Tingling Winter

It was time to get home, now. Jessi would be arriving with her new 'houseguest' and would expect her to be there. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the image of Jessi's mansion, then she was there, standing in the dusty road just beyond the front porch.The three bags at the gate indicated that Jessi and company had already arrived, but 'Crud. Couldn't they have at least taken their bags inside?' She bent down, grabbed everything and concentrated on the living room. Closing her eyes, she teleported, then looked down to make sure everything had arrived with her. With a sigh of relief at her successful teleport, she picked out the bag she recognized as Jessi's and headed back toward her host's bedroom.As she passed the kitchen, she paused at the eye-watering stench of something burning and was undecided for an instant on which way to go – continue on toward the shower she could hear running, or find out who was burning down their kitchen. She chose the kitchen."Hey!" Emma grinned as. "Inwardly, Monique shrugged. "In a manner of speaking, I guess that's true," she admitted.Gertrude looked vindicated. "Who was the designer?" she asked. This time, her tone made it clear that she would brook no coyness. She expected an answer.Monique felt like telling Madame to go fuck herself, but Richard had wanted her to enjoy the finer things in life, even after his death, and he'd worked hard so that she could enjoy the not-so-polite world of polite society as a proper lady. She wasn't about to ruin her career as a social butterfly before it started, not after the sacrifices, financial and otherwise, that Richard had made her on behalf, so she could attend just such affairs as the debutante ball of Gertrude Winn's one and only daughter, Louise. She mentioned the designer's name, and the matron looked suitably shocked. "My God!" she murmured. Recovering quickly, she added, "I should have guessed. Only he could have made such an exquisite purse."Monique smiled. The designer.
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