Curtsies & Conspiracies (Finishing School, #2)(70)

Nevertheless, Monique’s first partner, Lord Dingleproops, led her gamely out onto the floor, and after a stanza or two, others followed. Lord Mersey accosted Sophronia, who gave him her hand willingly, despite her earlier reticence. He was the best-looking boy in the room and probably the highest ranking. With Dimity swinging happily around on some dandy’s arm, a man almost as sparkly as she, and Pillover doing his duty by Agatha, Sophronia felt she might as well take to the floor. Besides, she was tolerably certain Felix wasn’t getting the dinner dance, so she might as well take advantage of his interest. Even Sidheag was whirling about in the arms of a boy taller and gawkier than she.

Felix was an excellent dancer, his hand warm and firm at the small of her back. His frame was a little tight, drawing her in close enough for disapproval, but there was such a crush the chaperones did not notice. Sophronia looked up into his eyes for long moment before lowering her gaze and allowing him time to recover. He did seem a little breathless for a waltz that was limited in aestheticism by the size of the venue and the number of dancers.

It was for him to open dialogue, which he did after they had learned each other’s rhythm. “You’re a wonderful dancer, Ria.”

“Mademoiselle Geraldine’s takes such things seriously.”

“Ah. And how many ways do you know to kill me, while we dance?”

“Only two, but give me time.”

“You have lovely eyes. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“What rot. They are a muddy green. What are you about, Lord Mersey?”

Felix sighed, looking genuinely perturbed. His air of ennui was shaken. “I am trying to court you. Truth be told, Miss Temminnick, you make it ruddy difficult!”

“Language, Lord Mersey.” Sophronia felt her heart flutter strangely. Am I ready to be courted?

“See!”

“Bunson’s and Geraldine’s don’t mix. We practice, but we don’t finish, not with each other.”

“It’s happened before.”

“You mean the Plumleigh-Teignmotts? Yes, but they both had to give it up.”

“Give what up?”

“Their training.”

“I’m not asking you to marry me, Ria. I’m asking you to let me court you.”

“To what end, exactly, if not marriage?”

Felix winced.

“I’m not willing to stop learning. Are you?” Despite her guilt over Professor Braithwope’s fall, as she said it Sophronia knew this was true. “As I understand it, we serve different masters.”

“Precisely why it might be fun.”

“I will not be used as some boyish excuse for rebellion.”

“You see what I mean? Difficult! I like it.”

“You’re a loon.”

“And you’re a silver swan sailing on liquid dreams.”

Sophronia giggled. “Stop that. This is getting us nowhere.”

“So may I court you?”

Sophronia looked over his shoulder, feeling dizzy. From the waltzing, of course. She stalled for time and then…

“Where’s Dimity?”

Felix was thrown by the sudden switch in topic.

“And Pillover! Where’s Pillover?”

Sophronia scanned the crowd frantically. There was the dandy who had been dancing with Dimity; he was now dancing with Agatha. The Plumleigh-Teignmott siblings were gone! Sophronia looked to the back of the crowd near the punch bowl. Lord Ambrose was also gone. Sidheag was still with her tall partner. Captain Niall lurked on the sidelines, his eyes on Lady Kingair with an odd expression in them. With no time to analyze any of it, Sophronia broke away from Felix.

“Are you leaving me in the middle of a dance again?” She’d done exactly the same thing to him the night they danced at Petunia’s coming-out ball. He grabbed for her arm. “I’ll stop being silly. I promise.”

“This is not a cut, Felix. I must go fix something.”

“Why is it always your problem to fix, Ria?”

“Because I see that there is a problem when no one else does.”

With nothing more to say than that, Sophronia Angelina Temminnick did the rudest thing she had ever done in all her life: she left a high-ranking peer of the realm standing alone in the middle of a waltz. For the second time of their acquaintance. Oh, dear, she thought, he might never forgive me.


Sophronia was just in time. She saw the hem of Dimity’s gown, a strikingly bold peach-and-brown pattern not unlike a sun-bleached tiger, disappear inside a private carriage outside the hotel. She could also hear the sound of muffled yelling.

The driver struck up the horses but not before Sophronia hiked up her skirts, ran down after them, and leapt up to the back step, a place ordinarily occupied by footmen in livery. It was not a perch designed for a ball gown, nor were any meant to stand there when moving at speed, but Sophronia held on. No one is kidnapping my Dimity!

The carriage careened through the streets at a dangerous pace, slowing only when traffic demanded. After a relatively short distance, they drew to a halt on a quiet domestic avenue. Sophronia jumped down and to the side, turning her head away from the carriage and pretending to walk along the pavement as if out for a stroll. Alone. In a ball gown. The door to the carriage opened behind her. She could not turn without arousing suspicion, so she proceeded at an unhurried pace until she was around the far corner of the street. Once there, she inched up close to the last house and peeked back around, cursing a fashion that dictated young ladies wear pale colors and big puffed skirts. She was undeniably visible.