Solving Sophronia (The Blue Orchid Society #1) - Jennifer Moore Page 0,3

wondering if she ought to mention the young lady’s affliction in front of them. “Are you quite all right?”

“Much better,” Miss Thornton said. “Thank you.”

Miss Kirby rested her hand on the doorknob as if making ready to exit and close the door behind her, but she paused, looking at the shelves of books. “I apologize for the intrusion.” She spoke without taking her gaze from the bookshelves. “It was not my intention to interrupt.”

“There is nothing to interrupt,” Sophie said. “Unless you are opposed to a respite from a crowded ballroom.”

“Come in and make yourself welcome!” Miss Miller said with a wave.

Miss Kirby stepped inside, closing the library door. She gave a polite nod and greeted each of the women in turn.

She was tall, her movements extremely graceful, and surely one of the loveliest women Sophie knew. A few years older than Sophie, Miss Kirby was a studious person who seemed to keep to herself. From the comfortable way she moved along the shelves, Sophie decided that visiting a library during a ball was perhaps a regular occurrence for the woman. The few encounters they’d shared had given Sophie the impression of a socially awkward person who always wanted to discuss the latest scientific discovery.

Miss Kirby looked closer at a particular volume. “Sir Humphry Davy. I wonder if this includes his writings on electrochemistry,” she muttered, lifting the heavy book.

As the women settled in, half of them chatting and half of them reading, Sophie considered the gathering—four women of a similar age and status, while well-connected, didn’t quite fit the mold to which Society would have them conform. She felt a rush of warmth, a feeling of camaraderie with the group. Though they were all quite different in temperament and interests, these women were just like her.

“Oh, what have we here?” Miss Miller pushed aside the pile to pull out a broadsheet. “The Illustrated London News. And my cousin’s face is right on the front page.” She turned the paper toward Sophie. “Is this your artwork, Lady Sophronia?”

“It is.” Sophie automatically tightened her shoulders, bracing for criticism.

“A very good likeness,” Miss Thornton said, crossing the room for a closer look. “You have quite a talent.”

Miss Kirby looked up from her book and tipped her head, studying the picture. “I agree. I’ve always considered your illustrations to be exceptional. Though, I admit, I rarely care for the content of the articles.”

“Neither do I,” Sophie said, not the least bit put off by the woman’s direct comment. She’d take honesty over manners any day. “My hope is working for the society column will lead to a position as a news reporter.”

“That is indeed a worthy cause,” Miss Miller said. “You could report on the plight of the poor, the residents of the rookeries whose homes are being demolished to make way for the railroad, or the lack of women represented in local government.” She shook the paper and tapped it with her finger. “This, this is all nonsense. In two months will anyone bother to recall which hat Dahlia wore to the Queen’s garden reception, whether her underskirts were trimmed with French or English lace, or who accompanied her to the opera? Of course they won’t. Society only cares about the latest scandal, not the true suffering directly beneath their noses.” She scowled. “But I hope to change that, to do something more, just like you, Lady Sophronia. I intend to establish a finishing school for underprivileged young ladies. Poor children miss so many opportunities, as their entire purpose is survival. They have few chances of bettering their situations, especially the young girls.”

“I hope for more as well,” Miss Kirby said. “Unfortunately, the scientific and academic communities rarely acknowledge a woman’s work. If I could—”

Her words cut off when the door opened and Dahlia Lancaster herself burst into the library.

The four ladies stared, and Miss Kirby fell silent.

Miss Lancaster’s eyes were frantic as she looked from woman to woman and finally rested her gaze on her cousin. “Oh, Elizabeth, here you are.” Her shoulders slumped, and her voice came out as a whine. “Oh, whatever am I to do?”

Miss Miller blinked and put the broadsheet behind her back. “Cousin, this is the library. Surely you’ve made a mistake. Your friends—”

“Friends!” Miss Lancaster’s voice was dangerously close to a shriek. “How can you call them my friends?” She rushed across the room and dropped onto the sofa, burying her face against the arm and sobbing.

Sophie could guess what the others were thinking as