Kettery Depot, the glittering steel and glass hub of the sky trolley system, rose a few blocks from the newspaper offices. Throughout the bustling in-city, elegant wrought iron and concrete trellis pedestrian bridges arched between buildings on several levels, high above the residents, vehicles, and grime of ground level.
Though Amelia had lived next to the university for months, and had taken the sky trolleys nearly every day, she found the Kettery's beauty still inspired giddy awe when she neared it. The cascading glass and steel arches some twenty levels high erupted from the expansive surrounding plazas. Trolley tracks crisscrossed overhead, and hanging trolley cars glided to and from the building through Gothic steel arches in every direction.
Amelia climbed the curving marble stairs to the second level then took one of the elevators up the central spire to her homeward trolley line. The new Daedalus Port for private dirigibles and airships bloomed far overhead, and she couldn’t help admiring the vessels as they glided about. Even if Gavin Graves had written about the port’s grand opening.
"Son of a board member, indeed," Amelia muttered with a glower. An older lady beside her, a sprout of feathers wilting from her hat, blinked at her in befuddlement.
Amelia walked the last blocks to her boarding house in the company of some of her housemates returning from classes.
"How's news?" Kurt asked. "Any more thrilling flower shows to write about?" A "reformed" gentleman of twenty who abdicated his minor title after his first semester, he often remarked about Amelia's soft assignments, attributing to them some mark of classism or another.
"Too many," she replied wearily.
"It's too bad you don't attend uni," he said. "You would be a proper journalist, not just a society writer." He attempted to put his hand around her waist. Amelia suspected he had mislaid his common sense in a bottle of wine and used two fingers to extricate his hand from her person.
"And, with your understanding of social mechanisms," Kurt continued, "you could explain how they only serve to keep women locked in the drawing room. I could assist, should you have need of a more nuanced perspective. I have, as you know, written a considerable amount about...such things. I'm sure women of consequence haven't altered significantly since I surrendered my title."
Neither have you, I'm afraid, Amelia thought as she hurried into the house.
Miss Kelley sat curled in a tufted chair in the common room, reading, when the group arrived. The evening newspapers lay in an untidy pile on the floor beside the chair.
"Dinner's an hour off still," she said without looking up.
"Who asked? Are you finished with this?" Kurt asked, flouncing sideways on the threadbare settee and picking up the top newspaper. "Professor Whitenham graced us with his wisdom at the Winding Wheel today. A great shame you missed him."
"You usually ask about dinner before you've even said hello," Miss Kelley replied. "I've learned to anticipate. Yes, I have read them all. What did our good professor have to say?" She turned down her page corner and dropped the book in her lap.
"Nothing out of the usual, really," Kurt replied, ruminating on the ceiling tiles. "I find his theories increasingly irrelevant, though they have their merit. He is the backbone of the movement, after all. In a year or two, though, I predict progress will have already greatly outstripped his scope of comprehension. He'll need fresh perspectives, and I intend to provide one."
"Anything of general interest to those of us not attempting to usurp social progress for personal gain," Mister Warren, who studied economics, asked.
"He did express disappointment in how few females were in attendance," Kurt mused.
As Amelia settled in a cushioned armchair to observe, Mr. Betteredge, a maths student, stuck his head around the door jamb. "That's because he can't seduce the lads in public."
Miss Kelley rolled her eyes. "The bar girls' gossip has got to your head."
"Which head," Kurt asked with a wink. Miss Kelley made to throw her book at him but thought better of it and settled for an indignant scowl.
Mr. Betteredge returned with tea things. "Compliments of Mrs. Frey," he said as he placed the tray on the table.
"I'll pour," Miss Kelley said petulantly. "You two always miss the cups and douse the biscuits."
"That's a darling," Kurt said, though he hadn't moved to help.
"How's news, then, Amelia?" Betteredge asked, passing her a cup of tea. "Any more Periwinkle Society expositions?"
She shook her head. "I have another assignment for this weekend, but it's still a society event. Colonel Pell's Gala."
Kurt snorted. "Oh, a gala! Good for you! At least you'll be in your element."
