The Beast's Bluestocking (The Bluestocking War) by Eva Devon (drm ebook reader .TXT) 📕

the invitations,” she said in her clipped German accent and read them over.

“This simply will not do,” she said and marched over the phone. “This is an emergency, you have been invited to the ball. You cannot be seen wearing any of these.”

“The ball?” Dana asked and reread the invitation.

“What ball?” Claire asked but Mrs. Schwartz ignored them.

She spoke rapid fire German into the phone, firmness in her voice and ended the call with and emphatic “NEIN! We have two hours to do the impossible! I want Maurice here in five minutes and bring in everyone!”

She smiled to herself before returning to the girls, ran her hands over her perfectly ironed and starched uniform and said “Do not fear, ladies. There is no need for panic. Help is on the way.”

A small, wiry man wearing a tailored suit and pencil thin mustache barged through the doors without knocking only moments later. Three harried looking women followed in his wake, measuring tapes fluttering around their necks and notebooks in their hands.

“Why are you still clothed?” he demanded at the shocked girls then ordered his entourage to disrobe them.

“Wait. What?” Dana asked and pushed away the hands reaching to unbutton her blouse.

“Stop,” the little man demanded, held up his hand and his assistants froze.

“Is this the correct room?” he calmly asked the head of the household in his heavy French accent.

“Ya,” she answered.

“Are these the correct women?” he quietly asked her.

“Ya,” she said again.

“Is it true that we have exactly one hour and forty-seven minutes before they are expected to be escorted by the king to the ball and then for a night on the town?”

“Ya,” she answered again even though technically James wasn’t the king yet.

“They are to be seen in public with his majesty?” he asked patiently.

“Ya.”

“And now I have one hour and forty-six minutes to turn these ducklings into swans?”

The head of the household nodded again.

He faced the girls who had been watching the exchange in fascination.

“Mademoiselles,” he said calmly. “Do you understand the urgency of our situation?”

“Yes, sir,” they said.

“Then modesty be damned!” he shouted and snapped his fingers. “We don’t have time.”

The assistants jumped to undress them and this time the girls didn’t resist. He spoke French into his earpiece, snagged the tape measure from one of his team and started barking out numbers.

“Leave that,” he ordered sharply when one of them began to remove Claire’s emerald bear head necklace. “I will design her wardrobe around it.”

He poked at her little roll of belly fat, spoke faster into the phone and broke off in mid French sentence.

“You need to exercise more,” he said. “This needs to go.”

“I’ve lost twenty pounds, thank you very much,” Claire said indignantly.

She had gotten leaner over the past few weeks and she hadn’t even been trying.

“Lose another ten,” he said and went back to barking orders in to his phone, telling them to hold out their arms, examining their toes and fingernails, peering harshly at their eyebrows and frowning at the shape of their ears.

More people hurried in the room, men and women both, and the girls were just thankful Maurice had let them keep their underwear on. Claire was doubly thankful the strange marks had faded away and she was wearing her new undergarments, not the batman panties still in her suitcase. It’s a European thing she told herself. They have topless beaches and don’t think anything of seeing a woman’s breasts.

They heard bathwater being ran and when an albino, distinguished looking man walked in, Maurice ordered everyone away from the girls. He inclined his head slightly; a show of respect and the room fell into a hush. He fluttered his hand in a shooing motion at a few of the assistants and they nearly ran to the other side of the room. He crossed one arm over his chest, rested his elbow on it and tapped the tip of his nose with a finger as he stared at them.

“Um, hi,” Claire said, and was shushed by a dozen different people.

“Sorry,” she whispered and self-consciously crossed her arms over her breasts. It was strange having a room full of people stare at you while a tall pale man studied you like a bug under a microscope. Dana fidgeted beside her, not sure what to expect next. They saw Mrs. Schwartz glance at her watch and grimace but no one rushed the man as he slowly circled them then leaned in close to Claire and breathed in slowly.

“Night Blooming Jasmine,” he said softly to himself. “And Oleander. There is something wild and untamed about this one. Perhaps even dangerous.”

He closed his eyes for a moment then walked over to a woman holding an open aluminum case that held small vials of various colored liquids. He gently tapped two, considered for a moment then pulled down a false lid to expose a few more vials. He touched a third and the woman’s eyes went wide.

“Yessssss,” he said softly. “She is a rare one. She will wear it well.”

The woman hurried to the bathroom to mix the ingredients and another girl took her place with an open case when the perfumer turned to examine Dana. He did the same to her and almost smiled as he touched the vials.

“This one is light and airy. Apple blossoms and summer rain.” He said then walked out of the room without a backwards glance.

The woman hurried to the other bathroom to start mixing the fragrances and bath oils that would bring out the very best in the girls. The scents were matched perfectly to their body chemistry and would waft from them naturally as if their very skin was breathing the divine aromas. As soon as he was across the threshold, the controlled chaos started again as the assistants ran forward and dragged the girls off in different directions to be cleaned and shaved and manicured and pedicured. Without Maurice barking orders, or Mrs. Schwartz glaring at them, the assistants loosened up and laughed with the girls