life.
Know your place in the social hierarchy. There is nothing so gauche as a lady who looks high above herself—except the one who lowers herself beneath the station to which she was born.
—Lady Druthers’s Guide to Perfect Deportment and Etiquette
The youngest daughter always comes last.
Chapter Two
It was a rare sunny day as Primrose emerged from her house. Not a cloud in the sky. Perfect summer weather. She looked both ways for any carriages before crossing the street to Olympia’s house.
The Zaher’s housekeeper opened the door promptly at Prim’s knock, a smile quick to form on her lips.
All of Olympia’s household staff wore friendly expressions. Prim knew they had to be happier with their situation than the Ainsworth staff. Her household servants, few as they were, looked chronically tense, as though calamity could strike at any time. Because it often did. Certainly the Zaher staff was paid a better wage. That, too, likely made a difference.
Mama and Prim’s sisters (excepting Aster) had a penchant for histrionics. Aster undoubtedly enjoyed causing said histrionics. She had a knack for needling Violet and, once upon a time, Begonia. Of course, Aster’s unflappable nature amidst chaos annoyed Violet and Begonia to no end. Whether it was the news that a particularly favored bachelor had been lost to a rival debutante or the tragedy of a misplaced hair comb, such catastrophes could result in calamitous wails. And there was Aster, smiling suspiciously amid it all, so that Primrose had a strong notion of who’d hidden the hair comb.
“Well, happy tidings to you, Miss Primrose. And how are you on this fine day?” The housekeeper leaned forward with a sweet grin. “I understand someone is a year older.”
She resisted pointing out that she happened to be only a day older than yesterday. “Thank you, Mrs. Davis. Yes, it is my birthday.”
“Splendid. Happy birthday. I thought you were meeting Miss Olympia and Mrs. Zaher at Gunter’s? They left early this morning for the theater. Mrs. Zaher had some business to attend to there first.”
“Yes, the plan was to meet them there, but my mother and sisters have need of Gertie, who was to accompany me.”
She knew that Mrs. Zaher had a dress rehearsal this morning and Olympia had joined her. Prim envied the interesting things Olympia did courtesy of her mother. Not only was she allowed to attend her mother’s performances, but she joined her at many salons throughout Town where Mrs. Zaher was a featured guest. All kinds of artists and eccentrics frequented these salons. People Prim would never have an opportunity to meet in her family’s very modest and conventional circles.
“Oh dear.” Mrs. Davis clasped her hands together.
Prim turned over the notion of walking to Gunter’s all by herself, unescorted. It was unseemly behavior, to be certain, but it was her birthday. Even if her family did not think it deserved to be marked in any special manner, she wanted to do something to celebrate. And that did not mean returning home.
Mama might have decided to brush the day away as one might swipe lint off a sleeve. But Prim would not waste the day indoors with only her own company to entertain herself. Indeed not. She owed it to herself to mark the day in some fashion. Besides. It was not as though she never bent the rules of propriety. She did when it suited her—or when she was desperate enough.
Mrs. Davis snapped her fingers. “I have it. You can take one of the carriages. I’ll have our coachman, John, deposit you directly at the shop’s door.”
“Oh I could not dare to impose—”
“Rubbish. I insist. And I know Mrs. Zaher and Miss Olympia would too.” The housekeeper’s eyes adopted a decided glint. “It is your birthday, after all.”
Prim opened her mouth to further protest and then stopped herself.
Why not?
Why should she not accept?
“Very well,” she agreed. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Davis beamed and gestured ahead of her. “This way.”
She followed the housekeeper through the door, her gaze immediately going to the elegantly papered walls. It was a much more fashionable arrangement than her own home’s, richly and finely appointed with art and furniture and bric-a-brac. A large vase of fresh flowers sat on a table in the entry hall. Primrose knew for a fact it was changed out every few days. Mrs. Zaher loved her fresh flowers. Even in the winter months she had them brought in from hothouses.
It mattered naught that Mrs. Zaher earned every farthing through her considerable talents. She labored for the roof over