“Bonnets are very fashionable this time of year, Mama,” Francis declared, joining her mother.
“But what color is currently preferred?” Claire asked, catching up after lingering at the window of a haberdasher.
“For that, I must defer to your cousin, Amelia,” Aunt Phyllis said primly, “now, wherever has she got to?”
Charlotte had fallen behind the group, lost in thought after the revelations of the morning. She walked along, heedless of the other ladies and gentlemen with whom she shared the pavement.
I am at a loss to anticipate how Amelia should be behaving around Seth. I know there is a man whom she is fond of. But who? Was it indeed Seth? Oh, where are you sister? What has become of you?
“Amelia, do catch up!” Claire called out, earning a glare from her mother for raising her voice in public.
Disturbed from her reverie, Charlotte looked towards her aunt and cousins. She lengthened her stride and forced a smile, disguising her anxiety.
“What is the preferred color for bonnets this year, Amelia?” Francis asked.
“If we are to be properly attired for the Marquis of Renton’s garden party, we must ensure we are wearing a fashionable color,” Claire nodded.
For a moment, Charlotte was confused, wondering why they were asking her. Then she remembered.
They are asking Amelia because Amelia knows about the fashions of the moment. Oh dear, I do not, however.
“Green…?” Charlotte murmured with a confidence that she did not feel.
“Green?” Aunt Phyllis asked.
“Green,” Charlotte repeated.
“Green,” Francis echoed, thoughtfully.
“I do not like green,” Claire complained.
“Your social betters do, however,” Aunt Phyllis chided, “and if you wish to be accepted, then you must give deference to their opinions over your own. Who are you to tell them that they are wrong because you have decided you do not like the color green?”
Claire pouted. “There is not even a green bonnet in the window!”
“Well, this cannot be a very fashionable establishment, then,” Aunt Phyllis tutted. “Come along, girls; we will not risk being seen in front of an unfashionable shop.”
She ushered them along, looking around to see who might be watching. Charlotte peeked into the window, seeing a selection of perfectly nice bonnets, but none meeting the criteria she had now trivially established as being of paramount importance.
I did not anticipate that, but it was not so difficult. Perhaps that is all there is to being an arbiter of fashion, no knowledge as such. Just a whim?
Ahead, Claire called out excitedly, “Mama, I think there are green bonnets in that shop across the road!”
After earning another scolding glare from her mother, the three honed in on the point like lurchers. Aunt Phyllis waddled her way across Oxford Street, her two daughters in tow.
Charlotte lingered a step behind, caught in their wake. Just as she moved to follow, a carriage veered in front of her and came to a jarring stop, cutting her off from the others.
The door flung open. Seth leapt down.
He tossed a coin towards the driver that had the man stammering his thanks. All the while, Seth glared at Charlotte.
She took a step back. He wore neither coat, waistcoat, hat, nor tie. His hair looked as though it had been raked back with fingers rather than brushed or combed. His green eyes were lances, pinning her to the spot.
“Your Grace...” she managed, breath hitching.
“Not a word.” He seized her by the elbow.
Charlotte found herself propelled down Oxford Street, imminently, through any passerby who didn’t get out of the way fast enough. Her Aunt and cousins were so fixated on their green bonnets that they did not notice. Seth glanced around, then hustled Charlotte into the doorway of a dressmaker’s shop.
