The members of the Debutante Underground approved wholeheartedly of the tailor’s shop as a meeting place, nodding and exclaiming over the large, open room as they filed in and took their seats the following Friday. Compared to the cozy but cramped back room of Madam Laurent’s dress shop, the tailor’s felt like a palace. The women took advantage of the empty space at one end of the room, using it to stretch their legs and mingle.
Sophie was delighted that the group’s numbers had consistently grown, and this week was no exception. That morning’s edition of The Debutante’s Revenge had created a stir, and all the women seemed eager to talk about it.
At eight o’clock, Sophie launched into her usual greeting and review of the rules before ceremoniously handing her copy of the London Hearsay to Ivy, one of the dress shop’s seamstresses, to read the latest column:
Dear Debutantes,
Young ladies are often taught to be passive and undemanding; to avoid creating a fuss. In a romantic relationship, however, it’s important to make your desires known. Tell your partner what pleases you, or, if it is difficult to speak the words, show him. Do not be afraid to ask for the things you want; encourage your partner to do the same.
A true gentleman will appreciate and respect a woman who communicates her desires—and who does not expect him to be a reader of minds.
The accompanying sketch depicted a couple in a field of wildflowers. She sat among the blossoms, plucking the petals off a daisy, while his head rested on her lap. They looked perfectly content and at ease with each other—and also very much in love.
As Ivy read the column, Sophie tried to picture Lord Singleton’s head in her lap. Tried to imagine speaking to him about personal things—the sorts of things that weren’t discussed in polite company. The sorts of things that mattered.
And she couldn’t.
To be fair, she didn’t know him very well. But he’d never seemed very curious about her. Never sought to understand her. Not in the way Reese did.
As the discussion around the column began in earnest, Sophie retreated to the side of the room near the counter and recalled the night she’d spent with Reese on the floor of that very room.
She knew she shouldn’t be so eager to meet with him again, but she’d thought of little else since waking that morning. Last Saturday, before they’d said goodbye, she’d agreed to meet him outside the tailor’s shop at eleven o’clock that night so he could take her to Warshire Manor. He’d promised to dismiss the staff for the entire night so she wouldn’t have to worry about being seen—and becoming the subject of gossip.
Sophie’s family and friends would have no inkling as to her whereabouts. Mama assumed she was staying with Fiona and Gray as usual, but Sophie had informed her friends that she wouldn’t be sleeping over for the next few weeks, due to a project she was undertaking.
Fiona had arched a brow at that, but thankfully hadn’t pressed Sophie to elaborate on what the project entailed. All she’d said was that any project Sophie undertook was destined to be a smashing success.
But all Sophie wanted was a bit of adventure. A taste of freedom. And if she could achieve that without bringing shame upon her family, she’d consider herself fortunate.
As the meeting drew to a close, Sophie stood by the door and bid each woman good night. One of the last to leave was a young, weary-looking woman with huge brown eyes in a too-pale face. Her dark hair was drawn into a no-nonsense knot at her nape, and her thin shoulders were wrapped in a faded yellow shawl.
“I don’t think we’ve met. My name is Sophie,” she said, warmly extending a hand.
“I’m Violet,” the young woman replied. As she grasped Sophie’s fingers, she swayed on her feet till Sophie swiftly steadied her by the elbow.
“Come, sit for a moment,” Sophie insisted, guiding her to the nearest chair. “Forgive me for saying so, but you don’t look well.”
“I’m fine,” Violet assured her. “Just a bit dizzy after sitting for so long, is all. You needn’t worry about me.”
“Nonsense.” Sophie plopped a scone on a plate and thrust it at Violet. “Something tells me you haven’t eaten dinner yet.”
The young woman’s cheeks pinkened, and she glanced at the floor.
“I wish I had something more substantial to offer than a scone,” Sophie said, clucking her tongue. “But that and a cup of tea will have to do, for now.”
She brought Violet some tea and sat beside her as she nibbled on the pastry. Sophie longed to know more about the woman, who looked to be about eighteen—too young to have dark circles beneath her eyes and tired lines around her mouth. But Sophie didn’t want to pry. After all, most members were understandably skittish about sharing details of their personal lives. She did notice that the woman didn’t wear a wedding band, and her chapped hands revealed she was accustomed to hard work.
“I’m glad you were able to join us tonight,” Sophie said sincerely. “The size of the group can seem a little overwhelming at first, but I hope you felt at home.”
Violet nodded vigorously. “Oh yes. Everyone was so welcoming and friendly, even though I’m just a … well, I was a maid.”
