Thérèse liked England, really she did. It was quaint, the lifestyle was more relaxed, and Surrey was beautiful. Christopher was a darling, Augusta was a great friend, she spent her days appreciating the library and the grounds (hopefully without getting wet in the process). It was nice, really it was.
But nothing could compare to Versailles, and oh, how she missed it at times. There was nothing like a good party, and the English did not know how to party. All her beautiful gowns had been lost to the mercy of the sans culottes, her jewels, her shoes, her fans, all of it, all gone, save what she'd been wearing the night she fled. She'd replenished her wardrobe with mourning gowns, and that was really all she had besides the occasional pretty and simple dress, so it was what she was wearing now.
Angel wouldn't approve, but Thérèse didn't care. She was just happy that Angel was here. The girl was much younger than herself, but that didn't matter; they'd been great friends and party buddies at Versailles, and the thought of one of her friends, here in England, was enough to satisfy Thérèse. So the moment she'd heard news of her arrival, she'd climbed into a coach and was off to London. Oh, sanity. A bright light in the midst of all this dreary rain.
Thérèse waited in the foyer, inspecting her surroundings, before the servant informed her that the lady would see her. With a smile, she made her way to the door and opened it, letting out a squeak of delight when she saw Angel.