Your dimensions are alike.”
“Should I dare to even ask?”
“With your hair, the choices are as obvious as they are limited.”
Prim grimaced. “Pink?” she supplied. “Or peach?”
“Oh shush. You can wear more colors than that. Don’t let your mother influence you. Your hair is beautiful.”
Beautifully garish, Mama would say.
“So what color is it then?”
“Peach,” Olympia admitted rather sheepishly.
“I knew it!”
“Or rather . . . apricot.”
Prim stifled her laugh at Olympia’s cross look. “Well, thank you, my friend. I would appreciate the loan of the gown. I can arrange my own hair before I come over.” She’d had plenty of practice in her many idle afternoons, after all. She could manage an adequate coiffure. “I’ll leave once my family departs for the night.” Excitement hummed through her as she thought of the night ahead and all the things they could do. Prim started checking off on her fingers. “I want to stay out until dawn.” She winced. “Or at least close to dawn.” She would have to return before the staff woke and started about their daily duties.
“Mama will be out late,” Olympia continued. “She’s performing and whenever I don’t accompany her, she arrives home about the time the street sweepers are making their rounds.”
Prim’s mind raced with the delightful possibilities ahead. “I want to dance and drink champagne . . . I want to see acrobats and fireworks and flirt with a handsome man.”
“Primrose Ainsworth, you wicked, wicked creature. I confess, seeing you do all those things will be thrilling.” Olympia gave her shoulder a little shove. “Are you very sure about this though? Your mother would never allow it. My mother would never allow it.”
It was Primrose’s turn to smile. “Then we shall be very careful to make certain they never find out.”
Only the shabbiest of persons ever ride in a hackney coach, and certainly never a lady . . . unless she, too, wishes to be deemed shabby.
—Lady Druthers’s Guide to Perfect Deportment and Etiquette
Consider always that the destination matters a great deal more than the mode of transport.
Chapter Three
Primrose spent the late afternoon readying herself for the night ahead.
She washed, scrubbing her skin until it gleamed pink, and then brushed her hair until it crackled. She did this without assistance. Her mother and sisters required the aid of Gertie and the other housemaid for their evening plans, after all. Luckily, Prim was accustomed to doing a great many things on her own, so that was no hardship, and it may have raised suspicions if she suddenly needed help getting ready for what her family assumed to be a night at home.
Her mother’s exclamations could be heard distantly throughout the house as she oversaw preparations for the evening. Poor Aster was receiving the brunt of her attentions. Mama never once checked in on Prim after they’d returned from their shopping trip. That allowed Prim a certain amount of liberty.
She carefully selected her reticule for the evening to match the gown she had yet to see. The beaded cream muslin should do well enough. She fished out her pin money from where she hid it in the back of her armoire and secured it in the bag. Tonight would not be free, but the dent in her funds would be worth it.
She took great pains with her hair, heating an iron in the grate and using it to form loose curls that she then pinned up as artfully as she could. She had watched Gertie and their other maid perform the task often enough on her sisters. She might be accustomed to doing for herself, but she did not possess their level of skill, so she definitely needed the additional time. The end result was satisfactory, if not impressive.
As the hour approached when her family would leave, she held her breath, hoping that they would not decide to seek her out and say good night.
Her birthday wish was granted. They did not stick their heads in her chamber. Mama could be heard shrieking in the distance that they were running late, and then the house fell blessedly silent.
That left one more hurdle: Gertie was expecting to take dinner with her.
Prim hastened to the dressing table and gingerly arranged a nightcap over her head. She had to conceal her hair. Gertie would wonder why it was arranged with such care for a simple dinner. Closing the drapes, Prim turned to put out the lamp, then climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin, waiting with nervous breath.
The knock soon