“One of the things I adore about the Debutante Underground is that it brings everyone together.” Sophie strolled around the tailor’s shop as she spoke, stacking plates and cups on a tray. “Within these walls, it makes no difference whether you’re a grand dame, a lady’s maid, a shopkeeper, or a laundress. We all gather on Friday evenings for a singular purpose—to share our knowledge and experiences … and support each other.”
“That’s lovely.” Violet sounded wistful and hopeful at the same time.
Sophie smiled as she gingerly watered Reese’s potted plant, which, she had to admit, was looking marginally better. “It helps knowing that we’re not alone.”
Violet’s cup clattered against her saucer, as though her hands trembled. “I’m afraid I must go,” she said, standing abruptly.
“Of course,” Sophie said, sympathetic. She retrieved her reticule from behind the counter, withdrew the few coins she’d brought, and pressed them into Violet’s palm. “It’s not much, but I’d like you to have it.”
“I couldn’t,” Violet said, clearly appalled.
“Please, think of it as a small gift.” The coins amounted to Sophie’s share of last week’s earnings from the newspaper column—the earnings that Fiona and Lily had insisted on splitting three ways from the start. “One day, if you wish, you can pass the kindness along to someone else.”
“That’s very generous. I don’t know what to say, except … thank you.”
“It’s nothing,” Sophie said with a dismissive wave.
Violet gave Sophie a wobbly smile, clutched her shawl tight around her shoulders, and turned toward the door.
“Take care walking home,” Sophie called after her. “And I hope you’ll be able to join us again next week.”
“I hope so too,” Violet said softly, before vanishing into the darkness of the alley.
Sophie’s encounter with the frail young woman left her feeling uneasy as she finished washing the dishes and setting the shop to rights. But she had little time to dwell on the conversation because it was almost eleven o’clock—and Reese would arrive any minute.
When he rapped on the window of the back door, she grabbed her portmanteau, extinguished the lantern on the counter, and met him in the alley, her heart pounding as if she’d run a mile.
“Sophie,” he said, sounding faintly relieved. “You’re well, I hope?”
“Yes.” She exhaled slowly, willing her pulse to slow. “And you?”
He shrugged. “Better now.” He gestured toward her bag. “Would you like me to carry that? I have a hackney cab waiting for us one block over.”
“Thank you.” She handed him the portmanteau, taking care to avoid contact with his hand. Then she draped her shawl over her head like a hood, concealing herself just in case they encountered anyone during their short walk.
A few minutes later, they were in the cab, rumbling through the streets, on their way to Warshire Manor. Reese sat beside her, keeping a safe distance on the seat between them. Occasionally, he glanced over at her, almost as though assuring himself she was still there. But mostly, he stared out the window.
He looked much the same as he had the previous Friday evening—agitated, exhausted, and generally at his wits’ end. Unfortunately, his weary state didn’t detract from his attractiveness. The planes of his face were eminently masculine, from his straight nose to his pronounced cheekbones to his square jaw. The moonlight illuminated the light stubble on his chin and the golden streaks in his collar-length hair. His long, sinewy legs sprawled across the cab, and the muscles of his shoulders flexed beneath the stretched fabric of his jacket, making the interior of the coach seem rather intimate and warm.
“The drive won’t take long,” he said. “And, as you requested, I made certain that all the staff left for the weekend, and there’s nary a maid nor a footman in sight. They’re delighted to have some time off.”
“I’m glad,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Of course, that means we’ll need to fend for ourselves. We won’t have a butler, housekeeper, coachman, or, most importantly, a cook.”
“I feel certain we’ll survive the night,” she said with a smile.
The lights of town began to fade, and the landscape outside their windows changed from boxlike buildings and paved streets to lush fields and twisting roads. The farther they traveled from London, the more she relaxed.
For tonight, she wasn’t Miss Kendall, the unfailingly proper, ever-dutiful daughter of a destitute baron who would soon be betrothed to a marquess.
She was simply Sophie.
And for once, the possibilities seemed limitless.
At last, the hackney cab rumbled up a long, winding path, leading to a striking structure that appeared one part medieval castle, one part soaring cathedral. Gothic windows, a massive arched door, and a pair of pointed turrets probably would have made the manor house look foreboding to most people, but Sophie found it strangely beautiful and unique.
When the coach rolled to a stop, Reese hopped out and turned to help her disembark before remembering himself and quickly shoving his hands in his pockets. He paid the driver and arranged for him to return at eleven o’clock the next day.
The driver readily agreed, and as he drove off, Sophie realized that for the next twelve hours she and the earl would be entirely alone—a prospect that both thrilled and frightened her.