Soap’s smile was somewhat sly, with a hint of canine to the sides. “I, too, am not yet out.”
Sophronia nibbled her lower lip. Steeling herself. “Soap, I think we should establish a safe place to meet. If for any reason either of us goes missing. If our communication is compromised.”
“Are you planning on disappearing?”
“No, but I like to keep my options open. You are the only real friend I have stationed in London.”
“You are such an intelligencer.” Soap sounded almost exasperated. “Very well. Regent Square, an hour before dawn.” His dark eyes flicked once behind Sophronia’s shoulder at the curtain, and then he was gone, out a window at the back. Supernatural speed put to secrecy was impressive.
Sophronia grimaced. He had asked to court her, but hadn’t kissed her properly. She wasn’t sure if she should be upset or grateful for the reprieve. She hated herself for the confusion.
She emerged from the back room just as Petunia went to stick her head inside.
Agatha and Dimity trailed behind, looking worried.
“Oomph! There you are, sister, what are you doing back here?”
Sophronia gestured at a table covered in trim. “I thought I saw a finished hat that wasn’t on display.”
“Did you? Where?”
“Turns out it wasn’t finished. What was in the box from Paris?”
“Oh, the most divine shawls! Come see.” Petunia swept toward the front of the shop.
Agatha and Dimity swirled alongside Sophronia, one to each arm, and hustled after. Three abreast was challenging given the displays, but necessary for private conversation.
“What is going on?” Dimity demanded.
“Soap,” replied Sophronia.
“I was wondering when he’d turn up.” Dimity’s tone was cautious. “What did he want?”
“We have an invitation to dine and view a short play.”
Dimity bounced, clapping her hands. “Oh, goody, who with?” Her face fell. “Not with Soap? That would be awkward.” She brightened. “The dewan?”
“That would be boring and political.” Agatha was thinking about the dewan’s position in Queen Victoria’s government.
“No, not the dewan.” Sophronia did enjoy torturing her friends.
“Who, then? Don’t keep us in suspense!” Dimity’s eyes were wild.
“Lord Akeldama.”
“The vampire? Oh, dear.” Dimity was crestfallen. “You don’t think he wants to eat us, do you?”
Sophronia managed to discover the invitation waiting for them in the hallway when they got home. She presented it to her sister. It was met with paroxysms of joy. This was the kind of event Petunia had craved since first entering society. This was the dinner party to end all dinner parties. The fact that there was a slim chance they might be the dinner at said party was a small price to pay for the honor of being invited.
“Oh, this is too exciting. This Saturday, it says. Hardly enough time. We must go out first thing tomorrow in pursuit of dresses. Oh, dear, we will have to settle for something ready-made.”
Sophronia was feeling cheeky. “But sister dear, we aren’t yet out. Do you think it wise to expose yourself to ridicule and us to social faux pas?”
“At a small private gathering with such an illustrious host? I think we can make an exception. You must trust in my judgment. After all, I have spent these last few days in your company. You are all well polished. That school of yours has much to recommend it.”
“You don’t know the half,” muttered Sophronia.
Petunia talked over her. “Perhaps I shall send my daughters there.” She patted her tummy smugly.
Dimity didn’t even crack a smile. “How thoughtful. I shall tell Mademoiselle Geraldine. She will be charmed, I’m sure.”
Petunia patted Dimity’s hand in a condescending way. “Oh, but why did I think we would have more need of visiting gowns than evening wear? We have wasted two shopping days already. Miss Woosmoss, of course, I know you are well set up. And Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott?”
“I brought my best from last season. It’ll do.”
Petunia shook her head, forehead creased. “For anyone but Lord Akeldama. He is a leader of fashion. The Beau Brummel of our times, and many times in the past, before Mr. Brummel, for that matter. Oh, dear, I am all aflutter. Sophronia, do you have anything appropriate at all?”
Sophronia shook her head. “Could I borrow something of yours, perhaps?”
“Now, there is a notion. I might have something from my trousseau. How lucky that we are the same height and complexion.”
Petunia sashayed off and returned with a pretty satin dress, simpler than expected given her taste. Sophronia liked it instantly. It was pale blue brocade with royal-blue flowers appliquéd on top and matching ribbon for trim. Copious quantities of some quality cream lace peeked out at the cuffs, enough to hide both obstructor and hurlie should she wear them. Her favorite part was the neckline, a deep but narrow V with lace collar. In a world peopled with scoop necklines, it was unique and flattering. It would make her appear tall and elegant.
“I adore it!”
Everyone stopped and stared at her. It wasn’t like Sophronia to go into ecstasies over a dress.
“Are you feeling quite well?” Dimity hissed.
Sophronia was eager for distraction. Perhaps a bit too eager. It might have had something to do with Soap. She gave her friend the hand signal of discretion.