Etiquette & Espionage (Finishing School, #1)(76)
Mrs. Temminnick looked up from a consultation with the gardener over which flowers to cut for the ball. She caught sight of Sophronia and Dimity disembarking, gracelessly, from the edge of the gondola into the cart. Airdinghies were not made for copious skirts. Her expression was that of a woman with multiple children who was no longer surprised by anything they did, up to and including arriving home from finishing school in an airdinghy.
“Have you learned nothing at that academy of yours?” she asked, marching over. “What have you brought with you? An air balloon? Gracious, Sophronia, what next?”
“Mumsy, may I keep it? Please?” Sophronia jumped from the cart to the ground, swayed elegantly up to her mother, and executed a perfect curtsy. “Balloons always lighten up an event, don’t you feel? We could host small trips over the vegetable patch.”
“Oh, Sophronia, really! And who will operate it? This is intended to be a dignified celebration, not a carnival!” Mrs. Temminnick was distracted by the need to direct the greengrocer’s boy with his hamper to the staff entrance. “Frowbritcher will tell you what to do,” she explained to the lad. The baker’s boy, the cheesemonger’s boy, and the fruiterer’s boy were met with equal exasperation and stern guidance.
By the time Mrs. Temminnick returned her attention to her youngest daughter, Sophronia had chivvied Roger off, with pony, cart, and balloon. “It’ll be all right in the stable for now.”
Roger expressed his feeling that the size of the stable and the size of the airdinghy might be mutually exclusive.
“Put it in the barn if you must,” was Sophronia’s answer.
“Oh, goodness, child, how will it fit?” Mrs. Temminnick’s hands fluttered.
“Roger will manage.” Sophronia had to speak over the delighted cries of her two younger brothers, who had arrived on the scene and were far more excited about the balloon’s arrival than Sophronia’s return. “Mumsy, please make them stop touching it! They might hurt it.”
“Now, dear, don’t fuss.”
Sophronia hoped Roger could hold the course and that her brothers wouldn’t do any major damage. “Mumsy, I should very much like you to know my friends.”
Mrs. Temminnick paused in her frantic organizing, remembered her manners, and said, “Oh, dear me, yes.”
“This is Dimity Plumleigh-Teignmott and her brother, Pillover. That is Monique de Pelouse. I understand she is here at your behest, not mine.”
“Oh, Miss Pelouse, of course! Your father and my husband have some business dealings, I understand. You are most welcome. Sophronia, if you wouldn’t mind showing Miss Pelouse where she might freshen up? And, of course, I’m confident your little friends are delightful.”
Monique curtsied, keeping her bonnet low and her face well-shaded. It seemed to do the trick, for Sophronia’s mother did not recognize her from her guise as headmistress. Mrs. Temminnick only smiled wanly, and then scurried off.
Sophronia jogged quickly after her. “Mumsy, did you get my warning?”
“Warning? What warning, dear? Oh, your odd little note? Yes,tle">Sophro but dear, flywaymen are only a myth.”
“Oh, Mumsy! Of course they aren’t. Where do you think I got the airdinghy?”
“Well, dear, you know… somewhere.” Mrs. Temminnick waved an airy hand in the air and consulted her list of pending deliveries. “Now, where is that confectioner’s boy? I ordered three dozen sugared violets and two bags of candied citron, and they are absolutely vital to the success of this evening.”
“But Mumsy, I think it might be even worse than that. There might be Picklemen involved.”
Mrs. Temminnick let out a little gasp that was half laugh, half shock. “Now, Sophronia, why trouble your pretty head about such things? You let your father handle that. I’m quite certain none of them would dignify our paltry little country ball. Now, dear, really, I must get back to it. You run along with your little friends and get fancy.”
Sophronia was not surprised by this dismissal. Frustrated, but not surprised. She would simply have to manage everything herself. She whirled and trotted back to where the others waited, Pillover and Dimity bracketing Monique with all the embarrassed menace of two small but dedicated poodles. Grabbing the hatbox that contained Bumbersnoot and corralling one of the footmen to help with the rest of the luggage, Sophronia led the way up to the top-floor nursery, a room that she knew from experience had no escape route. Nevertheless, she set Pillover to guard the hallway while all three girls together, despite Monique’s protests, washed and changed for the ball.
Sophronia was in a quandary over the matter of her attire. In the few months she’d been gone, she’d outgrown much of her previous finery—what little there was of it. She was finding herself not necessarily more interested in a proper ball gown so much as understanding the usefulness inherent in fitting in to a social event—particularly if there were prototypes on the loose. Leaving Monique under the Plumleigh-Teignmotts’ watch, she went to find her sisters.
She located Petunia, her older sisters having not yet arrived.
Petunia was in heaven. If heaven were to be defined as a pink tulle ball gown resplendent with bows and frills, along with giggling bosom companions. She was not pleased to see her troublesome youngest sister.
“Sophronia, you’re back?”