It took a moment for Sophie to realize the voice was coming from Kate, who was leaning out an upper-story window. Sophie remembered the young woman’s propensity for clumsiness and cringed.
Kate seemed not to notice the precariousness of her position. “Do come in. Mira and I are most eager to be off. Oh wait!” Kate disappeared for a moment and then returned to the window, dangling half her body over the window sill. Sophie was relieved to see a hand dart out and latch firmly on to the back of her dress. “Don’t bother, Sophie,” Kate called cheerily. “We’ll be right down.”
In good time, Mirabelle, Kate, two maids, and two footmen were arranged in, on, and around the moving carriage.
It was hard to retain a bad mood in the company of Kate and Mirabelle. Kate’s natural buoyancy and Mirabelle’s quick wit had Sophie smiling, then grinning, then laughing before they reached the fashionable shopping district of Bond Street.
And then of course, there were the shops themselves. Sophie’s previous London shopping excursion had been rushed and purposeful, really much more of a chore. Ambling from store to store without lists or agenda was a world removed from trying to obtain an entire wardrobe in under a week.
The girls were a lively pair, far more interested in having a pleasant time than searching for that perfect bonnet or the newest muslin. By Sophie’s calculation, they had visited a dozen shops in under two hours and had, among the three of them, purchased two new ribbons and a quill.
The whole morning had been really quite wonderful, marred only slightly when Kate had tripped over what Sophie could only assume was her own feet and collided with a portly gentleman coming out of a bookstore. He didn’t seem the least put out by the incident. Kate had looked adorably sheepish during her apology and in the end, the man had somehow contrived to take the blame for the incident and walked off with a rather foolish sort of smile on his face. Mirabelle had looked like she very much wanted to roll her eyes, and Sophie barely contained her laughter until the hapless victim was out of earshot.
By the time they stopped for ices at a confectionary shop, Sophie was feeling remarkably better.
“Oh! Look, look it’s him,” Kate cried, nearly toppling over her chair and half the table in an effort to obtain a better view of a young man walking slowly down the far side of the street. Mirabelle steadied her friend’s chair with a practiced ease.
“Him who?” Sophie asked.
“Lord Martin,” Kate whispered reverently.
“She has a tendre for him,” Mirabelle explained.
Sophie moved an ice before Kate could knock it over as she leaned out even farther. “You don’t say,” Sophie replied dryly.
Turning her attention to the window, she eyed the young man with academic interest. She estimated Lord Martin near her own age, perhaps a year or two older. Tall and blond, with wide shoulders and narrow hips and waist, he was impeccably turned out in a green coat of fashionable cut, fawn breeches, and the requisite Hessians. He was also too far away for an accurate assessment of his facial features, but even from a distance she could tell he was handsome. Sophie could certainly understand Kate’s interest. Lord Martin seemed to embody every current standard of masculine beauty. Almost too well. She squinted. Then cocked her head.
“He pads,” Mirabelle supplied.
“What’s that?” Sophie asked.
“Mira!” Kate exclaimed at the same time.
Mirabelle turned to answer Sophie first. “The use of padding to enhance the shoulders or thighs is a fairly common practice among gentlemen these days,” she explained before turning to Kate. “So, I am not disparaging your Lord Martin. I was merely stating a fact.”
Kate gave a disbelieving snort before returning her attention to the view. “With what I wear to transform my natural shape, I would be the proverbial pot calling the kettle black to judge Lord Martin.” She watched the man until he disappeared around a corner, then settled back in her seat with a sigh and gave Mirabelle a small smile. “I don’t doubt your sincerity, Mira,” she said sweetly. “Only your accuracy.”
Mirabelle shrugged. “To be honest, his legs may very well be…well his, but his shoulders are not. I noticed it when we waltzed. They’re not squishy exactly, but—”
“You waltzed with him?” Kate demanded. “I cannot believe you didn’t tell me that you waltzed with him!”
Mirabelle’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t be silly, of course I told you. You insist upon hearing every detail of every occasion at which both his lordship and I have been in attendance. I tell you when we’ve danced together, or talked together, or even walked in the same room together.”
“Danced together, yes,” countered Kate. “Waltzed together, no.”
“Waltzing is dancing,” Mirabelle rejoined.
“A quadrille is a dance, a waltz is…is….”
“A serious of established steps set to music, therefore, a dance,” Mirabelle finished for her. “Like any other.”
“Except,” Sophie remarked, “that it’s possible to employ the word as both a noun and a verb.”