the most experienced in the ways of Society, but she was not naïve in the ways of the world. As the youngest of four sisters, and largely ignored by her family, she had overheard all manner of conversations not meant for her tender ears. Even their few servants tended to speak freely around her, as though she were simply part of the wallpaper. She was an expert observer.
Water lapped at the sides of the boat in a rhythmic cadence. The boatman worked steadily, the oars dropping and pulling through the water on either side of them its own lulling song.
Other boats dotted the dark waters of the Thames, some bigger, some actual ships with men crawling the riggings as deftly as monkeys and preparing for their imminent docking. She had never actually been on the river before. Her glimpses of it had been only from afar as she traveled in a conveyance, squashed on a seat between her sisters.
The boat rocked suddenly from a rogue wave and Prim clutched one side of the coasting vessel for support. Water sprayed her gloved fingers but she did not bring them back inside. She kept them where they were until the tips of her gloves were quite damp, exhilarated by this new sensation.
The group sharing the boat with them laughed and talked, but Prim could only stare around her as they glided south. She didn’t digest a single word of their conversation. Instead she tipped her head to look up at the pink and gold streaked sky. Dusk was upon them.
The fading light of sunset cast the water’s surface in fire. Incredibly, even with the not-so-aromatic smells of the river and the rotting refuse emanating from the nearby docks, it was magical.
Freedom was magical.
The bustling South Bank loomed ahead. There was a boat in front of them, and they had to linger in the water, rocking in place until it was their turn to row forward.
The boatman tied off the vessel on the dock and then helped them disembark.
“Have a care this eve’n, ladies,” the woman in red trilled as she was swept away by her friends toward the lights and stirring sounds of Vauxhall Gardens just up the rise.
Primrose slipped off her gloves and stuffed them into her reticule. They were damp and the evening was warm. Besides, she didn’t need any barrier between her and the world she was entering. She wanted to experience it all—right down to her fingertips.
They cleared the giant stone archway and paused. Vauxhall spread forth before them in all its magical, glittering splendor.
Once a lady’s name appears in the scandal sheets she might as well take her leave and eschew all good Society.
—Lady Druthers’s Guide to Perfect Deportment and Etiquette
Perhaps fun is worth a scandal.
Chapter Four
“We’re here. We are really here,” Primrose said in wonder, looping her arm with Olympia’s as they left the elaborate stone archway behind.
It was a feast for the eyes and Primrose did not know where to look—much less where to start. The air was alive, crackling with energy, the way it felt after a storm. She did not need to look down to know the tiny hairs on her arms were alive and vibrating.
As they advanced on the main row, the descending dark was obliterated in a burst of artificial light. Aahs and oohs filled the air in wonder at the impressive display of illumination.
A large row, wide enough for several carriages, loomed ahead. Tall sycamores and various structures marked the edges of the path. No carriages traveled the thoroughfare. People milled freely about and walked its length. Swarms of people. Women in gowns of every shade, flaunting décolletage that made Primrose appear modest in her own dress, strolled the garden’s lantern-lit row, moving in seeming rhythm with the lively orchestra playing nearby in the bandstand. Even the gentlemen were attired in vibrant colors and moved with harmony.
“There are so many people here,” Prim marveled. She had never seen such a multitude of people in one place at the same time. Not at the park. Not out shopping. Indeed, it felt as though half of London must be here. It was a festival of delights.
“Your eyes are glowing, Prim.” Olympia chuckled with a shake of her head and a happy squeeze of her fingers on Primrose’s arm. “It is good to see you like this.”
Like this. She meant alive. For years she had felt as though she were in a dormant slumber. All her life, really. In a state of perpetual