She knew she was behaving poorly and didn’t intend to shirk her duty to her family forever. She only wanted the rest of this season to herself.
One more season to continue hosting meetings of the Debutante Underground.
One more season to dance and flirt with dashing gentlemen.
One more season to feel young and free.
Sophie dragged her thoughts back to the meeting in progress and watched an earl’s shy daughter—recently betrothed to a portly older man—furrow her brow during a rather explicit conversation about wedding night disappointments. But then another woman smiled fondly as she recounted the story of how her husband once took extra jobs at the docks just so that he could buy her a pretty hair comb—an extravagance they could ill afford. As usual, the women balanced their negative stories with uplifting ones, painting a picture that Sophie hoped was realistic and fair to both sexes.
Some women asked questions related to the evening’s topic, and others chimed in with their own experiences and advice. A few women simply listened raptly, soaking in the knowledge and camaraderie.
Time passed quickly, and when Sophie checked the old clock wedged between spools of thread and a basket of frippery on one of the workroom’s shelves, she realized they’d been meeting for almost two hours. Reluctantly, she left her spot at the back and made her way, once more, to the head of the table.
She waited for a pause in the conversation, then shot an apologetic glance at the women. “I’m afraid it’s time for us to bring our meeting to a close. On behalf of everyone, I’d like to express my thanks to Cecile”—she inclined her head toward Madam Laurent—“for allowing us to convene here again this week. I wanted to let you all know that I’m working on securing a larger space and hope to have some news in that regard by next week’s meeting.”
A murmur of approval and excitement swelled inside the room, and Sophie’s belly twisted. She couldn’t continue to impose on Madam Laurent week after week, and their group had clearly outgrown the back room of her dress shop—a few of the women had to share chairs and others had to stand. But Sophie had yet to find a suitable alternate location—something large and centrally located, with an inconspicuous entrance.
She pasted on a cheerful expression and continued. “Please, be safe as you return to your homes, and be mindful of the rules stated earlier, especially the first: the Debutante Underground shall not be discussed outside these walls. Until next time, good night.”
Several of the women embraced before filing out, a few at a time, so as not to create a throng on the pavement outside the shop. Meanwhile, Sophie began the process of setting the workspace back to rights. Dishes were washed, furniture was moved, and sewing projects were carefully returned to their former places. Ivy, one of the shop’s hardworking seamstresses, insisted on staying and helping Sophie after everyone else had left.
“Thank you,” Sophie said, handing Ivy the box with a few leftover scones. “Please, take these home and enjoy them.”
Ivy grinned. “My youngest brother will devour them before I can remove my bonnet.” As she reached for her shawl on a hook by the door, she asked, “Where’s the new meeting location that you’re considering?”
Sophie frowned as she buttoned her pelisse. “I’m still looking for the ideal place. Some friends have generously offered to host at their private residences, but I’d prefer something closer to shops and businesses—in an area where most of the members are comfortable coming and going. It doesn’t need to be anything elegant. Just a bit bigger than this, with seating for three or four dozen of us.”
Ivy tapped a finger to her lips, thoughtful. “There’s a vacant building down the block. Madam Laurent said it used to be occupied by a tailor’s shop, but they shut their doors a year ago. She’s considering expanding to that space if business continues to be brisk for another season or two. But until then, perhaps you could ask the owner if he’d allow you to use it. After all, it’s just sitting there, unoccupied.”
Sophie wrinkled her nose. “I dislike the notion of asking a stranger—especially if he’s the curious type. He’s certain to inquire about the nature of our meeting. What on earth would I tell him?”
Ivy arched a mischievous brow. “That it’s a Bible study group?”
Sophie chuckled. “I fear that’s stretching the truth a bit too far.”
“Fine,” Ivy said, with a suit-yourself shrug. “You’re fond of gardening, are you not?”
Sophie nodded vigorously. Plants were her first love—her passion long before the Debutante Underground had come into existence.
“So,” Ivy continued, “you could tell the owner you chair a weekly meeting of the Ladies’ Botanical Society.”
Not a bad idea. Not at all. Except—“I hate to dissemble more than I have to.” Even as Sophie said it, she could picture Fiona and Lily rolling their eyes at her. Telling her that she was allowed a minor transgression every now and then. Urging her to focus less on following the rules and more on following her heart.
“Well,” Ivy drawled as she opened the door and pulled a key out of her pocket, “you do have another option.”
“What’s that?” Sophie stepped outside into the alley behind the shop and waited while the seamstress locked the door.
“You could simply skip the part about asking the owner’s permission.”
“What?” Sophie cocked her head. “Are you suggesting that we use the space without asking?”
“If we’re able to find a way in,” Ivy said, pointing at a bottle-green door in a brick building half a block down the street, “I don’t see why not. After all, it’s just sitting there, empty, day after day. It’s not as though we’d be pilfering anything or leaving a mess behind. Knowing you, you’d leave the place tidier than you found it.”
“Yes, but I’m not sure that’s the point.”
Ivy rolled her eyes. “Good night, Sophie. I’ll see you next week.” The young seamstress sauntered down the alley, shaking her head with good-natured regret—as though she should have known better than to think Sophie Kendall had a daring bone in her body.
And something inside Sophie snapped. She called out, “You know, Ivy, I believe I shall consider the old tailor’s shop as an option.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Ivy replied in a kindly if vaguely disbelieving tone. “Be careful as you make your way home.”
Home? Dash it all, Sophie wasn’t going home. She was off to have herself a peek at the tailor’s shop—and, if it proved suitable, the future meeting place of the Debutante Underground.
Before she could lose her nerve, she marched down the dark, dank alley, lifting her skirts to avoid a few lily-pad-sized puddles that shone in the moonlight. As she approached the green door, she glanced up and down the narrow lane, confirming no one was about. Ivy had already turned the corner, leaving Sophie alone, if one discounted the mice skittering in and out of the drainpipe behind her.
The chipped paint on the door revealed that it had once been a lighter color—gray, perhaps. A small, faded metal plate nailed to the brick on one side read “B. D. Peabody, Tailor.” Mullioned windows covered the top half of the door, but the panes were smudged with grime and dust, preventing her from seeing inside.