Page 26 of Hearts of Briarwall

“Edwardian Bouquet,” Mr. Dupree answered. “One of our newest fragrances. It is a celebration of a new era.” He began listing things like oakmoss and amber and yes, mandarin and hyacinth and that ylang-ylang again.

But she was only half-listening, because it didn’t matter. “This is the one.” She opened her eyes in surprise. “This is the glass slipper.”

Violet smiled knowingly, Ruby nodded, and Florrie squealed as only Florrie could and get away with it in public.

“Lovely,” Mr. Dupree said. “Now, for the final test. When a person applies fragrance, the oils warm and blend with the skin, adding an additional and more personal note to the selections we have formulated at Floris. If you please, apply your preferred fragrance to your wrist. Feel free to browse the shop, ask any questions of our staff, and as you do, consider how the fragrance is blending with your own as the minutes pass. You may be even more drawn to it, or you may ask to start again with another fragrance. We are happy to serve you.”

Not one of them changed their selection. Florrie had already arranged payment in advance, so there was nothing to be done but thank Mr. Dupree for his expertise and Florrie for her generosity, then leave the shop, each with a paper-wrapped bottle of their matched fragrance.

“Remember, ladies,” Florrie said as Kemp drove them to a nearby eatery for lunch, “this was only the first part of the experiment.”

“Remind me what the second part is,” Violet said, smelling her wrist again and sighing.

“Oh yes,” said Ruby, sounding worried. “I almost forgot the next part.” She bit her lip.

“I’m pleased to hear that,” Florrie said, “as it proves you’ve chosen scents for yourselves, without the intent to please a man.” She gave Lydia a coy look as if to say, “See? I was listening.”

Lydia arched her brow. “I believe what Florrie is getting at is that we are to apply these new fragrant feathers of ours, confident in their representation of ourselves, and sit back to see which peacocks come sniffing.”

A muffled snort came from Kemp, which he covered by clearing his throat.

Florrie tsked. “That’s not how I was going to put it. But yes. I’ve talked Mama into hosting a house party this summer. We shall wear our scents between now and then, make our observations, and report at the party.”

Violet frowned. “Isn’t this a bit against our suffrage inclinations? Aren’t we to have broader goals than simply entrapping a man?”

The oldest of all the girls, Violet was also the steadiest when it came to matters of the heart, inclined to let the others chase after love while providing an anchor of sorts if needed. She seemed in no hurry to find true love or attach herself to anyone. Only Lydia understood the deeper reasons behind Violet’s behavior: the acerbic men in her family had tainted her with distrust.

Florrie was not discouraged. “My dear sisters, you may have the broadest, wildest, most cavernous goals you wish. In this day and age, we are learning to embrace our power, are we not? To fight for the acknowledgment that we are valuable enough to standnextto a man and notbehindhim. To be more than a flower on his lapel, but a fire in his eyes. Historically, we have been traded by fathers as business deals, driven out of our homes by primogeniture, and preyed upon for our dowries. Right now, American heiresses are flinging themselves at the peerage for a title in exchange for their fortunes. Lords are wedding to save themselves from financial ruin. We are not the peerage.”

She straightened her back. “We are the landed gentry. And it is within our power to apply tactics in love that men have been applying to women for centuries. It is within our power to be comfortable with ourselves and demand others to be comfortable—nay, brought to theirknees—by us. It is within our power towaft... and see what it brings us.” She waggled her eyebrows.

Agnes sighed heavily with censure.

The rest of the girls stared, speechless.

“What?” Florrie asked, innocence taking over her bold demeanor. “Did you not think any of this was rubbing off on me?”

Lydia’s smile grew as she glanced to Violet and Ruby, each as wide-eyed as she was. She reached and clasped Florrie’s hand. Then they were all laughing. Laughing to tears.

Chapter 6

Spencer sat back in his chair at the club and sipped his water. Andrew had ordered everyone the cheddar soup, fried scallops, and tomato salad, which was Wednesday’s lunch menu. A tray of assorted savories sat on the table they shared.

“Saw some good horseflesh today.” Cyril Burke, the oldest of the present Burke brothers, stroked his trimmed beard thoughtfully. “I’m tempted to make a bid on that mottled gray.”

Spencer guessed him to have two or three years on Andrew, and a more serious temperament compared to his younger brothers in attendance, Oscar and George.

“The chestnut would make a fine hunter.” Oscar Burke was a thicker, beardless version of Cyril, his black hair and green eyes an apparent hallmark of the Burke name.

“You already have a hunter,” George observed, pushing his long hair back and reaching for an oyster on the half-shell. His eyes were more gray than green.

From what Andrew had told Spencer, the Burkes had four more siblings at home, all very close to one another in age. Spencer couldn’t fathom it.

Oscar shrugged. “I’ve been thinking of giving Royal to Patrick. He’s nearly outgrown Lark, and Royal takes a shine to him whenever he’s near.”

“It’s the sugar lumps,” George said.

“He doesn’t take to me like that with or without sugar lumps. I believe the two would suit. Leaving me to acquire a new horse.” He smiled. “What about you, Hayes? Wooding tells me your father was in the equestrian business. Conveyance, correct?” He popped a stuffed olive in his mouth.

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