"Shut it, Kurt. You're hardly coal stock." Miss Kelley said. "But it is exciting. Pell's guests are always quite amusing from what I've heard. Why does he want reporters there, I wonder?"
"It's a fund raiser for some society. I'm sure he hopes others will contribute, even if they aren't invited to attend." Amelia dipped a biscuit in her tea, a guilty pleasure she learned from her house mates. Her mother would have chastised her for such a display of ill-breeding, which only made the pleasure sweeter.
Kurt tossed and caught a small velvet pillow over his head. "If it's Pell, it's the Argonauts. I wonder if it'll be on his dirigible. A magnificent soiree floating about the city. Wouldn't that be a grand farce?"
"Would you like to accompany me?" Amelia asked with arched brow.
Kurt scowled in response. "Why not ask Mr. Graves? Two reporters, one ballroom. You could write about who attended and what they wore, and he could write about things that actually matter."
Amelia contemplated smothering Kurt with his pillow.
***
The next morning Amelia checked the house's telegraph machine. She saw, with an inward groan, that she had received an invitation from her parents to dinner that evening. The Brinkleys and others were to join them for an impromptu evening of cards, which meant her mother and Mrs. Brinkley had planned the gathering some time ago. She crumpled the page and dropped it in the waste bin.
As she passed the common room, she saw Miss Kelley curled in her oversized chair devouring yet another book and softly penciling notes in the margins. The morning newspapers lay in their customary place beside the chair.
"Good morning, Sophia," Amelia said, stopping by the tea table. "Do you mind if I join you?"
Miss Kelley looked up with a welcoming smile and closed her pencil in her book. As the only two female borders in the house, Amelia and Miss Kelley became instant friends despite a significant class difference. Miss Kelley was the fortuitous recipient of a university scholarship for women of the labor class, and intended to become a professor of literature. While the male residents approached their education with casual lassitude, Miss Kelley devoted all of her time and her not insignificant intellect to her studies. She also made a point to read the morning and evening newspapers every day and often commented on Amelia's articles.
Amelia sat in her favorite chair with a sigh.
"Not bad news I hope," Miss Kelley said.
Amelia nodded."An invitation to dine with my parents tonight."
"My condolences, then."
"The Brinkleys will be there, and Mamma and Mrs. Brinkley still hope to see me married to Alexander. It's her only consolation for my dismal prospects this Season. Of course, since neither Alexander nor I intend to marry each other, it's a fragile consolation."
Miss Kelley shook her head in amazement, as she often did when Amelia described the mechanics of her family and social life. "Why keep up the pretense?"
"Pragmatism, to be honest. We never want for a dance partner, and since our futures are already settled, we aren't burdened by the anxieties of courtship."
"Indeed," Miss Kelley said. "But why don't you intend to marry each other? By now you are both secure in each others’ character, and have no familial or social obstacles to surmount. You would live comfortably."
"All excellent arguments in favor of marriage. If that alone were the entirety of our circumstances, we wouldn't have delayed. I care for him deeply as my oldest friend and partner in crime. But marriage brings with it a host of obligations we have no desire to fulfill. I wouldn't be allowed to write for the paper, for instance.” She shook her head. “Besides, his passions lie elsewhere.”
Miss Kelley nodded her understanding. "Will you tell your parents about Pell's gala?"
"Absolutely not!" Amelia cried, grateful for the change in topic. "Could you imagine their outrage to know I was attending a fundraising event for Adventurers, full of people in trade? No, I would rather inform them afterward and temper their censure with gratification."
***
Providence failed to provide a means for Amelia’s unfortunate absence from dinner that evening. She joined her parents and their guests in the drawing room only minutes before dinner was announced, ignoring looks of disapproval for her rather flushed complexion. A quick kiss on the cheek for her parents, and she took her customary place in line next to Alexander Brinkley with a grateful sigh and greetings for the other guests.
"Miss Stodge, would it be amiss to hazard that you've been running?" Alexander murmured as the company went through to dinner.
"A lady never runs, Mister Brinkley, at least not in full view of the street. I was severely pressed for time."
He held Amelia's chair for her as she sat. "After a leisurely stroll from the station?"
