dark. People would describe us as polar opposites but we work well together and have even formed a friendship outside of work. "I'm ok Maisie. Sorry, I'm preoccupied today. I received some unusual news this morning and I'm trying to decide what to do about it".

I scanned the place. I am sure. This is the place where I dropped off Magda last time. I can't be wrong. I spoke in the back of my mind. I wonder why Bel is the one who was here. Just in case Bel and Magda are the same people—No! No! It's impossible. I protested. If you take a look, Bel has a sun-kissed skin tone while Magda is fair. Bel has shoulder-length hair while Magda is long. The woman who's with me now is tall, while Magda just has an average height.

"I've never seen such beautiful dresses as these, Miss. You will look terrific in them. Why don't you try them on?" Mary's cheerful voice snapped Marguerite from her sad musings. She turned to see her maid picking a muslin dress in her favorite color and showed it to her with a wide expectant grin. Any woman would leap in joy, but Marguerite just shook her head. As her maid turned to put the dress back in place, Marguerite glanced listlessly at the colorful stack of thirty brand new dresses inside her closet. Today her order from Madame Le Veaux had just shipped and Mary had just done storing them in her closet, but even a wardrobe full of beautiful dresses could do little to dispel the gloo

She barked after me but I could only shoot her an apologetic look before I locked the door. The ride to the office was rushed as I floored it, hoping I wouldn’t get into an accident. I had a few more interviews with Jean-Pierre’s potential matches before I was free for Mrs. Beaumont’s party and whoever had come to inquire for her services. It was strange that Mrs. Beaumont never mentioned who they were. But I guess surprises couldn’t be that bad. It was 11 by the time I got there. Aaron Wiler seemed like a patient guy but in the world of dating and marriage, people knew how to keep up a good front.

“Bonjour?” A rich, accented voice replied. “Madame Blackwell, this is Margot Fontaine from Paris Fashion Week Committee. We are honored to invite you and Maison Élitaire as our guest of distinction for this year’s showcase. Paris is buzzing with your name. Everyone wants to see the woman behind the brand.” Elena’s heart skipped. “That’s… that’s incredible. Thank you so much, Margot.” “You deserve it, ma chère,” Margot said warmly. “The entire industry awaits your presence. And, of course, Mr. Blackwell’s as well. We’ll send official details shortly. Welcome to the grand stage.”

They were pushing a series of heavy, velvet-draped racks. "Mrs Vaughn! Welcome, welcome!" Madame Genevieve beamed, her thick French accent echoing in the suite. "It is the absolute honour of my career to host you today. We have prepared everything exactly to your husband's specifications." Maya frowned, looking at me in confusion. "Stellan's specifications? Thea, did you even pick out your own wedding dress?"

She smiles brightly and because I don’t want to feel awkward, I smile too. A tall, elegant woman approaches wearing a tailor made blouse tucked into a pencil skirt. “Bonsoir, Mesdames.” She says, her voice thick with a French accent. “I am Madame Leclair, the owner of this Maison de luxe; it’s my pleasure to assist you. Please follow me.” She turns, her high heel clicking on the floor.

Hers sounded clipped and fake, a way to mask the pain she was feeling. Mr. Beau's blue eyes slid to his wife, the mirth in them disappeared when she looked at him and Mrs Beau swallowed hard. I tightened my hand around my fork. I wanted to intervene for Mrs Beau, to tell her asshole of a husband to stop intimidating her with his glare, but he quickly returned his focus to Genevieve as if his own wife was of no importance at all. “It was the south of France.” He began in a dramatic voice that made me roll my eyes. “The waves were merciless that day.”

This time, she was carrying a secret that would change everything. She walked up to the door and rang the bell, her heart pounding in her chest. She could hear the sound of footsteps approaching, and then the door swung open. "Good evening, ma'am," the housekeeper said, a warm smile on her face. "Welcome to Mr. Xavier's house." Camille's smile faltered for a moment as she realized that Xavier wasn't home. "Oh, hi," she said, trying to hide her disappointment. "Is Xavier in?" The housekeeper's expression turned apologetic. "I'm afraid Mr. Xavier and Mike has gone out, ma'am. He left early this morning and didn't say when he'd be back."