mind was awhirl.
Then, with a polite inclination of his head, he was gone.
The door rang out at his departure.
“Well,” Mrs. Zaher exclaimed. “Isn’t he a handsome lad? Such lovely teeth.”
“Who is he?” Prim murmured, stretching her neck and still staring at the door as though he might return.
Mrs. Zaher amended, “I suppose it’s not very correct of me to call him a lad. He is clearly of age.”
Olympia lifted a scone to her lips. “Agreed. He’s like no lad I’ve ever seen.”
“Who is he?” Primrose asked again.
Olympia answered, “No idea, but he’s clearly Quality.”
Clearly. And he spoke to her. To Primrose.
He had wished her a happy birthday.
Her mother would likely lift both eyebrows to the sky in disbelief if she knew that Primrose had been singled out by a Gentleman of Quality. A gentleman who was very likely a peer.
Violet and Begonia were considered the beauties. Mama did not have much faith in Aster or Primrose to charm anyone. Still, she would savor the memory of this exchange. Whether he was charmed by her or not—the memory of his deep voice wishing her happy birthday reverberated through her mind and made her feel warm and fuzzy inside.
Until she realized it would be the last time she heard that voice.
The last time he would ever speak to her.
The last time any handsome and exciting young man would likely ever speak to her if Prim looked to her sisters as examples of what to expect once she entered Society. Mama would watch her like a hawk. There would be no conversing or flirting with gentlemen of Prim’s choosing. Potential suitors would all be curated by Mama, and would all be perfectly dull, no thought given to age or attractiveness, just the depth of their pockets.
Prim’s shoulders slumped. The warm fuzziness faded, replaced by a tangled ball of knots in her stomach.
Even once she entered Society, she and the man-boy with alluring eyes and perfect teeth would likely never cross paths again. They moved in different circles. She could tell that at once from his manner and the company he kept. Unless she spotted him strolling on the street or in the park, he would be in his world and Prim would be in hers—a world regulated by her mother.
She pushed aside the unaccountable disappointment, determined to enjoy her outing with Olympia.
They finished their tea and scones amid happy chatter. Even full as they were, they ordered ices. Primrose managed to take down every last spoonful of the melon-flavored deliciousness.
As they left their seats, a new realization seized Prim—well, not new precisely—simply something she had not fully absorbed until this moment.
Not only would she not have another exchange with handsome young men in tea shops—but once Aster was betrothed, Mama would turn all her attention to marrying off Prim.
All her considerable and exhausting attention.
She might not be on the receiving end of that attention now, but her turn would come. For the first time, a frisson of dread skittered down her spine at the notion of entering Society. She’d only ever thought of the opportunity to do more, to see more, to seize the freedom that awaited her.
When Mama turned her most determined attention on Prim, there would be no stopping her. No reprieve. She’d seen Mama run roughshod over her sisters. She controlled everything: how they wore their hair, how they dressed, what invitations they accepted, which parties they attended, which gentlemen could pay court to them.
Prim’s oldest sister had now been married for six years to a man twenty-two years her senior. They already had three children, all girls, and her sister was increasing with their fourth child. Begonia never looked happy. She did not look sad either. She simply looked exhausted. Tired and dead eyed.
Violet, inversely, looked delighted. She glowed like a child offered a present. Her betrothed was closer in age to her and the son of a man who owned a large mill in Farnham. The family was wealthy, and growing richer by the day on the sweat of laborers. Violet did not seem too troubled at that. Just as she did not seem to mind that he had an obnoxious laugh, picked his teeth with his dinner knife, and had expressly stated that women should not be educated for fear it would be too arduous for their weak minds. Ironic, that, considering he had never impressed Primrose with his intellect.
Mama was after her own comfort, of course. She had forgotten her usual snobbery and turned a blind