“Please deliver a message to Her Highness the Princess.”
Madame Loren stared directly at the princess’s secretary and spoke firmly.
“There are plenty of people in the world who make clothes. But there is no one in the world who can replace me, Madame Loren.”
With her back straight and steps full of pride, Madame Loren exited the reception room.
Even in her forties, she stubbornly wore high heels and never ran—no matter the situation.
Born a commoner, she had taught herself noble poise through sheer effort, all to deal with aristocrats. That included adopting a noble pride befitting even the bluebloods.
She could have knelt and begged. But that paltry pride didn’t allow it.
“To the Lancelot firm.”
She stormed out of the palace and shouted to the coachman.
Edgar Lancaster Lancelot was not someone you could meet by simply showing up. Especially not if you were a discredited…
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Emilybronte
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