Suppressing their laughter, they hurried down to the kitchens.
“Oh, he will hate us,” June said, pressing a hand to her mouth.
“That is the very aim,” April replied, lifting a tray of chocolate scones cooling by the hearth.
May seized the spicy pepper jar and liberally sprinkled it into the batter. They all sneezed violently, clinging to the counter for support between bouts of laughter.
“Pass me the salt,” April gasped, reaching for the lemonade jug.
May handed it over, still hiccupping with mirth.
April tipped an alarming quantity into the lemonade then swirled it with a wooden spoon.
“We are dreadful,” June said, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve.
“Utterly dreadful,” April agreed. “And to complete our villainy—matching dresss.”
“Again?” May protested though she was already moving toward the stairs.
“It unsettles people,” April explained, grinning. “Especially the gentlemen.”
Laughing, they hurried to change into identical pale blue muslin dresss, tying the same ivory sashes about their waists.
As they descended the stairs, their mother’s voice rang out.
“Why are you dressed alike?”
They turned in perfect unison, their smiles bright and innocent.
April suppressed a grimace. She had spent her youth in identical clothing, paraded about like a matched set. It had been a small, hard-won victory to wear what she pleased this Season. Now, she bore it again—but only for necessity’s sake.
“We are feeling especially fond of one another,” April explained, curtsying prettily.
Their mother’s face lit with delight. “Oh, how I wish you would do this more often.”
April kept her expression pleasant though inwardly she sighed.
“Mama,” June said, stepping closer, “perhaps you might remain with Papa today.”
“Nonsense,” her mother replied briskly, gathering her shawl. “He took his medicine an hour ago. He will sleep until dinner.”
The sisters exchanged looks of pure despair.
“We thought to give you a quiet afternoon,” May suggested, trying again.
“Nonsense,” her mother repeated, bustling toward the door.
Their plan was crumbling rapidly, but there was no dissuading her.
With no other choice, they piled into the carriage—the disastrous feast tucked beneath the seats—and set out for Hyde Park, laughter bubbling beneath the surface, ready to unleash chaos upon an unsuspecting Duke.
Hyde Park was teeming with afternoon strollers and riders when they arrived, the sun glinting off the lake and bathing the manicured lawns in a golden haze. April adjusted the disastrouspicnic basket with a resigned sigh as their footmen spread out the heavy blankets under a wide oak.
Though daughters of a duke would hardly be expected to prepare their own fare, April had insisted—rather forcefully—on overseeing it herself. Much to the cook’s distress and the staff’s horrified amusement, she and her sisters had interfered shamelessly, ensuring no hand but theirs had spoiled the food beyond recognition.
May and June darted about, directing the servants with far too much enthusiasm while their mother fussed over the arrangement of the scones, oblivious to the culinary sabotage.
“It looks perfect,” May observed, stepping back to admire their handiwork.
