little ridiculous, Wendy had to admit that the cold, slightly damp air felt good on her face. Moisturizing, her mother would say. Invigorating, her father would say. The little dog peeped out of the basket and looked around blankly with no actual interest in hopping out and getting a firsthand sniff of the many wonders they passed. Wendy nodded to other walkers, most of whom regarded Snowball with amusement or delight.
And then, down the path, came the demonic Shesbow twins.
They were clad as was their wont: in similar dresses of different hue, similar hats with different flowers, similar parasols with different tassels. Outfits just alike enough to give a nod to the sisters’ ostensible sameness, just a bit off to remind the viewer that they weren’t the same person at all.
Wendy froze and considered heading back the other way, as if she had forgotten something. She could see the steely blue of four Shesbow eyes and didn’t feel strong under their lantern gazes, especially after the caroling party last Christmas.
But they had spotted her, and she had something interesting to distract them with, so maybe it would be all right. Wendy stuck out her chin and walked forward bravely to meet her fate.
“Miss Darling,” Clara said with the beginnings of a coldly amused smile. “It’s so lovely to see you out and about in public, especially after—”
“Oh! What is that you have there?” Phoebe cried, spotting the basket.
“Him?” Wendy almost blew it immediately. Was the dog even a him? She hadn’t bothered to check. “He’s new.”
“Oh—oh, how perfect,” Phoebe simpered, holding out a delicately curled gloved finger. The puppy obligingly sniffed and she practically screamed with delight.
“He’s adorable,” Clara said flatly, to the point as always. “When did you get him?”
“Well,” Wendy said, stalling. She hated the way that, despite the girls’ continually bad treatment of her, she was flushing and eager for any kind word of acceptance. Telling the specifics of the puppy’s origin might spoil the chances of that happening. “The house was feeling a bit lonely, don’t you know? And I thought, well, what I need is a nice little companion to keep me company and to absolutely indulge.”
“Isn’t he the sweetest,” Phoebe cooed.
“I’m gratified to hear you’ve taken on a project like this,” Clara said, tapping her parasol and trying to sound like her grandmother. “Everyone was worried, you know.”
“Worried? About me? Everyone?”
“Oh, please, Wendy. After Christmas it became fairly obvious what your future is. Your brothers will go to university, and you will be stuck helping your parents, and then probably care for your nieces or nephews as their spinster aunt.”
“With cats,” Phoebe added, not looking away from petting the dog. “You would have cats, of course.”
“Quite right, lots of cats.”
“People…are talking…about me? As a spinster? With—cats?” Wendy’s mind was too overcome with this new information to even take offense at it. She was sixteen, for heaven’s sake! She had time. She had just moved out of the nursery not that long ago.…
And to think of a husband? Now? There were so many other things to think about. Balloons and submarines. Airships and pirates. Deepest Africa and farthest Australia. Peter Pan and fairies and mermaids and centaurs…
“But now this,” Phoebe sighed, throwing her hands up at the dog as if there were no words. “You know, Alice has a little dog, too! Oh, we should all go walking together! Wouldn’t that be fun? We could bring a ball, or something like that.”
“He could accompany you to one of our teas sometime,” Clara said thoughtfully. “We have literary ones, you know. Almost like our own salon.”
“I would like that very much,” Wendy responded before she could decide whether or not that was true. Or if she had even been properly invited at all; it almost sounded like Snowball was really the intended recipient of the offer. Then again—literary salon. That was a place for stories!
“You could absolutely meet someone there, perhaps, someday,” Phoebe added. “Someone dreamy, who likes dogs, like you.”
“It’s a project,” Clara said, eyes glittering. “Making you acceptable and finding you a match. But you must promise not to do that thing—not to run off at the mouth the way you do. No one finds that attractive or ladylike.”
“No one at all,” Phoebe agreed. “You really will end up all alone.”
“I don’t want to be alone. I have Snowball now,” Wendy said, trying to make her thoughts come out the way they were flowing in her head. It didn’t seem to be working. “But