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trailed obediently after.
    The conservatory was impressive, if cold. It was to be low tea, quite relaxed. To Captain Ruthven’s evident relief, a number of small sandwiches were laid on in addition to the traditional cakes.
    He positioned himself near the food and inhaled more than was polite. He lurked under a palm frond of exactly the right height to drape over his head like a jaunty cap, in the apparent hope that it would hide his indulgence. Preshea found it harder then it ought to be to stop herself from smiling at the big man’s antics.
    She forced herself to focus on Mr Jackson.
    The fortune hunter took a chair near Lady Violet – one of the horrors of a casual tea being that precedence did not hold. The couple instantly engaged in an animated discussion on the merits of bee pollination. Preshea considered joining them, but that would appear ham-handed. She must develop a strategy first.
    Instead, she conversed with Miss Pagril and Lady Florence on the upcoming season’s fashions. A topic upon which any young lady could opine.
    “I like them prodigiously,” Miss Pagril said with vigor. “Contrasting colors, excess draping, the gathering of overskirts to the back. It’s harmonious.”
    “I’m in complete agreement,” Preshea encouraged.
    Lady Florence wasn’t convinced. “I do love the swish of a fuller skirt. To narrow them down diminishes a lady’s consequence, don’t you feel?”
    “You support the theory that the space formulated by a skirt provides an aura of moral protection?” Miss Pagril’s tone gently mocked her friend’s wholesome upbringing.
    “Well, yes, I suppose I do.”
    “I have never subscribed to the cage.” Preshea pressed her point through mention of an undergarment, which caused both younger ladies to gasp in titillated horror. “Don’t you find a close silhouette more flattering?”
    Under the influence of fashion, the youngest Bicker-Harrow was moved to passion. “Perhaps for you, Lady Villentia, but we are not all blessed with your fine figure.”
    Preshea laughed. “I thank you for the compliment, dear child, but I believe you will be similarly flattered by the latest fashions.”
    “We can but hope,” said Lady Florence fervently. “I do not even know if I will be out of mourning by then.”
    “Will I have the honor of meeting your departed sister?” Preshea felt it only polite to inquire.
    “At dinner, most likely.” Lady Florence looked saddened.
    “At least Formerly Connie does not have to worry about such things as skirt shape.” Miss Pagril attempted comfort with levity.
    It seemed to work. Lady Florence brightened. “Yes, indeed, she chose a lovely dress for eternity, one of her favorite ball gowns. Perhaps too full-skirted for your taste, Lady Villentia.”
    “But perfect for her, no doubt.” Preshea could make no other remark.
    Miss Pagril returned to the coming mode. “I, for one, am glad to know I will not have to continually watch my skirts. I can’t begin to tell you, Lady Villentia, how many small tables I have overturned simply by walking into a drawing room.”
    “Surely you jest.” Preshea snapped open a fan, in a pretense of hiding a smile.
    “Truly. I am less interested in the current style than in the inconvenience it causes the wearer.”
    Pity, thought Preshea, for she could make something of herself if she only tried.
    Lady Blingchester clearly did not share her niece’s reticence. Her gown was of the latest design and ill suited to her complexion. Perhaps Miss Pagril chooses plainer fare in contrast to her aunt? Or perhaps Miss Pagril is of that brash type to declare herself no follower of fashion and, therefore, above it?
    “You do not subscribe to the latest pamphlets from Paris?” Preshea probed gently.
    “I find they change more swiftly than I do.”
    Preshea nodded. “It is better to set trends than to follow them blindly.”
    “For you, Lady Villentia, but I’m merely an unmarried girl and paid little attention.”