Curtsies & Conspiracies

Felix sighed, looking genuinely perturbed. His air of ennui was shaken. “I am trying to court you. Truth be told, Miss Temminnick, you make it ruddy difficult!”

“Language, Lord Mersey.” Sophronia felt her heart flutter strangely. Am I ready to be courted?

“See!”

“Bunson’s and Geraldine’s don’t mix. We practice, but we don’t finish, not with each other.”

“It’s happened before.”

“You mean the Plumleigh-Teignmotts? Yes, but they both had to give it up.”

“Give what up?”

“Their training.”

“I’m not asking you to marry me, Ria. I’m asking you to let me court you.”

“To what end, exactly, if not marriage?”

Felix winced.

“I’m not willing to stop learning. Are you?” Despite her guilt over Professor Braithwope’s fall, as she said it Sophronia knew this was true. “As I understand it, we serve different masters.”

“Precisely why it might be fun.”

“I will not be used as some boyish excuse for rebellion.”

“You see what I mean? Difficult! I like it.”

“You’re a loon.”

“And you’re a silver swan sailing on liquid dreams.”

Sophronia giggled. “Stop that. This is getting us nowhere.”

“So may I court you?”

Sophronia looked over his shoulder, feeling dizzy. From the waltzing, of course. She stalled for time and then…

“Where’s Dimity?”

Felix was thrown by the sudden switch in topic.

“And Pillover! Where’s Pillover?”

Sophronia scanned the crowd frantically. There was the dandy who had been dancing with Dimity; he was now dancing with Agatha. The Plumleigh-Teignmott siblings were gone! Sophronia looked to the back of the crowd near the punch bowl. Lord Ambrose was also gone. Sidheag was still with her tall partner. Captain Niall lurked on the sidelines, his eyes on Lady Kingair with an odd expression in them. With no time to analyze any of it, Sophronia broke away from Felix.

“Are you leaving me in the middle of a dance again?” She’d done exactly the same thing to him the night they danced at Petunia’s coming-out ball. He grabbed for her arm. “I’ll stop being silly. I promise.”

“This is not a cut, Felix. I must go fix something.”

“Why is it always your problem to fix, Ria?”

“Because I see that there is a problem when no one else does.”

With nothing more to say than that, Sophronia Angelina Temminnick did the rudest thing she had ever done in all her life: she left a high-ranking peer of the realm standing alone in the middle of a waltz. For the second time of their acquaintance. Oh, dear, she thought, he might never forgive me.

Sophronia was just in time. She saw the hem of Dimity’s gown, a strikingly bold peach-and-brown pattern not unlike a sun-bleached tiger, disappear inside a private carriage outside the hotel. She could also hear the sound of muffled yelling.

The driver struck up the horses but not before Sophronia hiked up her skirts, ran down after them, and leapt up to the back step, a place ordinarily occupied by footmen in livery. It was not a perch designed for a ball gown, nor were any meant to stand there when moving at speed, but Sophronia held on. No one is kidnapping my Dimity!

The carriage careened through the streets at a dangerous pace, slowing only when traffic demanded. After a relatively short distance, they drew to a halt on a quiet domestic avenue. Sophronia jumped down and to the side, turning her head away from the carriage and pretending to walk along the pavement as if out for a stroll. Alone. In a ball gown. The door to the carriage opened behind her. She could not turn without arousing suspicion, so she proceeded at an unhurried pace until she was around the far corner of the street. Once there, she inched up close to the last house and peeked back around, cursing a fashion that dictated young ladies wear pale colors and big puffed skirts. She was undeniably visible.

Her position afforded her the opportunity to watch the carriage draw around to wait, having disgorged its contents. Sophronia ruminated. Lord Ambrose, who does he belong to? Is he a rove like Professor Braithwope, or is this a hive house? How do I find out? I don’t even know which part of London I’m in. A number of fashionably dressed individuals came and went, as if it were visiting hours. The visitors were not dressed for dinner, and they did not stay long. Sophronia observed for some three-quarters of an hour, hoping for an indication of… something.

Eventually, a young man in full evening dress sauntered up to the house. He had a nondescript face, good- looking enough, with a clean, straight nose and no mustache. He took off his hat to salute whomever opened the door. In the light cast by the hallway, Sophronia recognized him. He was the man who’d tried to get the prototype from Monique and the Pickleman at Petunia’s ball. The man from Westminster. Sophronia had thought him a government employee, but now it was clear that this man was a Westminster Hive drone and this was the hive house. Lord Ambrose must be a member as well. The hive wanted Dimity and Pillover. Oh, dear, I did hope it was the Picklemen. Vampires complicate matters, being all supernatural and hard to sneak around. So the vampires wanted to press matters with Dimity’s parents. The Plumleigh-Teignmotts must be the only ones who knew how to make the guidance valves. The vampires wanted to either manufacture and sell the technology or destroy it.

Sophronia was wise enough not to take on a hive alone and without preparation. Dimity and Pillover were on their own until she could return with reinforcements. Sophronia could only hope that her two friends would be of no use to the vampires dead. Oh, Dimity, please remember some of your training.

She turned her attention to hiring transport, but the roadways were quiet—not a single hansom to be seen. Then a fly came careening down the cross street, drawn by matched white geldings and driven by two dandies of the highest order. One might even have called them fops, their trousers were so loud and their collar points so high. Sophronia glanced away; she did not want to be thought a light skirt. She had no time for shenanigans.

To her horror, the fly drew up next to her.

“What ho, little miss!” yodeled one of the dandies. His hair was a lovely pale gold, his face almost iridescent in the moonlight. He wore an outfit of silver and royal blue, accented with pure white.

The other, a young man with ebony skin like Soap, although with none of Soap’s streetside aura, looked to his companion. “My lord, we are very close to Westminster. Should we be stopping in their territory?” His outfit was all soft peaches and dove grays with cream, a perfect compliment to the other’s clear colors.

“For a brief moment, I think, Pilpo, dear. They are accustomed to my sport.”

“But, my lord…”

The gold-haired dandy smiled at Sophronia, showing a hint of fang.

I spend my whole life without vampires, and in the space of one year I’ve met far too many.

“One of Mademoiselle Geraldine’s girls, methinks,” he said. “You have the aura.”

Sophronia blinked up at him, shocked.

“My dear child, did you think you and yours were the only players?”

Sophronia narrowed her eyes in the direction of the hive house.

“And Westminster,” the vampire added, confirming her suspicions.

Sophronia said, “And Bunson’s, and the Picklemen, and the potentate, and now—who, my dear sir, are