Page 13 of Solving Sophronia

Lady Mather sat beside Prissy and nodded in acknowledgment as the others bid her good morning. She slid her teacup closer and stirred its contents. “I heard the carriage earlier.” She glanced at Sophie. “You’ve been out already?”

“Yes.” Sophie pushed the bag with her drawings farther beneath her skirts. “To the dressmakers’.”

“I take it your waist has expanded beyond your corset’s capacity to contain it.” Her mother sighed. She shook her head, glancing at Sophie’s plate. “You are not taking your reducing diet seriously, Sophronia. How many times have I told you to limit your pastries? And now your gowns must be altered...”

Mimi snorted. “Honestly, Maxine. Sophronia’s waist is perfectly suitable for its purpose of housing her vital organs, and the idea that she must conform to Society’s ideal of—”

Mimi’s words stopped as Sophie clasped her hand beneath the table, giving it a squeeze. She knew Mimi would understand that as grateful as she was for her grandmother’s defense, the argument was unnecessary, as her mother’s mind would not be changed by a lecture on the abstract criterion of feminine beauty.

“The dressmakers’!” Prissy obviously took the pause in the conversation as an invitation to speak—or, more accurately, to complain. “I have need of new gowns as well. I’ve seen two other young ladies in the very color I’d intended to wear to the opera tomorrow. Could you imagine my humiliation if we were all attired similarly?”

Prissy continued speaking, but years of living with the young woman had given Sophie the ability to ignore her sister’s prattle. She caught her grandmother’s eye, giving a grateful smile. What would Sophie ever do without her staunch support? She thought how Elizabeth Miller adored Mimi and imagined her grandmother must have been very much like her new friend when she was young.

“...I am being courted by Lord Everleigh, and I cannot afford to look anything less than spectacular,” Prissy continued to her mother. “The gown I wore last night was so ordinary—Everleigh hardly noticed me at all. He spent most of the evening in private conversation with that dull German. I’ve half a mind to give the dress to my lady’s maid and be done with it.”

Sophie stared at her sister, and her mind spun with what the younger woman said. She’d not considered that the dead woman’s gown might have been a gift from her mistress. Could its method of coming into her possession be so simple? A lady’s maid was often the recipient of the gowns the woman she served no longer wanted, and that would explain perfectly why it did not fit her.

She considered what she knew of the three women whose names the modiste had given her. Which of them might be inclined to give away a costly gown after wearing it for only one Season? The answer was immediately clear. Charlotte Grey was one of the Darling Debs, and if Sophie had to choose a young lady who was nearly identical in temperament and behavior to Prissy, Miss Grey would be at the very top of the list.

“Sophronia.” Lady Mather’s voice was sharp, cutting into her thoughts. “You will do me the courtesy of listening when I speak to you.”

Sophie shook herself from her thoughts. “I apologize, Mother. My mind was wandering.”

Her mother sighed, and her jaw tightened. “I was reminding you about Mrs. Jeffries’s garden reception this evening.”

Sophie forced her shoulders to remain down instead of hunching. “I plan to attend, but I have quite a few obligations this afternoon that might interfere.”

Her mother’s right brow ticked upward, and though it was a miniscule movement, Sophie winced. Lady Mather’s anger was never displayed in fits of yelling but with carefully worded attacks. And her sharpest weapon was guilt.

“We made apologies for your absences last night and the night previous,” Lady Mather said.

“Not to mention Mrs. Rothschild’s luncheon,” Prissy added helpfully.

“The position this puts me in”—Lady Mather’s voice grew softer, which was far more frightening than if she’d screamed—“coming up with excuses day after...” She sighed. “Finding a husband for you has been difficult enough with your”—she motioned with a wave of her hand—“ordinariness. And afterfourSeasons—”

“I have not asked you to apologize for me.” Sophie could sense Mimi preparing to interject. She knew better than to interrupt her mother, but she didn’t wish for the argument to grow or for her grandmother to have to defend her again. Sophie shifted, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “I will do my best to attend, but I am very busy today.”

“She’ll probably arrive with Dahlia Lancaster and her bluestocking cousin.” Prissy spoke her former friend’s name with a contemptible curl of the lip.

Anger flashed through Sophie.

“Priscilla.” Mimi’s voice held a reprimand. “That is unkind. You used to be dear friends with Dahlia.”

“Well, of course, that was before Lord Ruben rejected her,” Priscilla said. Her expression did not show one bit of remorse. “It makes one wonder what is wrong with her if he’d not have her.”

“Quite so,” Lady Mather agreed. “And it appears he was wise to escape when he did. I hear Miss Lancaster has since taken to the company of suffragettes and misfits.”

“Such an embarrassment. He is very lucky to be rid of her.” Prissy shook her head.

Sophie could typically ignore her family’s insults, but today she was tired, and the affronts to herself and her friends were more than she could overlook. She set her napkin on the table and stood. “I’m afraid I am in complete disagreement with both of you.” She lifted her bag over her shoulder. “If anyone is to be congratulated, it is Dahlia Lancaster for escaping not only an unfaithful man but spiteful friends as well.”

“Well, I never,” Prissy sputtered. “Mother, did you hear?”

“Sophronia, that was quite uncalled for,” Lady Mather began.

Sophie ignored the outburst from the other side of the table. “Have a lovely day, Mimi.” She kissed her grandmother’s cheek, received a private wink and a smile in return, then left the room without a backward glance.

Chapter 3

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