“Charmed, I’m sure,” said Lady Roslyn, a diminutive woman with daringly close-cropped dark curls framing her face, her gaze barely brushing Sandrine before returning to the crowd of fashionable ladies with feathers in their hair and men in stiff collars and tailcoats.
“Likewise,” agreed Miss Maples. Statuesque and voluptuous, with russet-colored hair and gleaming red lips, Miss Maples was displaying more décolletage than Sandrine had ever glimpsed before. She tried not to stare, but it was difficult as her extraordinary bosom was directly at eye level.
“My aunt met Miss Oliver in Squalton-on-Sea and has brought her for her first visit to London,” Francesca explained to them.
“Squalton-on-Sea? What an unfortunate name for a seaside resort,” drawled Lady Roslyn.
Miss Hodwell’s attention was caught by a waiter carrying trays of ices. “I think I’ll go and see about some refreshments, dearies.”
“Miss Oliver, you are quite charming. Isn’t she, Marta? She has that fresh seaside air about her.” Lady Roslyn looked Sandrine up and down. “Simple and unaffected.”
Miss Maples tittered. “Simple indeed.”
“Now, put away your claws, you two,” Francesca admonished. “We must be lovely to MissOliver because she hasn’t had our advantages. This is probably her best gown.”
Sandrine glanced ruefully at her simple white muslin gown. “I told Mrs. McGovern I didn’t have anything fashionable to wear.”
“You look quite lovely,” said Mrs. McGovern.
“I adore your gowns, ladies,” said Sandrine. “The vibrant shade of your matching pink sashes is so becoming.”
“Our pink sashes are our signature adornment. We’re the Pink Ladies,” said Francesca. “No other young lady is allowed to wear this precise color of pink.”
“I’m dying for the Season to begin,” said Lady Roslyn. “We’re going to rule thetonthis year, ladies. You’ll see.”
Sandrine wasn’t here to rule anything, except perhaps the Duke of Rydell when she had her audience with him.
“Will you be attending the Season, Miss Oliver?” asked Miss Maples.
“I’m going back to Squalton within a fortnight.”
“Such a shame,” Miss Maples said in false, treacly tones.
“I’m heartbroken,” Lady Roslyn agreed with a blank expression. “How was your summer in Yorkshire, Francesca?”
“I had a flirtation with a baron, but nothing came of it.”
“I collected three new beaux—all military gentlemen!” Miss Maples exclaimed, pulling a square silver case out of her reticule and openingit to reveal a folding book of miniature portraits. “Don’t they look smart in their uniforms?”
“If you collect any more beaux you’ll have to open a portrait gallery,” said Lady Roslyn.
“And what about you, Sandrine?” Francesca said. “May I call you Sandrine? We don’t stand on formalities. You may call all of us by our Christian names. Any eligible bachelors pining for you in Squalton-on-Sea?”
“I deflected a proposal of marriage from the vicar before I left.”
“Is he handsome?”
“I suppose he’s not bad-looking. Though, rather slender of limb.”
“That’s unfortunate. I do like a gentleman with substantial thighs,” said Miss Maples.
“Miss Maples!” said Mrs. McGovern. “Moderate your topic of conversation, if you please. I have been charged with chaperoning Miss Oliver, and her mother is very strict and proper.”
“What about this vicar’s equipage? Does he own a curricle?” Francesca asked.
“A very prosaic coach and four.”
“Still, that’s something,” said Francesca. “Why did you deflect his proposal?”