The Willflowers forged on. They fared no better at a neighboring booth, where Glory got into a heated debate. The charity’s purpose was to protest the existence of opium dens; to illustrate the threat, a poster was on display. The caricature depicted a Chinese man with slitted eyes and a cunning smile, holding out a pipe to an unsuspecting Englishman. In the background lay cadaverous bodies draped with the British flag.
“You do realize you have it the wrong way around?” Glory was saying. “We are the ones importing opium to China. Not to mention the harm the East India Company is doing to the Indian economy and culture with the opium trade.”
The charity lady’s lips pinched together. “What do you know of such things, young lady?”
“My papa gave speeches on the topic in the House of Lords,” Glory replied.
“It is best not to repeat things one does not understand,” the lady said in patronizing tones.
Seeing the fire in Glory’s eyes, Livy and Fi dragged her away before more damage could be done. They found a quieter spot at the back of the room.
“Perhaps charities aren’t for us after all,” Fiona said. “How are you faring, Livy dear?”
“Much better. I’ve decided to redouble my efforts with Hadleigh,” Livy announced.
Glory looked at Fi and muttered, “I owe you an ice at Gunter’s.”
“Glory and I had a wager going,” Fi explained. “She said it would take a week for you to start campaigning for Hadleigh’s affections again. I said three days.”
“It is nice to know one’s bosom friends are invested in one’s welfare,” Livy said dryly. “Now, do you want to hear my plan?”
“We’re all ears…” Fi trailed off. “Is that Lady Fayne?”
Livy saw that it was Charlotte Fayne standing at the next table. She felt a prickle of antipathy, which she knew was motivated by sheer envy. Lady Fayne had looked so perfect standing next to Hadleigh, and the widow was everything Livy was not: glamorous, mature, and tall. She was the sort of woman Hadleigh would find appealing.
If Lady Fayne had kissed Hadleigh in the garden, he probably wouldn’t have rejected her.
Livy was ashamed by her peevish thought. Especially when Lady Fayne greeted them with a smile of genuine pleasure.
“If it isn’t the Willflowers,” Lady Fayne said as they made their curtsies. “How lovely to see you all again.”
“It is a pleasure to see you, Lady Fayne,” Fi said. “Your ensemble is ravishing.”
Livy had to admit that Lady Fayne looked faultless in a carriage dress of pale bronze, paired with a redingote lined with blue satin. Her honey-gold hair was arranged in a fashion similar to Livy’s own: parted in the middle, with braided loops over the ears. Compared to the worldly widow, however, Livy felt like a gawky miss fresh out of the schoolroom.
“If it is not too bold, may I ask that you call me Charlie?” the lady said. “All my friends do, and it is my fondest wish to become better acquainted with the three of you.”
Fi dimpled. “It would be an honor, Charlie. You must return the favor and call me Fi.”
Not wanting to be churlish, Livy said, “There is no need to stand on formality with us.”
“Ladies who share my own sensibilities. How delightful,” Charlie said warmly. “How are you finding the symposium?”
Glory crossed her arms. “Problematical.”
As Glory relayed their misadventures, Livy studied Charlie’s booth. The lady had no leaflets or paraphernalia to indicate the purpose of her charity. There was not even a sign with the group’s name. In fact, only two objects sat upon the table: a piece of paper and a blue satin reticule.
Curiosity prompted Livy to ask, “What is the nature of your charity?”
Charlie turned to her. “It is a bit of a secret, actually. One that I am only revealing to those who can correctly solve a riddle. Would you care to try?”
Curiouser and curiouser.
Despite herself, Livy was intrigued. “All right.”
Charlie picked the paper up from the table, handing it to Livy. Glory and Fi huddled in.
Livy read the single sentence aloud. “What is seen in the middle of March and April, that cannot be seen at the beginning or end of either month?”
“Hmm,” Fi said. “That is tricky.”
“A seasonal pattern, perhaps?” Glory guessed. “The weather or maybe animal migrations?”
“Neither are universal. They depend upon where you are, and this riddle sounds absolute.” Fi tapped her chin. “What else happens in the middle of March and April? Celebrations of some sort?”
“Would those not also depend upon where you live?” Glory said. “Different countries have different festivals, after all.”
“The answer is not a celebration,” Livy said definitively. “Nor is it weather or animal related.”
“What is the answer then?” Fi asked.
“The letter R.” Livy pointed to the letter in both words. “It is in the middle of both ‘March’ and ‘April’ but not at the beginning or end.”
“Very good,” Charlie said with warm admiration.
Tamping down the urge to preen, Livy gave a shrug. “It was not that difficult.”
“Not for an agile and inquisitive mind. But those are rarer than one would think.” Charlie leaned closer. “Can the three of you keep a secret?”
“Of course,” Fiona said promptly. “Would you like to pinky swear upon it?”
“Your word of honor will suffice.”
The lady retrieved a card from her reticule, handing it to Livy. Printed on thick ivory stock, the calling card had elegant lettering that spelled out three words, with an exclusive Mayfair address beneath.
“Society of Angels?” Livy canted her head. “Is that the name of your charity?”
“If you are interested in learning more about a group whose aim is to give intelligent and independent young ladies a worthy purpose, then come for luncheon on Monday.” Charlie tucked her reticule onto her wrist and donned her gloves. “It would be best if you arrange to come unchaperoned. Good day, Willflowers.”
With a graceful nod, Charlie glided
