Operation Red Book

"I don't know why, but I feel like I'm getting hot right now."

The Marchioness of Baxter waved her feather fan quickly, and soft feathers flew out of the fan and fluttered onto her wide brown and golden skirt.

As soon as the lady finished speaking, a breeze came with fallen leaves, bringing a hint of coolness to everyone in the tent.

The feathers on the skirt were blown up again and drifted away with the wind.

There was only one exception. It was blocked by Mrs. Baxter's huge body, and it went up and finally got stuck in the layers of pearl necklaces.

“There it is.”

Countess Goodwin replied perfunctorily, the wide brim of her hat covering the right half of her face.

The glowing green pupils were hidden in the darkness, brewing thick anger and cunning indifference.

"Oh, look at my Fiona, she's having a great time talking to Duke Andrew! But why hasn't she finished the piece of fried fish on her fork..."

“There it is.”

"How was the gold leaf grapefruit mousse you just had? It looks delicious. Oh, oh, oh! It matches my dress today!"

“There it is.”

"Come to think of it, I haven't been out for a long time. The last time was at the hunting party three days ago. It's a pity that you didn't go. That little girl Christine shot two hares with one shot!"

“Hehe…There it is.”

The obvious perfunctory response made the Marchioness of Baxter very angry. She blinked quickly and pushed hard on her brown curly hair under her feather hat.

Countess Goodwin didn't seem to notice. She was shrouded in shadow, exuding an ominous atmosphere.

She had always been like this, and the Marchioness of Baxter knew it, having known it since they were little kids playing together.

The Marchioness of Baxter shook off the gorgeous jewels hanging on her body like a hen, coughed lightly, turned towards the Countess of Goodwin, and pretended to look in the direction she was looking at casually.

"what!"

The Marchioness of Baxter uttered a sharp sneer, like a giant parrot in the rainforest, and many people present turned their heads.

"It's Rachel again! You've been staring at me for more than ten years, aren't you tired yet?"

"What nonsense are you talking about!"

Countess Goodwin finally turned her head around, and blush and dark circles covered her long, mean face.

A ray of anger shot out of her eyes, and her sharp scream was no less than that of the "rainforest parrot".

"I'm not kidding, Jacqueline. You've always been like this since you were little..."

The Marchioness of Baxter was very proud. She took several steps forward and raised her head proudly, but unfortunately the layer of fat on her chin still did not expand.

"You are always like this, pathetically hiding in the dark and coveting other people's treasures, hahahahaha!"

"madman!"

Seeing the Marchioness of Baxter laughing at her, Mrs. Goodwin cursed out loud with hatred.

"Go ahead and say it! Everyone is watching you. Don't fall down in front of so many people because of your ridiculous high heels... Oh, you seem to have become much shorter. Your height has suddenly shrunk!"

Marchioness Baxter raised her eyebrows, and her bulging and towering apple cheeks trembled slightly with the uncontrollable excitement.

"Oh! I was mistaken. Please forgive me. Perhaps you have fallen to the ground and can't get up. Tell me quickly, is it like last time, with your petticoat turned upside down on your face?"

"Enough!"

"Countess, little... Countess... don't go! I still want to talk to you about the royal carriage!"

Looking at Mrs. Goodwin's angry back, Mrs. Baxter's suppressed mouth corners finally lifted up in relief, and she waved the feather fan much more gently.

She gestured for a glass of champagne to the butler serving at the table, and just as she took a sip her attention was drawn to three figures in front of her.

The blue bow skirt looked a bit like the Goodwin family's daughter, Christine. The lady, who should have been standing in the tent enjoying the dinner, was actually standing outside the tent. Mrs. Baxter found it a bit ridiculous.

She walked closer slowly, shaking her wine glass, and the faces of the three people became clearer.

That was the place where desserts were served. The pastry chef had two upturned mustaches on his lips. He had an exaggerated expression and looked very lively and interesting as he was tap dancing while stirring the cream.

There were two girls in the audience who were giggling. The one with champagne curly hair and a blue headband was Kristen, and the other one had long straight black hair and an even more unusual face, a rarely seen oriental face.

As a noble lady, playing with slaves is a very impolite behavior.

Mrs. Baxter decided to personally discipline Miss Goodwin, who had always been dignified and elegant.

"Sorry to bother you!"

Mrs. Baxter, holding a champagne glass, walked behind the two girls with her disproportionate hips and waist twisting, her tone full of surprise and aristocratic demeanor.

"The Marchioness of Baxter."

The two girls were a little scared, but Christine reacted quickly. She quickly straightened her body and led the other two to perform a standard salute to Mrs. Baxter.

"You guys look like you had a lot of fun, didn't you!"

"Yes, Mrs. Baxter, this pastry chef can sing "The Barber of Severo" while whipping cream. It's amazing!"

"Oh - look at you, my little cookie, your face is like a pair of baked cream puffs! I'm sure you must be in a good mood!"

Mrs. Baxter smiled kindly. She wanted to act like an elder, but Christine's well-behaved smile always made her release her kindness and gentleness.

"Thank you, ma'am, I have never felt so happy."

Christine tilted her head, revealing her white upper teeth.

"Maybe it's because I made an interesting friend."

Christine pulled the oriental girl behind her over. The girl was pretty and delicate, with black eyes shining in the moonlight.

"This is Miss Ivy, she's from Manchester!"

Ivy bowed politely to Mrs. Baxter, her movements graceful, elegant and correct.

Mrs. Baxter was somewhat impressed by this slave, although her desire to discipline a noble lady remained unchanged.

"Christine, you are the Countess. I must remind you to always be aware of your identity."

Mrs. Baxter spoke gently, her eyes always on Christine, with no extra glances for anyone else.