"Whatever do you mean?" She feigned imperious smugness. "Are your family returning to the country next month?"
"We should need to. My mother always needs at least a month of peace and quiet to recover from the Season. I'm amazed how your family manages remaining in town all year."
"I assure you, an extended span of peace and quiet would ruin this family."
"Perhaps you and Margaret can join us for a month? Calliope could benefit from a stabilizing female influence."
Amelia paused. They had previously decided against a long visit, considering it implied, at least for young couples, an imminent marriage. "A lady journalist living with university students in a boarding house would provide a ‘stabilizing influence’ for a fifteen-year-old girl preparing to debut? Perhaps you are referring to my sister."
"You don't intend to keep up this newspaper fantasy past this Season, do you?" He hid an expression of reproach behind his wine glass.
Though startled and disappointed, Amelia composed her face into lighthearted teasing. She could feel her mother's gaze. Any sign of displeasure would lead to scrutiny later. "I thought you approved of my fantasy."
"Perhaps we were being naive." He, too, maintained an expression of interest and levity, but something ran awry. Rather than address it in company, however, Amelia changed topics.
"I hear that your father intends to build a dirigible and hangar on your grounds. How uncharacteristically modern! Will you learn to fly it?"
"I intend to," he said with relief. "Construction should take a month, maybe two, and in the meantime, I will be taking lessons from one of my father's acquaintances. It is another reason why I hope you will visit us. I thought you would enjoy a floatabout."
She didn't mask her genuine excitement. "I would, indeed!"
***
An hour of whist with her mother, Mrs. Brinkley, and her sister Margaret exhausted what little stores of sociability Amelia had left. Her smile felt brittle and she found her patience chipped away with every chime of the mantle clock. She began sabotaging the game and, having established her pattern of mistakes, surrendered her seat to Mr. Brinkley and escaped to the sofa.
Not many minutes passed before Mrs. Stodge also resigned her seat and joined her daughter.
"I'm delighted that you could join us this evening," Her mother said, her well-composed face belying her words. Amelia could see deepening shadows under her eyes, the only sign that the evening had taken much of her waning strength. She knew her mother wouldn't leave her bed for the next several days. Whatever illness plagued her, it eluded physicians. For a moment, Amelia felt ashamed for thinking so ill of her and thanked her for the invitation.
"Your father and I have accepted this Season has been irreparably lost." She sighed and adjusted the fall of her gown. "Nevertheless, we shall rebound. Once you relinquish this writing nonsense, some consequential members of society may once again feel inclined to accept our invitations. We may be able to salvage Margaret's chances for next Season."
"Mamma, I have no intention of relinquishing my ‘writing nonsense,’" Amelia said.
Anger roiled in her mother's eyes, which she hid behind a cutting smile as she moved closer to Amelia. "Your father and I agreed to support you at the boarding house only because the ignominy of a daughter impoverished surpassed that of an imprudent one," she said quietly. "We assumed you would tire of it in a month and repent. You haven't. We will not endure another foundering Season. Your sister will not endure it. Margaret lost Mister Goddard because of your selfishness."
Amelia flared, but maintained her composure. "Mister Goddard is an arrogant — "
"He is the heir to a baronetcy and has never missed a Regent's Ball since he came of age. He has fifteen thousand a year. Margaret might have enjoyed prestige and wealth, and she would have raised our prospects as well. But now Miss Eloisa Trewe has that luxury, and her family will benefit instead. We have supplemented your income thus far, but no longer. We are withdrawing our support."
Before her daughter could respond, Mrs. Stodge rose to assist Mrs. Brinkley with a dire hand of cards, indeed.
***
Mrs. Frey’s curfew for boarders, though non-existent, offered Amelia much-desired means of escape from ever more taxing family engagements. Desperate for air and anonymity, she claimed this excuse to take her leave. Alexander offered to escort her to the trolley station, and as she couldn’t imagine a better end to a tedious and disappointing evening than half an hour’s walk with her dearest friend, she gladly accepted his offer. She also took the opportunity to share her sole item of solace: her assignment to Colonel Pell’s gala.
