Lady Sophia Fiennes sat bolt-straight—mostly out of stubbornness rather than posture—on an embroidered chair in the Huntington London townhouse. Across from her, flanked by enough lace and feathers to declare war on France, were the two most formidable women in London: Duchess Arabella Huntington of Suffolk, her grandmother, and Lady Jersey, one of the feared Patronesses of Almack's.
Between them lay Sophia, who looked rather like a fox dropped into a lesson with two extremely determined swans.
"Sit still, Sophia," Arabella murmured, adjusting her spectacles as though preparing to judge an exotic specimen. "A future duchess must glide, not march."
"I do glide, Grandmama," Sophia protested. "Just… briskly."
Lady Jersey's lips twitched. "My dear, you gallop."
Sophia blinked. "Is that not the same?"
"No," Arabella and Lady Jersey said in unison—one horrified, the other amused.
