Magnificent Devices 01 - Lady of Devices

camel coat with its arabesques of black soutache braid herself, and handed it to Penwith. “I’m so glad you could come.” Peony’s fingers were warm in her own, her dark hair piled high in a Romanesque coronet, her black-eyed gaze missing nothing. “And your mother?” She glanced behind her, but Penwith had already closed the door.
    “She sends her regrets. A matter came up in Parliament and she had to organize a protest at the drop of a hat.”
    Oh, my. Her admiration for Mrs. Churchill grew in direct proportion to her hope that Lady St. Ives had not heard. “Well, you are here and of that I’m very glad. What a stunning dress.” The brocade, a deep wine red most unsuitable for an unmarried girl, was cut so cleverly plain that it could only have come from one place. “Is it from the American Territories?”
    “What a good eye you have. Yes. Mama had it sent from New York on the transatlantic airship. She says I must have at least one new dress for this Season. It’s a good thing I know she’s not trying to marry me off.”
    “Lucky you,” Claire breathed before she could stop herself. “I mean—that is to say—won’t you come into the parlor?”
    She introduced Peony to her parents, careful to mention that Mrs. Churchill had been unavoidably detained without giving details. Her mother then took over the introductions, standing in Mrs. Churchill’s place as she made Peony known to the gentlemen. Out of the corner of her eye, Claire watched as her mother led Peony over to the trio of girls on the sofa.
    “Are you to make your bows in two weeks, then, along with the other girls?” A male voice made her jump, and she turned to see Lord James in front of her, turning a crystal glass of something amber in his fingers.
    Peony said something, and the girls tittered. “I—yes, I am.” Oh, dear. Did Peony need help? She cast around for a polite way to get rid of him. Small talk usually worked. “Are you but recently come to Town?”
    “I’ve been here since Easter. I’m involved in a matter of business that may take me to the American Territories in the autumn.”
    “Oh?” What was Lady Julia saying now, with such a smile?
    “Yes. My business partner and I have a scheme to—”
    “I do beg your pardon, Lord James. Miss Churchill has nothing to drink. She will think me a poor hostess.”
    With another smile, he bowed and turned to speak to the Marquess of Blatchley, who was all of nineteen and some kind of relation to him, though how her mother had ferreted that out was a mystery. Claire crossed the room to the punch bowl and ladled some into a cup.
    “Lemonade, Peony?”
    “Thank you.”
    Lady Julia smiled with the soulless precision of an automaton. “I was just saying to Peony how trim this cuirass cut makes her look. And dark colors, you know, fool the eye into believing one’s weight is less than it is.”
    “As opposed to overtrimming, which increases the silhouette by several inches at least,” Peony said with lazy good humor. Lady Catherine turned pale and looked down at her pink bodice.
    “Did you make your dress?” Gloria inquired. “Such skill. I compliment you.”
    “Your compliments are misplaced, I’m afraid. My mother ordered it from New York. I thought you might have recognized the designer, since you appear to be wearing one of his creations yourself.”
    “Ah,” Lady Julia said. “The American Territories.” The very tone of her voice suggested that Peony’s gown had been constructed by savage tribes, somewhere on a trackless plain. “Mrs. Churchill, I hear, has many connections there. Though not with families such as dear Gloria’s, I believe?”
    “She has friends all over the globe,” Peony said. “It’s difficult to keep track.”
    “My mother beckons us,” Claire said desperately. “Shall we go in to dinner?”
    Lady St. Ives, much to Claire’s relief, had placed Julia between Catherine and Blatchley, and Gloria next to Lord James, who spent the entire meal talking with her about the American Territories. That left Claire between Peony and Lord Peter, with Emilie on his other side—a happy situation indeed. The only person in London who knew Emilie harbored a certain tendre for the young baron was Claire, and so it was no burden at all to leave him in conversation with her and turn her attention to making Peony more comfortable.
    Though she certainly did not show signs of discomfort. Rather, Peony seemed amused at the efforts of the other