Alexander hesitated. "You have an assignment tomorrow night? You didn't mention it."
"I avoid discussing work in my parents' company. It tends to amplify their displeasure."
"Damned inconvenient," he muttered darkly, brow creased.
"Has my tepid fortune interfered with some scheme?" Amelia asked, keeping her voice light, thankful the shadows concealed her weary and irritated countenance. The day’s barrage of ill news had soured her disposition, but Alexander had no fault in it. "I regret, if others have engaged me without my knowledge, I must decline."
"We have agreed to join you again tomorrow evening. I thought you already knew. Our mothers agreed upon it."
"As they have done for most of our lives, and without our consent," Amelia replied, irritation seeping into her voice. "I cannot, under any circumstance, miss this assignment tomorrow evening. My chances of independence rest upon it."
They walked in silence for a few moments. "I have a matter of utmost importance to discuss with you. I fear any additional deliberation will drain me of my determination altogether," Alexander said.
"Good heavens!” Amelia chuckled. “If it's so very ephemeral that 24 hours will mean the death of you both, spare yourself the agony and speak now."
Even in the shadowy lamplight, Alexander's face visibly paled. Afraid she had somehow accosted the limits of her friend's temperament, Amelia clamped her lips closed before she goaded him to an early grave.
Mr. Brinkley regained enough composure to stammer and gape like a fish. "I'm afraid — I'm quite — unprepared at present to adequately..."
"My dear," she said, laying a calming hand on his arm, to no result. His irrational behavior attracted attention from other pedestrians. Amelia smiled to dismiss their curiosity. "Do calm yourself, please." He continued to sputter about family obligations, independence, financial security.
Oh, dear. I've broken him, Amelia thought as her friend continued to ramble. It wasn't particularly difficult to crack his composure, as she had learned as a child when the shadow of rebuke launched him headlong into a detailed confession of an otherwise well-wrought tartlet heist. She listened for a few more moments, hoping her friend would regain his wits. When it seemed his spiral was infinite, her long-held composure cracked. "Do quit babbling, Alexander, or I'll see myself to the trolley station," she hissed.
"Amelia," Alexander huffed, then spoke each word deliberately, "We must marry."
Though Amelia had lived next to the university for months, and had taken the sky trolleys nearly every day, she found the Kettery's beauty still inspired giddy awe when she neared it. The cascading glass and steel arches some twenty levels high erupted from the expansive surrounding plazas. Trolley tracks crisscrossed overhead, and hanging trolley cars glided to and from the building through Gothic steel arches in every direction.
Amelia climbed the curving marble stairs to the second level then took one of the elevators up the central spire to her homeward trolley line. The new Daedalus Port for private dirigibles and airships bloomed far overhead, and she couldn’t help admiring the vessels as they glided about. Even if Gavin Graves had written about the port’s grand opening.
"Son of a board member, indeed," Amelia muttered with a glower. An older lady beside her, a sprout of feathers wilting from her hat, blinked at her in befuddlement.
Amelia walked the last blocks to her boarding house in the company of some of her housemates returning from classes.
"How's news?" Kurt asked. "Any more thrilling flower shows to write about?" A "reformed" gentleman of twenty who abdicated his minor title after his first semester, he often remarked about Amelia's soft assignments, attributing to them some mark of classism or another.
"Too many," she replied wearily.
"It's too bad you don't attend uni," he said. "You would be a proper journalist, not just a society writer." He attempted to put his hand around her waist. Amelia suspected he had mislaid his common sense in a bottle of wine and used two fingers to extricate his hand from her person.
"And, with your understanding of social mechanisms," Kurt continued, "you could explain how they only serve to keep women locked in the drawing room. I could assist, should you have need of a more nuanced perspective. I have, as you know, written a considerable amount about...such things. I'm sure women of consequence haven't altered significantly since I surrendered my title."
Neither have you, I'm afraid, Amelia thought as she hurried into the house.
Miss Kelley sat curled in a tufted chair in the common room, reading, when the group arrived. The evening newspapers lay in an untidy pile on the floor beside the chair.
"Dinner's an hour off still," she said without looking up.
