Curtsies & Conspiracies (Finishing School, #2)(71)

Her position afforded her the opportunity to watch the carriage draw around to wait, having disgorged its contents. Sophronia ruminated. Lord Ambrose, who does he belong to? Is he a rove like Professor Braithwope, or is this a hive house? How do I find out? I don’t even know which part of London I’m in. A number of fashionably dressed individuals came and went, as if it were visiting hours. The visitors were not dressed for dinner, and they did not stay long. Sophronia observed for some three-quarters of an hour, hoping for an indication of… something.

Eventually, a young man in full evening dress sauntered up to the house. He had a nondescript face, good-looking enough, with a clean, straight nose and no mustache. He took off his hat to salute whomever opened the door. In the light cast by the hallway, Sophronia recognized him. He was the man who’d tried to get the prototype from Monique and the Pickleman at Petunia’s ball. The man from Westminster. Sophronia had thought him a government employee, but now it was clear that this man was a Westminster Hive drone and this was the hive house. Lord Ambrose must be a member as well. The hive wanted Dimity and Pillover. Oh, dear, I did hope it was the Picklemen. Vampires complicate matters, being all supernatural and hard to sneak around. So the vampires wanted to press matters with Dimity’s parents. The Plumleigh-Teignmotts must be the only ones who knew how to make the guidance valves. The vampires wanted to either manufacture and sell the technology or destroy it.

Sophronia was wise enough not to take on a hive alone and without preparation. Dimity and Pillover were on their own until she could return with reinforcements. Sophronia could only hope that her two friends would be of no use to the vampires dead. Oh, Dimity, please remember some of your training.

She turned her attention to hiring transport, but the roadways were quiet—not a single hansom to be seen. Then a fly came careening down the cross street, drawn by matched white geldings and driven by two dandies of the highest order. One might even have called them fops, their trousers were so loud and their collar points so high. Sophronia glanced away; she did not want to be thought a light skirt. She had no time for shenanigans.

To her horror, the fly drew up next to her.

“What ho, little miss!” yodeled one of the dandies. His hair was a lovely pale gold, his face almost iridescent in the moonlight. He wore an outfit of silver and royal blue, accented with pure white.

The other, a young man with ebony skin like Soap, although with none of Soap’s streetside aura, looked to his companion. “My lord, we are very close to Westminster. Should we be stopping in their territory?” His outfit was all soft peaches and dove grays with cream, a perfect compliment to the other’s clear colors.

“For a brief moment, I think, Pilpo, dear. They are accustomed to my sport.”

“But, my lord…”

The gold-haired dandy smiled at Sophronia, showing a hint of fang.

I spend my whole life without vampires, and in the space of one year I’ve met far too many.

“One of Mademoiselle Geraldine’s girls, methinks,” he said. “You have the aura.”

Sophronia blinked up at him, shocked.

“My dear child, did you think you and yours were the only players?”

Sophronia narrowed her eyes in the direction of the hive house.

“And Westminster,” the vampire added, confirming her suspicions.

Sophronia said, “And Bunson’s, and the Picklemen, and the potentate, and now—who, my dear sir, are you? If you will excuse my asking directly.”

“Oh, I’m not important. Would you like a lift, little lavender bud?”

Sophronia considered this. Lavender bud?

The vampire dandy said, “Normally, my dear dewdrop, I prefer not to interfere. It’s so much more fun to observe. But even I’m loathe to leave an innocent young lady alone and entirely without protection on the streets of gay London-town.”

Sophronia thought on the matter. She might be getting herself into more trouble, accepting a lift from a strange vampire—well dressed though he might be. But he wasn’t threatening, and Dimity and Pillover desperately needed her. Besides, this man was well-informed. Perhaps he might engage in some lucrative conversation.

With a nod, she allowed herself to be helped in by the other dandy, who took up position on the footman’s perch of the fly, allowing Sophronia to sit next to the driver. Said driver gave her a charming, if fanged, smile, and whipped the horse into a trot.





HOW TO BE A DANDY





The foppish vampire was not very forthcoming, although he found Sophronia’s attempts to extract information highly diverting.

“Are you acquainted with the members of that household?” was her first foray, alluding to the Westminster Hive as they sprang down the street.

He rebutted with, “The house on the corner? Not at all, sweet almond flower.”

“No, the house in the middle. The one with the birches at the front.”

“I know them by reputation, of course, but who doesn’t?”

Sophronia raised her eyebrows at him. “Me. I don’t.”

“Oh, my dear sugarplum, aren’t you precious?”

“Westminster Hive. Lord Ambrose. That’s what I’ve got so far. I don’t suppose…” she trailed off hopefully. He seemed like such a nice, jolly fellow.

The nice, jolly fellow gave a nice, jolly laugh. “Curious as a kitten. Aren’t you, puss? No, dear, no. I think a lift is more than enough interference. As I said, I do try not to participate as a rule. Although, this is unusual hive behavior for so early in the Season. What are they about?”