“… she’s perfectly friendly,” Cassie was saying as Augusta joined them. “He’s the size of a small pony, but he thinks he’s a lapdog.”
The three young ladies stood in careful formation, neither backing away from Pippin’s enthusiastic investigation nor exactly warming up to it. Their governesses, standing at a respectful distance, exchanged brief, assessing nods with Augusta.
“That’s a Newfoundland, isn’t it?” Lady Harriet—the tallest, with her mother’s pronounced chin—extended a gloved hand to scratch behind Pippin’s ear. “Our spaniel is just a puppy, but my brother says he’ll be a fine gun dog.”
“What’s his name?” Miss Cecily asked, her voice precisely the same volume as her companions’.
“Pippin,” Cassie replied, beaming. “Though when he’s naughty, Hudson calls him ‘you wretched beast.’”
That coaxed a laugh from Miss Arabella, a slender girl with a wide smile. “My father has special names for our cats too. He calls our tabby ‘Sir Pounce-a-lot’ when he’s cross.” She cast an apprehensive glance at her governess, as though uncertain whether this admission had crossed some invisible boundary.
“How lovely to see you out walking, Lady Cassandra,” Lady Harriet said, with a practiced nod. “Miss Westbury sends us out every morning, rain or shine. She says the fresh air improves the complexion, though I’m not certain I see the evidence.” She glanced at her companions. “We were just discussing this morning’s lessons. Miss Westbury has set us to studying household accounts and domestic management.”
“It’s quite fascinating,” Miss Cecily added. “Though Papa says mathematics is hardly a ladylike pursuit. My governess says a lady must be practical, even if she is never allowed to show it.”
“The most practical knowledge is in the menus and the linen inventories,” Miss Arabella agreed. “Miss Harker has me assisting with my mother’s correspondence with the housekeeper. She says it’s the foundation of running a proper household.”
They all turned toward Cassie with expectant smiles.
“And what subjects is your governess teaching you, Lady Cassandra?” Lady Harriet asked, her head tilting in a manner that Augusta suspected had been carefully cultivated.
Cassie hesitated, her free hand dropping to Pippin’s back. “We’re doing geography now. The mountains in Wales and how they were formed. And natural philosophy! We were studying gases yesterday, actually. And some Latin, though Hudson says I’ll never need it.”
“That sounds very unusual,” Miss Cecily observed, exchanging a quick glance with Lady Harriet. “What a charming curriculum.”
“And we’re drawing pirate fleets in watercolors,” Cassie continued, the words coming out faster now. “And we had the most brilliant debate about narwhals the other day! Whether they’re properly unicorns of the sea or just a very peculiar sort of whale.”
The silence that followed was reminiscent of the type that hung in the air after a guest had made a grievous social error. The three girls’ smiles remained fixed, though Miss Arabella’s eyes widened slightly.
“That sounds… very much like the sort of thing my brother enjoys in the nursery,” Lady Harriet said at last, her voice carefully even.
“I’m sure you’ll move on to proper subjects soon enough,” Miss Cecily added, with a gentle pat to Cassie’s arm. “Miss Westbury says that a young lady’s education must be progressive. Perhaps your governess is simply laying the groundwork.”
“You’ll catch up,” Miss Arabella assured her, the kindness in her voice making Augusta’s fingers tighten on her muff. “There’s plenty of time before one needs to understand inventories.”
Cassie gripped on Pippin’s lead, her knuckles going white. Her free hand curled, as though holding something in place.
“We saw the most marvelous balloon exhibition yesterday,” she said, her voice pitched slightly higher than before. “Did any of you attend? The way London looked from so high up?—”
But the conversation had already moved on without her. The three girls had turned back toward one another, Lady Harriet murmuring something that made Miss Cecily nod in grave agreement, while Miss Arabella’s attention drifted to a passing carriage.
“I’m afraid my instruction of Lady Cassandra would not meet with your approval,” Augusta said, her tone perfectly civil but sharp enough that all three governesses straightened. “Though I assure you, she has been studying subjects requiring considerably more intellectual rigor than household inventories. Curiosity is hardly a childish trait.”
The eldest governess—Miss Westbury, Augusta presumed—stiffened visibly. “How dare you criticize Lady Harriet’s education? Lord Edgerton has personally?—”
“It is hardly your place to comment on the instruction of other young ladies,” the youngest governess interrupted, her eyes flashing. “Such presumption?—”
Cassie’s small hand caught Augusta’s sleeve. “Miss Norton,” she said, her voice very quiet. “May we go, please?”
Augusta looked down at her and saw the rigid set of her jaw, the color high in her cheeks, the way her gaze remained fixed on Pippin’s ruff rather than on the faces around them.
“Of course,” she said, then turned to the group with a brief inclination of her head. “A pleasure to see you all. Have a good day.”
They walked away, with Pippin padding heavily between them, the gentle jingling of his collar tags the only sound until they had rounded the corner and left the group behind.
The silence between them lingered painfully for several streets, broken only by the soft jingle of Pippin’s collar and the crisp sound of their boots on the pavement.
Cassie kept facing ahead, her steps quick and clipped. Each footfall seemed to strike the ground with a little more force than strictly necessary, as though the pavement itself had somehow offended her.
