As they left their seats, a new realization seized Prim—well, not new precisely—simply something she had not fully absorbed until this moment.
Not only would she not have another exchange with handsome young men in tea shops—but once Aster was betrothed, Mama would turn all her attention to marrying off Prim.
All her considerable and exhausting attention.
She might not be on the receiving end of that attention now, but her turn would come. For the first time, a frisson of dread skittered down her spine at the notion of entering Society. She’d only ever thought of the opportunity to do more, to see more, to seize the freedom that awaited her.
When Mama turned her most determined attention on Prim, there would be no stopping her. No reprieve. She’d seen Mama run roughshod over her sisters. She controlled everything: how they wore their hair, how they dressed, what invitations they accepted, which parties they attended, which gentlemen could pay court to them.
Prim’s oldest sister had now been married for six years to a man twenty-two years her senior. They already had three children, all girls, and her sister was increasing with their fourth child. Begonia never looked happy. She did not look sad either. She simply looked exhausted. Tired and dead eyed.
Violet, inversely, looked delighted. She glowed like a child offered a present. Her betrothed was closer in age to her and the son of a man who owned a large mill in Farnham. The family was wealthy, and growing richer by the day on the sweat of laborers. Violet did not seem too troubled at that. Just as she did not seem to mind that he had an obnoxious laugh, picked his teeth with his dinner knife, and had expressly stated that women should not be educated for fear it would be too arduous for their weak minds. Ironic, that, considering he had never impressed Primrose with his intellect.
Mama was after her own comfort, of course. She had forgotten her usual snobbery and turned a blind eye to the fact that Redding’s family was in trade and capitalizing on what was little better than indentured labor. They were rich and there would be vacations to the Cotswolds for all.
It was no secret that Mama was determined to elevate her status through her daughters. That had been her goal in securing matches for Begonia and Violet. It was her goal for Aster, too. And it would be her goal for Primrose. Mama was predictable in that manner.
Prim let these thoughts roll through her mind on the carriage ride home. She stared out the window with her bouquet nestled in her lap, lost in her musings, wondering how she might avoid Begonia’s unfortunate fate.
The carriage rolled to a stop. “We’re here,” Olympia announced. “Would you like to come inside?”
Prim nodded. “Yes, thank you.” There was no rush getting home, after all. No one was waiting for her.
She listened with half an ear as her friend chatted on the way into the drawing room.
Prim’s thoughts churned. She had a year. Perhaps longer if Aster dragged her feet, as, of course, she would. No part of Aster was in a hurry to join the ranks of London matrons.
So much time was a gift, Prim realized. Once she was out in Society, there would be no foiling Mama’s plans. She would be a veritable ringmaster, cracking the whip and marshaling Prim through her paces.
She should seize this time—embrace it.
The notion of staying in, all alone (on her birthday, no less!) made her feel like a tragic heroine. Well, not alone, she supposed. She would have Gertie for company. Her dour-faced former governess was not exactly the most cheerful of conversationalists. Presumably, that was something she had never been taught in governess training. Prim had shared many a silent dinner with her—except for Gertie slurping her soup and chewing her meat. She was a very loud eater.
Suddenly, Prim felt all the more tragic in the face of the lackluster evening looming before her.
Mrs. Zaher excused herself and it was just the two of them in the comfortable drawing room.
Olympia was prattling on about the recent salon she had attended with several of her mother’s friends from the theater when Prim took a breath and interrupted her. “Your mother is correct. This is a special day for me.”
Olympia nodded in agreement. “Of course, it is. You should have something more than tea and cakes and Gunter’s.”
“I agree. As you said, it should be marked in a grand fashion.”
“You don’t need to convince me.”
“You know . . . it’s bewildering. I always wanted to be out in Society. I thought that meant freedom, but now I think it will be the opposite.”
“With your mother as chaperone? That is a certainty.”
“I should count this time without Mama’s attention on me as a gift.”
“Yes! It is. You should live whilst you can!”
“Indeed, I should.” Prim should not squander this time. Nodding slowly, she stroked her lower lip.
Olympia cocked her head and a small devilish smile played about her lips. She leaned forward with a conspiratorial air, her hands falling to her knees. “What are you planning in that brilliant mind of yours?”
“Me. You.” Another breath. “Vauxhall. Tonight.” The words came from some place deep inside her, as though they had been within her all along, lying in wait, ready and eager and yearning to spring free. “Can you imagine anything more exciting?”
Certainly, Vauxhall was a bold destination. A place she had fantasized about visiting one day. The outdoor pleasure gardens were a public venue where all manner of people congregated for entertainment, food, drink, and more. The kind of things that existed nowhere else. Music, art, fantastical illumination, awe-inspiring architecture. It was magical, the pride of London. Royalty visited there right alongside the commoners.
There was risk involved certainly. The evenings were purportedly raucous, but if she wanted adventure, it was where one went. If she was to feel alive, to taste true freedom, it would be worth it.
“Vauxhall?” Olympia blinked. “Only the two of us? At night?”
It was Prim’s turn to don a devilish smile. “What’s amiss? Scared?”
Olympia looked properly offended. “Of course not.”
“Wouldn’t you like to see me dressed in a gown that would send my mother into fits?”
Olympia’s lips twitched. “I would like to see that indeed.”
“Me in an actual gown? Or Mama in fits?”
Olympia giggled. “Both.” She sobered and nodded resolutely. “Let’s do this. I’ll take care of the gown for you. I have just the dress. Well, Mama has just the dress. Your dimensions are alike.”
“Should I dare to even ask?”
“With your hair, the choices are as obvious as they are limited.”
Prim grimaced. “Pink?” she supplied. “Or peach?”
“Oh shush. You can wear more colors than that. Don’t let your mother influence you. Your hair is beautiful.”
Beautifully garish, Mama would say.
“So what color is it then?”
“Peach,” Olympia admitted rather sheepishly.
“I knew it!”
“Or rather . . . apricot.”
Prim stifled her laugh at Olympia’s cross look. “Well, thank you, my friend. I would appreciate the loan of the gown. I can arrange my own hair before I come over.” She’d had plenty of practice in her many idle afternoons, after all. She could manage an adequate coiffure. “I’ll leave once my family departs for the night.” Excitement hummed through her as she thought of the night ahead and all the things they could do. Prim started checking off on her fingers. “I want to stay out until dawn.” She winced. “Or at least close to dawn.” She would have to return before the staff woke and started about their daily duties.