Mrs Beauregarde Novels & Stories

merger as an affront, a takeover of their playground. A tall, spindly woman in a gown of aggressive sequins led the charge. "A lovely party, Garette," she purred, though her eyes were ice. "Though some of us wonder if the guest of honor’s... condition... wasn't a bit of a rush-job to secure the Le Brione assets?" The table went silent. It was a direct hit, a public insult to Dianthe’s honor. Garette’s hand tightened on his steak knife, his eyes flashing with a murderous intent that would have ended the gala then and there.

The number one wealthiest woman in the whole of the USA. “I... I just want to help the older woman with her hair, I mean no harm, sir.” Scarlet fearfully stammered to the guard who was standing gallantly in front of her. “Let her be, Marcellus!” Mrs. Browns spoke strictly to the chief of the guards. “Yes, Mrs. Browns!” Marcellus bowed and stepped aside for Scarlet to pass. “Good evening, ma’am!” Scarlet greets courteously with a bow after walking closer to the woman.

The head housekeeper is standing at attention beside the grand staircase when she yells out to her, "Francesca. Tonight, I want the dining room to be arranged for twelve people. Don't use anything less than the silver flatware and the crystal glasses.” Francesca bows respectfully, "Yes, Mrs. Craig," and hurries away. Marie turns to Reginald, the butler, an old man who had worked for her for many years. "Reginald, it's time to update the wine cellar inventory. Make sure the Château Margaux is ready and decanted by six o'clock.” "Of course, ma'am," Reginald says quietly as he nods, then returns to his work. Marie glances around the room and sees the young gardener standing clumsily near the do

Or if you leave your address, we can deliver it straight to your door. ‘I said I want this one. I’m not letting it go,’ Pink Hair shot back, clutching the bracelet tighter. The assistant glanced at me as if about to mediate, but I cut in before she could speak. ‘Not happening. Once I’ve chosen something, it’s mine. No one takes it from me.’ At that point, Genevieve finally wandered over. ‘Mirabelle, isn’t it? What a coincidence.’ I gave her a frosty look. ‘It’s Mrs Laurent to you.’

said the tallest waiter; the one standing next to me while holding a platter on each of his hand. I looked at him, confused and brooded at the same time. “I don’t think I ordered any of that,” I replied. The waiter looked to the two other waiters behind him, and gave them the eyes that asked for help. But before they could even begin to team up in explaining to me what’s going on, a chef capered towards us sending impenetrable shock waves to the ground. He was four times bigger than me. His neck was brimming with bad cholesterol and fats, and his belly wobbled like a newly made gelatine. When he stood one ruler below me, he cleared his throat and said, “It’s under Mr. Beauchêne’s name, Ma

genius. I saw blues in that collection that I didn't even know existed. It was such a unique collection." She looked at Beau, saying, "I never knew you worked with Fress Astor. Why didn't you tell me?" Fress chuckled, saying, "Me and Beau go way back. As you can see we've had our fair share of disagreements so he doesn't like talking to me or about me he didn't even tell me you were coming today. Beau, I've never seen this beautiful woman around here. You should've told me we were going to have a beautiful guest at our meeting so I could wear something more appropriate instead of dressing casually. Is she a new model for the event?" Beau tightened his jaw, thinking, 'Keep it together Beau,

How right. My hands shook as I scrolled through the photos. There, three posts down, was one from two days ago. A group shot at some charity luncheon. Mrs. Sanderson stood in the background, champagne glass raised. Genevieve’s caption: Amazing afternoon supporting arts education with these incredible women. Grateful for mentors who teach us about grace under pressure. Grace under pressure. A direct shot at my supposed lack thereof. Someone knocked on my office door. “Come in.” Simone Beaumont swept in wearing her usual uniform of black dress and expensive jewelry. She was French, thirty-eight, and had the kind of effortless elegance I’d spent years trying to emulate.

I hesitate before answering. “Hello?” “Alo!” a heavily accented voice calls from the other side of the world. It must already be morning wherever she is because she sounds much more chipper than I feel. “Is this Harper Ward?” “Yes?” I answer, completely taken aback. “This is Marianne LaFleur, director of the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris. I apologize for the abrupt call, but I wanted to reach out personally with an opportunity we think you’d be perfect for.”

The serving girls would clear it. The doors opened once again, and I looked up to see Magnus enter, long cloak dusting the floor behind him. I don’t know why he still insists on wearing such an old-fashioned thing. Then again, my gowns are from a different age too – but much better quality than the ‘designer’ shit they push now. “My Lady” Magnus rushed across the room. He took the carafe and poured me some wine into a fresh glass. “I have just heard of the Berregaards. We must take swift action.”

The Great Madame is coming! All persons was suddenly busy, everyone was no exception with Mr. Kusuma. Time is running out, four hours of our time to make sure everything is okay. Moreover, Great Madam is allergic to dust. Luckily the security guard had arrived in the afternoon, so there were two security guards, Pak Maman and Bik Inah. I gather them first to divide the task. Pak Maman downstairs and roof top, Bik Inah upstairs especially the Madame's room, the security guard outside the house including the garden. I was in charge of the kitchen, preparing to welcome the great Madam including rechecking all their works.