"Who asked? Are you finished with this?" Kurt asked, flouncing sideways on the threadbare settee and picking up the top newspaper. "Professor Whitenham graced us with his wisdom at the Winding Wheel today. A great shame you missed him."
"You usually ask about dinner before you've even said hello," Miss Kelley replied. "I've learned to anticipate. Yes, I have read them all. What did our good professor have to say?" She turned down her page corner and dropped the book in her lap.
"Nothing out of the usual, really," Kurt replied, ruminating on the ceiling tiles. "I find his theories increasingly irrelevant, though they have their merit. He is the backbone of the movement, after all. In a year or two, though, I predict progress will have already greatly outstripped his scope of comprehension. He'll need fresh perspectives, and I intend to provide one."
"Anything of general interest to those of us not attempting to usurp social progress for personal gain," Mister Warren, who studied economics, asked.
"He did express disappointment in how few females were in attendance," Kurt mused.
As Amelia settled in a cushioned armchair to observe, Mr. Betteredge, a maths student, stuck his head around the door jamb. "That's because he can't seduce the lads in public."
Miss Kelley rolled her eyes. "The bar girls' gossip has got to your head."
"Which head," Kurt asked with a wink. Miss Kelley made to throw her book at him but thought better of it and settled for an indignant scowl.
Mr. Betteredge returned with tea things. "Compliments of Mrs. Frey," he said as he placed the tray on the table.
"I'll pour," Miss Kelley said petulantly. "You two always miss the cups and douse the biscuits."
"That's a darling," Kurt said, though he hadn't moved to help.
"How's news, then, Amelia?" Betteredge asked, passing her a cup of tea. "Any more Periwinkle Society expositions?"
She shook her head. "I have another assignment for this weekend, but it's still a society event. Colonel Pell's Gala."
Kurt snorted. "Oh, a gala! Good for you! At least you'll be in your element."
"Shut it, Kurt. You're hardly coal stock." Miss Kelley said. "But it is exciting. Pell's guests are always quite amusing from what I've heard. Why does he want reporters there, I wonder?"
"It's a fund raiser for some society. I'm sure he hopes others will contribute, even if they aren't invited to attend." Amelia dipped a biscuit in her tea, a guilty pleasure she learned from her house mates. Her mother would have chastised her for such a display of ill-breeding, which only made the pleasure sweeter.
Kurt tossed and caught a small velvet pillow over his head. "If it's Pell, it's the Argonauts. I wonder if it'll be on his dirigible. A magnificent soiree floating about the city. Wouldn't that be a grand farce?"
"Would you like to accompany me?" Amelia asked with arched brow.
Kurt scowled in response. "Why not ask Mr. Graves? Two reporters, one ballroom. You could write about who attended and what they wore, and he could write about things that actually matter."
Amelia contemplated smothering Kurt with his pillow.
***
The next morning Amelia checked the house's telegraph machine. She saw, with an inward groan, that she had received an invitation from her parents to dinner that evening. The Brinkleys and others were to join them for an impromptu evening of cards, which meant her mother and Mrs. Brinkley had planned the gathering some time ago. She crumpled the page and dropped it in the waste bin.
As she passed the common room, she saw Miss Kelley curled in her oversized chair devouring yet another book and softly penciling notes in the margins. The morning newspapers lay in their customary place beside the chair.
"Good morning, Sophia," Amelia said, stopping by the tea table. "Do you mind if I join you?"
Miss Kelley looked up with a welcoming smile and closed her pencil in her book. As the only two female borders in the house, Amelia and Miss Kelley became instant friends despite a significant class difference. Miss Kelley was the fortuitous recipient of a university scholarship for women of the labor class, and intended to become a professor of literature. While the male residents approached their education with casual lassitude, Miss Kelley devoted all of her time and her not insignificant intellect to her studies. She also made a point to read the morning and evening newspapers every day and often commented on Amelia's articles.
Amelia sat in her favorite chair with a sigh.
"Not bad news I hope," Miss Kelley said.
Amelia nodded."An invitation to dine with my parents tonight."
"My condolences, then."
