The boat rocked suddenly from a rogue wave and Prim clutched one side of the coasting vessel for support. Water sprayed her gloved fingers but she did not bring them back inside. She kept them where they were until the tips of her gloves were quite damp, exhilarated by this new sensation.
The group sharing the boat with them laughed and talked, but Prim could only stare around her as they glided south. She didn’t digest a single word of their conversation. Instead she tipped her head to look up at the pink and gold streaked sky. Dusk was upon them.
The fading light of sunset cast the water’s surface in fire. Incredibly, even with the not-so-aromatic smells of the river and the rotting refuse emanating from the nearby docks, it was magical.
Freedom was magical.
The bustling South Bank loomed ahead. There was a boat in front of them, and they had to linger in the water, rocking in place until it was their turn to row forward.
The boatman tied off the vessel on the dock and then helped them disembark.
“Have a care this eve’n, ladies,” the woman in red trilled as she was swept away by her friends toward the lights and stirring sounds of Vauxhall Gardens just up the rise.
Primrose slipped off her gloves and stuffed them into her reticule. They were damp and the evening was warm. Besides, she didn’t need any barrier between her and the world she was entering. She wanted to experience it all—right down to her fingertips.
They cleared the giant stone archway and paused. Vauxhall spread forth before them in all its magical, glittering splendor.
Once a lady’s name appears in the scandal sheets she might as well take her leave and eschew all good Society.
—Lady Druthers’s Guide to Perfect Deportment and Etiquette
Perhaps fun is worth a scandal.
Chapter Four
“We’re here. We are really here,” Primrose said in wonder, looping her arm with Olympia’s as they left the elaborate stone archway behind.
It was a feast for the eyes and Primrose did not know where to look—much less where to start. The air was alive, crackling with energy, the way it felt after a storm. She did not need to look down to know the tiny hairs on her arms were alive and vibrating.
As they advanced on the main row, the descending dark was obliterated in a burst of artificial light. Aahs and oohs filled the air in wonder at the impressive display of illumination.
A large row, wide enough for several carriages, loomed ahead. Tall sycamores and various structures marked the edges of the path. No carriages traveled the thoroughfare. People milled freely about and walked its length. Swarms of people. Women in gowns of every shade, flaunting décolletage that made Primrose appear modest in her own dress, strolled the garden’s lantern-lit row, moving in seeming rhythm with the lively orchestra playing nearby in the bandstand. Even the gentlemen were attired in vibrant colors and moved with harmony.
“There are so many people here,” Prim marveled. She had never seen such a multitude of people in one place at the same time. Not at the park. Not out shopping. Indeed, it felt as though half of London must be here. It was a festival of delights.
“Your eyes are glowing, Prim.” Olympia chuckled with a shake of her head and a happy squeeze of her fingers on Primrose’s arm. “It is good to see you like this.”
Like this. She meant alive. For years she had felt as though she were in a dormant slumber. All her life, really. In a state of perpetual waiting. Waiting for her life to begin, waiting to make her debut, waiting to get married. The latter two both things she no longer could even claim to want.
But this, she wanted. Tonight.
Olympia continued, “I fear we have created a monster and you will want to do this every night.”
Prim sobered a bit, some of her excitement deflating at the thought of tomorrow. Tomorrow, when reality returned. For it must return.
This would not be every night.
She knew better than to hope for more.
There would be no more.
Her earliest lessons, however much she had struggled against them, had included the vital teaching of a woman’s place in polite society. Lady Druthers had seen to that. The guide that she could recite from memory to this day had been all about conveying this lesson and more. A lady must protect her good name at all costs.
If Prim fell from grace, if her reputation was lost, then her family would suffer, too. Indeed, she would become unmarriageable, but Aster would pay the price, as well. As Prim’s one sister who had not yet secured a betrothed, she likely never would if scandal befell the family. Correction: if Primrose brought scandal upon their house.
Ruin was contagious. It contaminated everyone in a family.
Primrose might struggle to get along with her parents and sisters, but she did not wish them ill. Especially not Aster. She’d felt Aster’s pain as she had navigated her second season, and she continued to empathize, feeling Aster’s despair as she endured her third. All the debutantes who debuted with Aster were either engaged or married now. Some were already expecting their first child. Aster needed to land a match, if only to satisfy their mother, and Primrose would not engage in risky behavior beyond this night and endanger Aster’s chance for that.
Just this once, Prim would do it for herself. And never again.
“No. Not every night,” she told her friend firmly. “Only tonight.”
So Prim would make it count. She’d make every moment of this evening matter.
“What shall we do first?” Olympia asked. She gestured vaguely. “Should we get something to drink? And eat?”
“Yes.” Although the volley of butterflies in her stomach might not have agreed. “That sounds brilliant.” She searched their surroundings and then pointed down the main row. “A tavern?” Prim squinted at the name over the door. “The Rose and the Dove? That sounds promising. Very Shakespearean.”
“What about one of the pavilions?” Olympia asked. “Perhaps we could find a vacant supper box?”
Primrose considered that, glancing from a curtained pavilion to the tavern. A tavern. When would she ever have the chance to visit a tavern again? Proper young ladies did not frequent such places. And maybe, after she was married, she’d be invited to a supper box, where the ton often rubbed elbows. But never a tavern.
She looked back to Olympia and smiled her most cajoling grin.
Olympia chuckled. “You want to go in the tavern, don’t you?”
She nodded. “Yes! Just to see what it’s about.”
Olympia nodded. “Well, tonight is about firsts and that would be a first even for me. Let us go then.”
They continued down the row to The Rose and the Dove, standing to the side as a rowdy group of patrons tumbled out through the front door. One of the gentlemen lost his balance and fell into them. He gripped Prim’s shoulder amid a laughing fit in an attempt to steady himself.
“Unhand her!” Olympia swung her reticule at him.
“Ouch!” He flinched, rubbing at his cheek.
No longer laughing, he focused on Primrose, his bleary-eyed gaze roaming her face and head. “My apologies, Red.”
Red?
She squared her shoulders in affront at his familiarity . . . but there was a small dose of exhilaration mixed in there too. This was truly happening. She was here at Vauxhall Gardens rubbing elbows with the general public.