solitary lady occupying a table at Gunter’s, but it gave her ample opportunity to study the nobs like everyone else in the shop.
Prim’s gaze paused on the young man seated at the center of the trio.
He was extraordinary.
Granted, she did not have a great deal of exposure to young gentlemen, tucked away and hidden from Society such as she was, but she’d had her share of strolls in the park, occasional shopping trips, and socializing with extended family and her sisters’ suitors. Amid all that, she had never seen anything close to the masculine perfection of this man.
Man was a loose designation. He appeared a few years older than she, and yet nothing about him proclaimed boy. His warm brown eyes gleamed with the intelligence and wit reserved for one who had done a fair share of living.
Perhaps he entered life with this quality and it had naught to do with the substance of his years. Perhaps he was born looking out at the world with wise eyes. Eyes set in an altogether pleasing face. Square-jawed. Noble brow. Aquiline nose.
He smiled at something one of his companions said, and she was rewarded with a flash of straight white teeth. That smile was devastating. It had a charming crookedness to it—a lopsided quality that belied his serious and intense face.
Prim inhaled a bewildered breath.
She’d never been so affected at the sight of another person. Her pulse hammered against her throat. He was a beautiful creature, almost too handsome to be real. Perhaps this was what Phoebe meant in Shakespeare’s As You Like It: “Whoever loved that loved not at first sight”?
Prim gave a swift shake of her head to clear it of the ridiculous notion. She might very well be a dreamer—Mama had laid that accusation at her feet often enough—but she had never felt so absurd as she did in this moment.
Love at first sight was illogical. It did not exist.
Prim’s trance was thankfully broken as the bell over the door jingled someone’s entry.
Olympia and Mrs. Zaher breezed into the shop on a gust of summer-laced wind.
There was nothing inconspicuous about them. They dressed in the height of fashion. Unlike Mama, Mrs. Zaher did not subscribe to the unyielding notion that unmarried ladies should wear only white and pastels, leaving the bold colors for married women past the first blush of youth and well established within Society. Olympia’s mother never forced her into the pastels Prim was made to wear. Nay, nothing borrowed or out of season ever graced Olympia’s flawless skin. In all the years Prim had known Olympia, she had never seen her with a blemish, so unlike herself, whose freckled, finnicky skin was always on the verge of breaking out with a new spot at the slightest exposure to sunlight.
Olympia’s perfection was no less striking today. She was presently outfitted in a walking dress of deep cobalt. The fabric was stunning against her light brown skin and midnight hair—hair that was manipulated into an elegant chignon with charming curls surrounding her face, all arranged by the Parisian hairdresser Mrs. Zaher kept on staff.
It was easy to feel jealous of her friend. That didn’t mean she loved her less. Olympia was beautiful and kind and had a mother keen on exposing her daughter to all manner of adventures. Sometimes Prim wondered why Olympia even wanted her for a friend. By comparison, Primrose was so very . . . limited. She could go nowhere, do nothing save take strolls, stare out windows, and occasionally sneak away for an outing together. She often worried that one day Olympia would decide their friendship was too much trouble and not nearly rewarding enough to continue.
Olympia carried a large bunch of flowers in her arms. “For you, dear girl, a birthday bouquet to commemorate your special day. So very sorry to have kept you waiting. I hope you weren’t here long.” Olympia bestowed the bouquet with a great flourish.
Primrose blinked, her gaze suddenly watering as she admired the riotous profusion of poppies and primroses. “They are beautiful,” she murmured, reaching down to stroke a petal. Prim looked up at her beloved friend and Mrs. Zaher, who smiled back fondly. It was touching how much they cared for her.
Prim’s own family had treated this momentous birthday as an afterthought. She pushed that thought away. Things could always be worse. So Prim’s family was not perfect. She knew that. What family was? To mourn that fact felt pointless.
Prim had a roof over her head, a