"The Brinkleys will be there, and Mamma and Mrs. Brinkley still hope to see me married to Alexander. It's her only consolation for my dismal prospects this Season. Of course, since neither Alexander nor I intend to marry each other, it's a fragile consolation."
Miss Kelley shook her head in amazement, as she often did when Amelia described the mechanics of her family and social life. "Why keep up the pretense?"
"Pragmatism, to be honest. We never want for a dance partner, and since our futures are already settled, we aren't burdened by the anxieties of courtship."
"Indeed," Miss Kelley said. "But why don't you intend to marry each other? By now you are both secure in each others’ character, and have no familial or social obstacles to surmount. You would live comfortably."
"All excellent arguments in favor of marriage. If that alone were the entirety of our circumstances, we wouldn't have delayed. I care for him deeply as my oldest friend and partner in crime. But marriage brings with it a host of obligations we have no desire to fulfill. I wouldn't be allowed to write for the paper, for instance.” She shook her head. “Besides, his passions lie elsewhere.”
Miss Kelley nodded her understanding. "Will you tell your parents about Pell's gala?"
"Absolutely not!" Amelia cried, grateful for the change in topic. "Could you imagine their outrage to know I was attending a fundraising event for Adventurers, full of people in trade? No, I would rather inform them afterward and temper their censure with gratification."
***
Providence failed to provide a means for Amelia’s unfortunate absence from dinner that evening. She joined her parents and their guests in the drawing room only minutes before dinner was announced, ignoring looks of disapproval for her rather flushed complexion. A quick kiss on the cheek for her parents, and she took her customary place in line next to Alexander Brinkley with a grateful sigh and greetings for the other guests.
"Miss Stodge, would it be amiss to hazard that you've been running?" Alexander murmured as the company went through to dinner.
"A lady never runs, Mister Brinkley, at least not in full view of the street. I was severely pressed for time."
He held Amelia's chair for her as she sat. "After a leisurely stroll from the station?"
"Whatever do you mean?" She feigned imperious smugness. "Are your family returning to the country next month?"
"We should need to. My mother always needs at least a month of peace and quiet to recover from the Season. I'm amazed how your family manages remaining in town all year."
"I assure you, an extended span of peace and quiet would ruin this family."
"Perhaps you and Margaret can join us for a month? Calliope could benefit from a stabilizing female influence."
Amelia paused. They had previously decided against a long visit, considering it implied, at least for young couples, an imminent marriage. "A lady journalist living with university students in a boarding house would provide a ‘stabilizing influence’ for a fifteen-year-old girl preparing to debut? Perhaps you are referring to my sister."
"You don't intend to keep up this newspaper fantasy past this Season, do you?" He hid an expression of reproach behind his wine glass.
Though startled and disappointed, Amelia composed her face into lighthearted teasing. She could feel her mother's gaze. Any sign of displeasure would lead to scrutiny later. "I thought you approved of my fantasy."
"Perhaps we were being naive." He, too, maintained an expression of interest and levity, but something ran awry. Rather than address it in company, however, Amelia changed topics.
"I hear that your father intends to build a dirigible and hangar on your grounds. How uncharacteristically modern! Will you learn to fly it?"
"I intend to," he said with relief. "Construction should take a month, maybe two, and in the meantime, I will be taking lessons from one of my father's acquaintances. It is another reason why I hope you will visit us. I thought you would enjoy a floatabout."
She didn't mask her genuine excitement. "I would, indeed!"
***
An hour of whist with her mother, Mrs. Brinkley, and her sister Margaret exhausted what little stores of sociability Amelia had left. Her smile felt brittle and she found her patience chipped away with every chime of the mantle clock. She began sabotaging the game and, having established her pattern of mistakes, surrendered her seat to Mr. Brinkley and escaped to the sofa.
Not many minutes passed before Mrs. Stodge also resigned her seat and joined her daughter.
"I'm delighted that you could join us this evening," Her mother said, her well-composed face belying her words. Amelia could see deepening shadows under her eyes, the only sign that the evening had taken much of her waning strength. She knew her mother wouldn't leave her bed for the next several days. Whatever illness plagued her, it eluded physicians. For a moment, Amelia felt ashamed for thinking so ill of her and thanked her for the invitation.
