no effort to master her steps, so Violet had skipped right to Primrose to practice. For that reason alone, Primrose knew all the dances: the quadrille, the cotillion, and even the most scandalous waltz.
And yet, since Violet had become betrothed, she’d had little need for dance practice, so Prim’s days were spent in rather dull occupation. If she did not have plans with Olympia, she usually engaged herself in reading.
“My plans?” she echoed.
“Yes. What do you have planned for your day?”
Prim swallowed. Dread worked a slow churn in her belly. “I have plans to meet Olympia at Gunter’s. I thought I mentioned that last week.”
She had not mentioned any such thing to her mother, but sometimes subterfuge worked. Mama was less than attentive when Prim spoke. Prim often claimed she’d gotten permission when she in fact had not. Fortunately for her, Mama could never remember.
Mama pursed her lips. It was her usual expression when Olympia’s name entered any conversation.
As far as Mama was concerned, Olympia was ill-bred. Her mother was a performer—a word tantamount to peasant in Mama’s mind. If Olympia’s mother were not world renowned and fêted by all of London society, Mama would have forbidden their friendship from the start.
Approval aside, however reluctantly given, Mama looked as though she had sucked a lemon at the notion of Primrose taking tea at Gunter’s with Olympia.
“I trust you can be chaperoned by her maid. Goodness knows they have more staff than they require. Your sisters and I are venturing to Bond Street and we shall have need of Gertie.”
Of course Prim was not included in their shopping trip. Not even on her birthday, when Mama might make a special treat out of it for her.
“I am certain one of Olympia’s maids will accompany us,” Prim assured her mother, determined to keep her outing with her friend.
Papa lowered his paper with a scowl. He was no doubt alarmed at the mention of Bond Street, the location of the finest and most popular shops in London. If Mama required two servants, there would be quite a few packages to carry.
“Bond Street?” Papa’s tone conveyed his concern.
“Now, now. Do not look at me that way, my dear Mr. Ainsworth. You haven’t any notion of how difficult it is to keep two daughters properly outfitted for the height of the season.” She wagged two fingers in the air as though the gesture were necessary for emphasis. “Aster is yet unwed and in dire need of a suitor, and you know what a challenge she is. She never likes anything that is in vogue. I think she’d be happier wearing a burlap sack than one of Madame Brigitte’s splendid creations.”
Aster paused as she was delicately cracking at a soft-boiled egg with her spoon. “I am right here, Mama,” she pointed out wryly, her gaze lifting from beneath her arched eyebrows.
Mama continued addressing Papa as though she had not spoken. “However will she ensnare an eligible gentleman if she’s not adequately attired? Count your blessings Begonia is at least wed already.” She sighed heartily.
“I am betrothed, Mama,” Violet loftily reminded her as she nibbled at a piece of fruit. “You needn’t outfit me for much longer. In a fortnight, I shall have all the dresses I desire. Redding has accounts at all the very best shops in town. I shall never want for anything.” Reminder 541 this week. Prim and Aster locked eyes across the table and shared a knowing smirk.
Mama nodded and took another bite, speaking around a mouthful. “Indeed, my dear. You have far outshone Begonia. You are a credit to our family with the fine match you have made.”
Aster swung her spoon too hard then, loudly cracking her soft-boiled egg and sending shards of shell inside the tasty goodness.
Prim shook her head ruefully. Mama’s remarks had ceased to surprise.
“But, oh!” Mama sank back against her chair and fanned herself with her napkin. “A wedding in a fortnight. I’m all agitation.”
Primrose and Aster exchanged looks. Aster rolled her eyes in dramatic fashion.
“Aster,” Violet added, “You can have all my old dresses as I will have so many new ones. Of course, you shall have to let out all the stays to fit you.”
Aster’s eyes shot daggers. “Are you certain you want to give me all your dresses, Violet? You may need them. You know how the servants talk . . . I overheard that your clever Redding is all thumbs and cannot quite manage to undo his buttons. He’s constantly rending them and ruining