Sophronia shook her head. “Could I borrow something of yours, perhaps?”
“Now, there is a notion. I might have something from my trousseau. How lucky that we are the same height and complexion.”
Petunia sashayed off and returned with a pretty satin dress, simpler than expected given her taste. Sophronia liked it instantly. It was pale blue brocade with royal-blue flowers appliquéd on top and matching ribbon for trim. Copious quantities of some quality cream lace peeked out at the cuffs, enough to hide both obstructor and hurlie should she wear them. Her favorite part was the neckline, a deep but narrow V with lace collar. In a world peopled with scoop necklines, it was unique and flattering. It would make her appear tall and elegant.
“I adore it!”
Everyone stopped and stared at her. It wasn’t like Sophronia to go into ecstasies over a dress.
“Are you feeling quite well?” Dimity hissed.
Sophronia was eager for distraction. Perhaps a bit too eager. It might have had something to do with Soap. She gave her friend the hand signal of discretion.
Dimity subsided.
“You’re sure? We could try shopping tomorrow morning?” Petunia was not one to be waylaid where spending money was possible.
“I’d only want to find one exactly like this.”
Petunia pinked with delight. “Very well, then. You may have it. By the time it fits me again, it will be sadly out of date.”
“Oh, thank you.” Sophronia actually hugged her sister.
Petunia allowed it and then brushed her away. “Really, Sophronia, I’m not accustomed to such emotional displays. It’s quite exhausting. Now I must nap. Off with you three, go try things on. I know you want to more than anything. See about accessories.”
The girls did as instructed. Although it must be admitted they spent some time also discussing how to hide deadly little knives in their hair, whether Sophronia’s favorite carnet de bal garrote was too much at a dinner party, and if Bumbersnoot could be decorated to match the dress. They did not talk of Soap, although Sophronia could tell Dimity dearly wanted to.
The blue gown turned out to be exactly the correct choice. For while Lord Akeldama was a vampire who pursued excess in all things himself, he appreciated refinement in others. Although he appeared welcoming as he ushered them into his well-appointed home near Regent’s Park, his eyes were critical. The vampire uttered not one negative word, but Dimity suddenly knew herself to be wearing too much jewelry. Petunia realized that her condition was no secret to the discerning eye. And Agatha, poor Agatha, was convinced she was a failure in all things fashionable, although her dress was à la mode and her hair had taken three hours.
Sophronia’s subtle gown and understated pearls, however, met with approval. The ghost of a smile twitched at Lord Akeldama’s perfectly pouty lips as he evaluated her attire.
“How lovely to see such beautiful butterflies. My, but I do adore groups of ladies. They always balance out my table so very decorously. I blush to admit it, but my assemblies are too often weighted in the gentlemanly direction. Speaking of which, drones! Oh, where are my drones? You butterflies simply must have matched escort flowers.”
Lord Akeldama was dressed in emerald satin with a cream-and-gold striped waistcoat, and a cream silk cravat tied over with an emerald ribbon. He wore a gold-and-emerald tie pin that gave Dimity a small case of the vapors.
“Now, that,” she whispered to Sophronia, “is most certainly not paste!”
At Lord Akeldama’s summons, a group of stunning young men trooped down the stairs from their private chambers above. They were all dressed as impeccably as their master, if perhaps not quite so flash. Sophronia felt a pang of loss at having been forced to turn down Lord Akeldama’s offer of patronage. Only think, at one time I might have lived among all this beauty. The drones stood, untroubled, as the vampire evaluated them carefully and then paired each with one of the young women—based on color, of course.
Sophronia privately suspected that character was also taken into account. Lord Akeldama was shallow—or he liked to be thought that way—but not so shallow as to sacrifice conversational flow on the altar of fashion. Not for an entire evening, at least.
“Mrs. Hisselpenny, such a lovely rose pink, you would go well with Peanut here.” Peanut proved to be tall, with a shock of thick caramel-colored hair and a long, friendly face. He wore apple green, which paired with Petunia’s pink to look very like a rosebush.