Curtsies & Conspiracies (Finishing School, #2)(50)

“Oh, but it is pretty and centrally located.”

“True, true, dear Preshea. Mayfair is the height of fashion.”

Sophronia saw Monique stash away two other letters. Letters that had already been opened, their wax seals cracked. Monique’s hands trembled as she stuffed them into her reticule.

Sophronia had expected a message of congratulations from her own family, assuming that they had been told of her achievements in the matter of oddgob tests. But there was nothing.

They returned to their parlor after breakfast to find two large dress packages waiting.

Monique pounced with a squeal of pleasure. “My new ball gown, already! How exciting. Oh, no. They are addressed to Sophronia. Who would have guessed you ever got new clothes? I certainly should not.”

Nor, thought Sophronia, should I.

She pulled the ribbon and opened the top box. There was a note in her mother’s tidy handwriting. “Your father and I are thrilled with your results, and with your sudden interest in fashionable attire. We hope the measurements are still sound.”

Inside was a day dress of royal-blue-and-black brocade. Its pagoda sleeves boasted modest black fringe, but otherwise the gown was unadorned. The fabric was lovely, and the simple cut allowed it to shine. It had a high neckline, giving it a mature aura. Sophronia wondered if her mother had ordered the gown for herself and then been displeased with the vibrancy of the color. It was not a dress Mrs. Temminnick might ordinarily have approved for a daughter, which made Sophronia like it all the more.

She held it up for the others to see.

“Oooo,” admired Dimity.

“It’s not something she would usually send.” Sophronia was careful to look skeptical.

“Oh, is it not customary for her to actually spend money on you?” Preshea wondered, drawn into admiring the dress despite herself.

Monique’s nose wrinkled. “It’s terribly adult.”

Dimity said, “Perhaps we might get hold of some black velvet ribbon and create military details up the front—to make it a little less simple.”

Sophronia liked the simplicity, but she didn’t want to crush Dimity’s decorative dreams. “Perhaps.”

Dimity clapped her hands in excitement. “Let’s see the other one!”

The other box was larger. Sophronia dipped in to produce not one, not two, but three bodices and two large, fluffy skirts. This gown was of soft and filmy sage-green muslin. The overskirt dipped and swooped like curtains. The underskirt was a darker shade of the green, with a scalloped edge. There was a good deal of detail work put in at the hem, stripes as well as embroidery. It had a wide sash and, unless Sophronia was very mistaken, could be worn without the overskirt for plainer look. Of the three bodices, one was a heavily fringed, low-cut evening style, with a cinched belt sporting a pretty center clasp; the second was for visiting and had narrow sleeves and a button front; and the third was a crossover fichu that could be arranged like a shawl over the evening top or as cross-front variation on the visiting version on colder days.

“Three dresses in one,” said Sidheag. Even she was moved to comment on the peculiarity. “How very practical.”

How very thrifty was Monique’s thought.

Sophronia loved it, but she knew better than to say so in Monique’s hearing, or raspberry cordial would be spilled all down the skirts the first time she wore it out. So she said, “I’m not sure about the color.”

Dimity was not so reticent. “It will bring out your eyes beautifully. I’ve heard of this, you know. It’s called a robe à transformation, and it’s the very latest thing in Paris.” She said this for Monique’s benefit.

“So optimistic of your mother to include a ball gown option,” said Monique, smiling sweetly.

“Monique is right.” Sophronia turned to Dimity. “I doubt I’ll get to wear that bodice, but it was very kind of Mumsy to think of me. She must have spent her own personal dress allowance on it.”

The other girls gasped.

“Sophronia, don’t talk of such menial things!” reprimanded Agatha softly. Agatha found money terribly embarrassing, as she had so very much of it.

Perhaps Agatha would consider being my sponsor in the intelligencer game, thought Sophronia. If she decides against taking it up herself, of course.

She was rather gleeful later, putting her new gowns away reverently in her wardrobe.

“You like them, don’t you?” accused Dimity.

“I shall like them better when I have a chance to sew in hidden pockets and holsters, and determine a way to hang my chatelaine from those cloth belts.”

“Yes, you like them.” Dimity bounced onto her bed, grinning. She possessed a generous and happy spirit that allowed her to enjoy a friend’s good fortune.

“I wonder what was in Monique’s letters. The ones she hid in her reticule at breakfast.”

Dimity smiled. “You mean the ones that had been opened and looked at before she got them?”

“You saw them, too? Do you think she’s begging to become someone else’s drone? After all, she and Professor Braithwope have broken off.”

“Does it work like that? I heard vampires come after you,” said Dimity, playing with her bangles.

“Could be negative replies to her ball, I suppose. Did you get a look at Pillover’s letter?” Sophronia closed the wardrobe door on her new dresses and went to the looking glass to prepare for evening lessons. They had Professor Braithwope next, and he was very particular about appearances.