And the discomfort had only become greater when Priscilla was launched into Society last year at the age of eighteen. Sophie was only two-and-a-half years older, and sisters so close in age naturally invited comparison; next to Prissy, Sophie’s shortcomings felt all the more obvious. She wasn’t tall, blonde, and slender like her sister, but short with drab brown hair, and she struggled to keep her waist shapely, even with the strongest whalebone corset.
Hearing a sound, she started from her thoughts, rose quickly to her feet, and looked around the room.
On a chair in the darkened far corner, a young woman hunched over with her face in her hands, elbows on her knees.
Sophie cleared her throat, uncertain what to say. “I beg your pardon. I did not realize anyone was here.” Now that Sophie saw her, she realized the woman’s breath was coming in gasps, a sound she’d first assumed was made by the fire. Sophie walked nearer and crouched down as sympathy replaced her unease. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
The woman raised her face, and Sophie recognized her as Miss Hazel Thornton. Though Sophie didn’t know her personally, she had heard the young woman had recently come to live with relatives in London while her father, a general in Her Majesty’s army, was stationed in Africa. Sophie had heard rumors that Miss Thornton had endured some trauma in India and was prone to attacks of panic. She presumed the poor woman was experiencing one at the moment.
Sophie raised her brows at the young lady’s chalky complexion and damp forehead. “Are you all right?”
“No. I mean yes.” Miss Thornton’s hands shook, and she rubbed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Lady Sophronia. Yes, I am all right. I just needed a moment away from the crowd.”
Sophie nodded. “I certainly understand that.”
Miss Thornton closed her eyes and breathed deeply as if calming herself.
“Can I get you anything?” Sophie asked. “I could find a servant to bring tea, or . . .”
Miss Thornton shook her head. “No. Just a moment of quiet, and I will be well.”
Sophie was not convinced. She pulled a chair closer and sat, hoping conversation would provide a welcome distraction from the young woman’s distress. “I believe I’ve heard you attend nurse-training school. Is that right, Miss Thornton?”
“Yes.” She looked down, and a flush covered her neck. “But I’ve had to suspend my attendance due to . . . panic episodes.”
Sophie grimaced, thinking she’d brought up an issue too sensitive. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Silly, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely not.” Sophie placed a hand on the arm of the young lady’s chair. “If these episodes prevent you from being who you’re meant to be, they are a completely legitimate concern.” She gave an encouraging nod.
“And I believe you write for the society column.”
“I do.” Sophie pinched her lips together, feeling a resurgence of frustration. “But I intend to move on to something more . . . important.”
“If that is your wish, I hope you do.” Miss Thornton smiled.
Sophie noticed some of the color had returned to the young woman’s face. Her trembling seemed to have lessened. “Thank you, Miss Thornton. And I hope you are able to return to nursing school.”
The ladies continued in conversation, and Sophie was surprised when she glanced at the clock on the mantel and saw the hour was past midnight. She turned back to her companion and was about to comment on the passage of time when, across the room, the windowed door leading to the garden swung open. A young woman in a lavender gown stepped inside, looked back before closing the door, then leaned against it and exhaled heavily.
When she glanced across the room and saw Sophie and Miss Thornton, the woman’s eyes went wide. “Hello, there.”
Sophie knew the woman to be a Miss Elizabeth Miller, though she had not formed more than a polite acquaintance with her. Dahlia Lancaster, the young lady who was any moment to be engaged to Lord Ruben, was Miss Miller’s cousin.
“I take it you are escaping the ball as well?” Sophie smiled wryly at the happy coincidence of the three meeting up in the library.
“Yes.” Miss Miller flicked a strand of hair from her face. “Luckily I managed to get away before Lord Chatsworth asked for another dance. The nerve of that man . . . utterly pretentious.” She stopped and closed her mouth, clasping her hands before her as if just now remembering her manners. “How do you do, Lady Sophronia? Miss Thornton?” She inclined her head to each of the women in turn.
Sophie smiled at the outspoken young lady and motioned her forward with a sweep of her arm. “Very well, and please, do join our little band of fugitives.”
“How do you do, Miss Miller?” Miss Thornton’s voice sounded much steadier than it had an hour earlier. “You look very pretty this evening. What a beautiful gown.”
Miss Miller waved her hand in the air dismissively, then grimaced. “I thank you for the compliment, but if I could remove this infernal corset without completely disrobing, I’d throw the contraption into the fire.” She pressed both hands at the sides of her waist and took a breath that Sophie knew from experience must only partially fill her lungs. “Honestly, whoever decided a woman was only fashionable if her breathing was restricted had a brain the size of . . .” She trailed off, her gaze moving around the room. “Oh my. What a marvelous library.”
Sophie shared a smile with Miss Thornton as their new companion strolled around looking through the different books and periodicals.
Miss Miller dug through a stack of broadsheets on a side table. “I don’t suppose the marquess keeps a copy of the Women’s Suffrage Journal, do you?”
Sophie laughed at the idea. “I wouldn’t imagine the most outspoken parliamentary member opposing women’s voting rights keeps that periodical on hand.”
The two shared a grin.
The library door opened, and Miss Vivian Kirby entered. Seeing the others, she stopped on the threshold, pulling back. “Oh, I was just—” Her gaze landed on the woman beside Sophie. “Miss Thornton, your uncle asked me to find you, to inquire as to whether you are recovered from your . . .” She looked at the others, perhaps wondering if she ought to mention the young lady’s affliction in front of them. “Are you quite all right?”
“Much better,” Miss Thornton said. “Thank you.”
Miss Kirby rested her hand on the doorknob as if making ready to exit and close the door behind her, but she paused, looking at the shelves of books. “I apologize for the intrusion.” She spoke without taking her gaze from the bookshelves. “It was not my intention to interrupt.”