"Your father and I have accepted this Season has been irreparably lost." She sighed and adjusted the fall of her gown. "Nevertheless, we shall rebound. Once you relinquish this writing nonsense, some consequential members of society may once again feel inclined to accept our invitations. We may be able to salvage Margaret's chances for next Season."
"Mamma, I have no intention of relinquishing my ‘writing nonsense,’" Amelia said.
Anger roiled in her mother's eyes, which she hid behind a cutting smile as she moved closer to Amelia. "Your father and I agreed to support you at the boarding house only because the ignominy of a daughter impoverished surpassed that of an imprudent one," she said quietly. "We assumed you would tire of it in a month and repent. You haven't. We will not endure another foundering Season. Your sister will not endure it. Margaret lost Mister Goddard because of your selfishness."
Amelia flared, but maintained her composure. "Mister Goddard is an arrogant — "
"He is the heir to a baronetcy and has never missed a Regent's Ball since he came of age. He has fifteen thousand a year. Margaret might have enjoyed prestige and wealth, and she would have raised our prospects as well. But now Miss Eloisa Trewe has that luxury, and her family will benefit instead. We have supplemented your income thus far, but no longer. We are withdrawing our support."
Before her daughter could respond, Mrs. Stodge rose to assist Mrs. Brinkley with a dire hand of cards, indeed.
***
Mrs. Frey’s curfew for boarders, though non-existent, offered Amelia much-desired means of escape from ever more taxing family engagements. Desperate for air and anonymity, she claimed this excuse to take her leave. Alexander offered to escort her to the trolley station, and as she couldn’t imagine a better end to a tedious and disappointing evening than half an hour’s walk with her dearest friend, she gladly accepted his offer. She also took the opportunity to share her sole item of solace: her assignment to Colonel Pell’s gala.
Alexander hesitated. "You have an assignment tomorrow night? You didn't mention it."
"I avoid discussing work in my parents' company. It tends to amplify their displeasure."
"Damned inconvenient," he muttered darkly, brow creased.
"Has my tepid fortune interfered with some scheme?" Amelia asked, keeping her voice light, thankful the shadows concealed her weary and irritated countenance. The day’s barrage of ill news had soured her disposition, but Alexander had no fault in it. "I regret, if others have engaged me without my knowledge, I must decline."
"We have agreed to join you again tomorrow evening. I thought you already knew. Our mothers agreed upon it."
"As they have done for most of our lives, and without our consent," Amelia replied, irritation seeping into her voice. "I cannot, under any circumstance, miss this assignment tomorrow evening. My chances of independence rest upon it."
They walked in silence for a few moments. "I have a matter of utmost importance to discuss with you. I fear any additional deliberation will drain me of my determination altogether," Alexander said.
"Good heavens!” Amelia chuckled. “If it's so very ephemeral that 24 hours will mean the death of you both, spare yourself the agony and speak now."
Even in the shadowy lamplight, Alexander's face visibly paled. Afraid she had somehow accosted the limits of her friend's temperament, Amelia clamped her lips closed before she goaded him to an early grave.
Mr. Brinkley regained enough composure to stammer and gape like a fish. "I'm afraid — I'm quite — unprepared at present to adequately..."
"My dear," she said, laying a calming hand on his arm, to no result. His irrational behavior attracted attention from other pedestrians. Amelia smiled to dismiss their curiosity. "Do calm yourself, please." He continued to sputter about family obligations, independence, financial security.
Oh, dear. I've broken him, Amelia thought as her friend continued to ramble. It wasn't particularly difficult to crack his composure, as she had learned as a child when the shadow of rebuke launched him headlong into a detailed confession of an otherwise well-wrought tartlet heist. She listened for a few more moments, hoping her friend would regain his wits. When it seemed his spiral was infinite, her long-held composure cracked. "Do quit babbling, Alexander, or I'll see myself to the trolley station," she hissed.
"Amelia," Alexander huffed, then spoke each word deliberately, "We must marry."
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