The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield

Chapter Fifteen: Making Lemonade

A/N: Hello, everyone! Thanks again for patiently following this story. I'm amazed by those who connected with me outside of WP for an update. For those who'd want to know the progress of the upcoming chapters, I'll post some teasers on Twitter from now on so take a peek there if you'd like.

I want to dedicate this chapter to Bieberholics for being such an enthusiastic TMMM fan and to those who believe in modern fairy tales. Cheers!

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If I’d been a child beauty queen, I could probably tell you better that getting primped up for my tea party with the Championettes felt like prepping for a national pageant. 

Felicity and Armina insisted I dress in signature Championette fashion—pastels, pearls and pumps. As if the three P’s weren’t enough, Felicity had to coach me on tea party etiquette. 

While I realized that slurping the tea down noisily wasn’t exactly the most popular form, I didn’t think there was a science to it. 

I had read enough historical romances to know that it was a big deal back in the eighteenth century but that was my point—that was practically two hundred years ago. Knowing whether cream or sugar (cubes only) went in first, or who did the pouring or how one should ask for a cup properly didn’t seem that crucial in ensuring that everyone was having a good time. In my opinion, if I had to sit there stiffer than the starched pencil skirt I’d be sporting, it wouldn’t be a good time at all.

Felicity had gently reassured me several times that order in life and society was an important key to happiness and since she seemed to go around with plenty of sunshine, I’d been inclined to believe her.

“I really look like Mrs. Bethany Harris,” I told Felicity for probably the sixth time that afternoon as I stared myself at the mirror by the living room.

Felicity stepped back from fixing my pearl necklace and shook her head patiently. “You don’t look like your English teacher, Charlotte. You look fresh, refined and lovely.”

“You look like a Championette but still very much what I’d expect of Charlotte Maxfield,” Armina added, motioning to the cropped white denim jacket I wore over my peach baby doll dress. While the palette met the Championette requirement, the jacket and the nude leather booties made the outfit edgy enough that I didn’t feel like I was overdosing on sugar. 

The three of us had spent the last week determining my final outfit and eventually making compromises to keep everyone happy. Sure, I could order both Felicity and Armina to agree to whatever I wanted to wear but they were my friends and had been more accustomed to this scene far longer than I have been that I had to trust their instincts. I consented to the pearls, the pastel palette and the neat bun my braided hair was tucked into. 

Slightly conscious of the possibility that things were not going to go well, I had made the least amount of fuss possible about the whole invitation, choosing not to alert anyone else about it. That way, if things went south, I’d have fewer people to deal with.

I took a deep breath as I turned away from the mirror and faced the other girls. “Well, we can at least count on my last name to get me through the door. Let’s just hope they don’t kick me out before we can sit down for tea.”

“You’ll be fine,” Felicity reassured me as she picked up the hostess gifts I was taking with me. “Just remember to count to ten before you say anything really important just in case it sounds differentl when you say from how it sounds in your head.”

“Got it,” I said with a firm nod. “And no clanking noise when stirring. Let the tea spoon touch only the bottom of the cup but never the walls. Do no more than five graceful swirls and don’t lick the spoon.”