Since her home was only slightly off the route to London, Dimity was to ride with Agatha. Agatha liked the companionship, and Dimity no longer enjoyed trains. Soap crashing a locomotive into a dirigible and subsequent events had given her train-related nightmares.
The girls were in the window seat of the teahouse, which had an excellent view of the meeting square. Agatha’s near-limitless expense account was always good for the best seat at any watering hole. They watched their fellow students being retrieved and gossiped about each. Unfortunately, the pudding was alcoholic enough to appeal only to Bumbersnoot, who always showed interest in things that could catch on fire. The little dog sat on the bench next to Sophronia, under cover of the pouf of her traveling gown’s teal skirts, and ate whatever she fed him with gusto.
All speculation proved moot at that point, for a carriage pulled up intended for Sophronia. Of course they did not know this until the owner of said carriage emerged.
Her sister looked slightly stouter, but otherwise unchanged. As Petunia stepped down, no one could doubt she was related to Sophronia—same oval face and muddy green eyes. Petunia’s hair was a shade darker and her cheeks rounder, both tinted slightly red by art and science. Her curls were set by a French maid, while Sophronia’s were the product of Dimity and madly wielded hair-rags. But the sisters shared the same straight nose and firm mouth, and were of a height.
Sophronia exchanged startled looks with her friends. “Well, I never!”
She immediately gathered up Bumbersnoot, for it would not do to keep Petunia waiting. She collected her luggage from the cloakroom, leaving Agatha and Dimity to see to the last of the tea.
Petunia stood looking around at the quaint town with ill-disguised hauteur. Her traveling dress, fur muff, well-trimmed bonnet, and velvet gloves screamed London.
“Petunia? I say, this is a surprise.” Sophronia plopped down her carpetbag to give her sister a polite peck on the cheek.
“Sophronia, still carting around that horrid Italian dog reticule, I see.” Petunia’s hat had ostrich and peacock feathers—for travel! Even more shocking—her sister was actually smiling.
“It has sentimental value. But Petunia, what on earth are you doing here?”
“You may well ask. Middle of nowhere. I understand why Mumsy sent you to finishing school, really I do, but why not France or Switzerland? Why Devon?”
“Expense, I suppose.”
Petunia shook her curls and tut-tutted at open mention of pecuniary matters, even among sisters. She had married well and after only one season. It was a match so advantageous, she herself could hardly believe it. True, Mr. Hisselpenny wasn’t as blue-blooded as Petunia would have liked, but he was well set up in town. From what Sophronia could gather, Petunia had proceeded to spend most of her husband’s fortune attempting to break into the upper crust, with limited success. Her doting husband catered to her every whim, including, evidently, a coach and four.
“It has done you good, I will say that.” Petunia issued a rare compliment, looking Sophronia over with an eye to her appearance and posture, as if Petunia were decades her senior.
“Thank you very kindly.” Sophronia resisted the urge to bristle. Petunia was one of those who responded better to cordial than to barley water. “I do value your good opinion, sister.”
Petunia looked smug. “Is that all you have?”
Sophronia’s baggage included only one valise and two hatboxes. And Bumbersnoot, of course. “Afraid so. Mumsy doesn’t send me many dresses anymore. Since you married, there have been none to hand down. Everything I have is worn and not worth packing.”
Petunia’s eyes lit up. “Exactly what I suspected! This is why I volunteered to collect you. You are, after all, soon to come out, and as I am now residing in town, I decided to see you properly outfitted. And I know you would like to do your Christmas shopping in London, for once.”
Ah-ha, thought Sophronia. Having spent as much as she dared on herself, and becoming bored with society, Petunia wants me for her new entertainment. Sophronia grimaced at being thought a doll, but she could not deny a thrill of excitement. Who didn’t want to go to London for the shopping? Of course, her eagerness had nothing, whatsoever, to do with the fact that Soap was currently living in London. Nothing at all.
Petunia took Sophronia’s thoughtful silence as dissent. “You don’t want to? Oh, why must you be such a bore?”
Where, in the past, Sophronia would have snarled in response, instead she applied praise. “Of course not, sister dear. It’s a delightful notion. And so kind of you to concoct it. I’m a little surprised, that is all. But I’m certainly not one to look a gift London in the mouth.” Even if it comes packaged with a meddling sister. Sophronia and Petunia had never been close, but Petunia appreciated the airs and graces finishing school had given her, and Sophronia was willing to put those airs and graces to the test in tolerating Petunia.
Petunia grinned—actually grinned!—and even blushed a little. “Well, no need to babble on. There’s more for you still to come.”
“Indeed?”