She Was the Treasure All Along novel Chapter 890

His sudden, commanding intervention instantly wiped the mocking smirks off the socialites' faces.

Jocelyn had just started to step forward to lead Giselle away when Mrs. Kendal appeared at the top of the sweeping spiral staircase. Completely ignoring Hank's demand, she looked at her daughter. "The butler said my tailor arrived. Where is she? Send her up immediately."

"Mom, she's not really in a state to—" Jocelyn started.

"Right away, Mrs. Kendal," Giselle interrupted smoothly, already stepping toward the stairs.

The moment Mrs. Kendal got a clear look at her dripping, bedraggled state, she recoiled with a look of utter disgust. "Stop right there. Don't come anywhere near me."

Giselle halted on the steps.

Mrs. Kendal waved her hand dismissively. "Jocelyn, have a maid take her to change. I absolutely refuse to have her track mud and wet-dog smell into my private suite."

Jocelyn gave Giselle an apologetic smile. "Please don't take it personally. My mother is just very particular. Follow me."

Giselle wasn't bothered in the slightest. She changed into a set of dry, clean clothes provided by the maids and headed back upstairs to Mrs. Kendal's suite.

Downstairs, Hank made a move to stand up. Jocelyn quickly blocked his path. "My mother is having her measurements taken. Are you really going to barge in on that?"

Hank glared down at her. He thought about it for a second, then forced himself back into his seat. "Your mother is a nightmare."

Saying something like that in a room full of her friends made Jocelyn's smile turn brittle. "Relax. No matter how difficult she is, she's not going to torture a tailor."

Upstairs, Mrs. Kendal was reclining on a velvet chaise lounge, lazily dragging an ivory comb through her meticulously maintained hair.

"You're finally here." Mrs. Kendal shot Giselle a side-eye, looking at her the way one might inspect a cheap rug. "Put your kit on that table over there. And don't scuff my carpets."

Giselle silently obliged, placing her kit on the designated side table. She pulled out her measuring tape and sketchbook, standing quietly to the side to wait.

Mrs. Kendal dragged it out for another ten minutes before languidly sitting up and extending her arms. "Go ahead."

Giselle stepped forward, her movements professional, light, and efficient.

"Mrs. Kendal, I need to double-check the sleeve length. Could you please raise your arm slightly?" Giselle asked in a calm, even tone.

Mrs. Kendal barely lifted her arm, muttering under her breath, "The last time Bloomberry made a gown for me, the waistline was a disaster. It made me look ten pounds heavier at the gala. If there's a single mistake this time, I'm withholding the final payment."

"I will make sure it's perfect," Giselle replied, offering no excuses as she made a quick notation in her sketchbook.

The second the measurements were done, Mrs. Kendal collapsed back onto the chaise lounge, picked up the ivory comb, and let out a heavy, dramatic sigh.

"I don't know what's wrong with my hair today. The more I comb it, the worse it gets."

Giselle didn't respond, keeping her eyes glued to her data.

Giselle glanced at the closet. Behind those doors was decades' worth of hoarded luxury fashion—probably hundreds of evening gowns alone.

"Mrs. Kendal, I am only scheduled for a fitting today. Organizing and styling a wardrobe of that size requires—"

"What? Are you refusing?" Mrs. Kendal's voice turned instantly hostile. "You Bloomberry people really think highly of yourselves, don't you? A VIP client makes a simple request, and you say no? Or do you think my wardrobe isn't worthy of your time?"

Giselle remained silent for a beat, then replied with perfect neutrality, "I'm not refusing. I'll get started right away."

She walked into the closet and began the grueling process of sorting, categorizing, and styling.

The closet was the size of a small boutique. Racks of haute couture lined all four walls, and a massive center island was buried under thousands of dollars' worth of jewelry and accessories. Putting together cohesive looks from this chaotic hoard was mentally and physically exhausting. But this was her first major client since returning to the company. She had to swallow her pride and make sure the deal went through.

While Giselle was crouching on the floor organizing the bottom row of the shoe displays, Mrs. Kendal strolled to the doorway with a cup of tea, leisurely watching her do manual labor and occasionally tossing out condescending demands about pairing options.

By 2:00 PM, Hank noticed that Giselle still hadn't come downstairs. He flagged down a maid. "Bring a tray of lunch up to Ms. Turner."

"I'll take it," Jocelyn smoothly intervened, grabbing a coffee and a plate of sandwiches from the kitchen. "It'll give me a chance to check on their progress anyway."

She carried the tray upstairs and walked into the closet. "Ms. Turner, you should eat something. My mother is just very particular. Please don't take it to heart." Jocelyn's voice was dripping with fake sympathy, her eyes scanning Giselle with barely concealed judgment.

"Thank you," Giselle said evenly. She took the coffee, managed one bite of the sandwich, and immediately went back to work.