Curtsies & Conspiracies (Finishing School, #2)(33)

“Lord Mersey is not mine,” Sophronia protested rather too vehemently.

Dimity got coy. “Does he know that?”

“Now, now, we were talking about Lord Dingleproops. I thought you had moved on. The lack of chin. The nasty joke missive.”

“Well, I genuinely think he didn’t know about that. I compared handwriting. It wasn’t his on that letter requesting the assignation.”

Sophronia nodded. “Still, I thought you were no longer tempted to partake.”

“I wasn’t, until Preshea came along and stole him away from me.”

“Dimity!”

“Well, it’s true. I’m a terribly, terribly shallow person.”

Pillover nodded into his gruel.

Dimity turned on him. “Speaking of which, have you heard back from the Parental Evils yet?”

Pillover shook his head even more glumly, practically sinking face-first into the porridge, he was hunching so low.

Dimity went back to commenting on the other end of the table. “Oh, simply look at Preshea, flashing that diamond necklace around! One shouldn’t wear diamonds to breakfast, so gauche. As if she came from real wealth!”

“Doesn’t she have money?” Pillover looked up. “She acts like she has money.”

“Which is the most certain indication that she does not. People with money never act like it. Take Agatha, for example.”

“Which one is Agatha?” wondered Pillover, in a tone of voice that said all girls looked the same.

“The redhead.”

Pillover glanced at Agatha, who was dutifully pretending to be part of Monique’s inner circle. Her bonnet had slid back, her hair was coming undone, and she’d forgotten her lace tuck—again.

Pillover looked understandably doubtful as to the girl’s substance.

Preshea’s tinkling laugh rippled down the table. The pretty brunette pressed a hand to Lord Dingleproops’s arm and looked up at him adoringly. Her diamonds sparkled almost as much as the avarice in her eyes.

Lord Dingleproops seemed stunned. His cravat was tied so nicely, one could almost, reflected Sophronia, forgive him the lack of chin.

Dimity said, “I wrote him poetry!”

Preshea let go of the young lord and continued on with her conversation. Dingleproops brushed at the spot where her hand had been, straightening his jacket.

“Dimity,” Sophronia said, horrified by such an admission, “you didn’t give him the poetry, did you?”

“Certainly not.”

Sidheag tilted back in her chair, grinning. “Well, let’s hear it.”

“Oh, no. I don’t think that’s a good idea at all.” But Dimity was already dipping into her reticule and pulling out a scrap of paper. She gave it to Sidheag, who read it with a perfectly straight face, her tawny eyes dancing, and then passed it to Sophronia.


“My love is like a red red rose

occasionally he has a red red nose

he could keep me warm in the snows

I wager he has very nice toes.”


Sophronia could think of nothing to say except, “Oh, Dimity.”

Things might have continued in this vein except a violent jerk shook the entire airship, accompanied by a rumbling clunk and then a sinking sensation.

The girls looked at one another.

Dimity glared suspiciously at Sophronia. “What did you do now?”

Sophronia widened her eyes. “Not me this time, I promise.”

“It’s always you,” accused Sidheag in an appreciative kind of way.

“Are we sinking? I do believe we are sinking,” said Lord Dingleproops a tad loudly.

“Falling, my dear Dingleproops,” corrected Lord Mersey. “We are not at sea.”

“Landing, perhaps?” suggested Dingleproops, obviously uncomfortable with the concept of falling out of the sky.

The girls were also discombobulated, but they were not so gauche as to talk about it. They looked to the head table to see how the teachers were behaving. Aside from Professor Shrimpdittle, none of them were reacting. Even Mademoiselle Geraldine was calmly consuming crumpets. Professor Braithwope, it being daylight, was still abed.

Sensing the shift in student mood, Lady Linette rose to address the masses.

“We are lowering for a refuel and groundside layover. Students will engage in various land-bound activities, including an al fresco luncheon during which time you will be expected to undertake consumption, courting, and conspiracy over calico cloth. After sunset, there will be a lesson with Captain Niall for the ladies, and badminton in the dark for the gentlemen. Be certain to gather all your necessities after breakfast; you will not be permitted back aboard until supper.”

Mademoiselle Geraldine added, “Ladies, be certain to wear your wide-brimmed hats. You know how I feel about freckles.”

This announcement was met with enthusiasm. Outside classes? All day and evening? How thrilling. Plus picnics were widely considered a wheeze.

Everyone attempted to finish breakfast posthaste, the better to have extra time to change into walking dresses and outside bonnets.

Shortly thereafter, they found themselves trotting down the steam-powered drop-staircase onto a grassy hilltop pasture near a diminutive forest. Sophronia spared a moment to wonder what locals might think of a random low-floating cloud. However, it was romantic to imagine being seen descending out of it.