Free Improper Ladies by AMANDA MCCABE

already taken her sister to see three dressmakers, had pointed out how attractive pale pink and cream were next to golden curls and violet eyes.
    Phoebe had just shaken her head, pulled out bolts of bright blue and sunburst yellow, and said how lovely they were for Caroline’s dark eyes. She shunned chipped-straw bonnets and pretty pale blue trims. But she begged for a wide-brimmed hat trimmed with yards of red tulle veiling and numerous pink roses.
    Caroline sighed again. Now she knew what her mother had meant when, long ago, she had said that one day Caroline would have a daughter just like herself, and then she would know what it felt like.
    Phoebe, though, was oblivious to all this. She hurried ahead on the promenade, practically skipping in enthusiasm. She swung her new hatbox blithely by its ribbons and smiled at everyone she passed.
    Mary came up beside Caroline, carrying the extra parcels of ribbons and slippers, puffing slightly from the exercise. “I did think, madam, that you said a seaside holiday would be restful after that den of vice in London.”
    Caroline laughed. “Are you not rested, then, Mary ? ”
    Mary looked ahead to where Phoebe was chasing after some seagulls, and said, “Not just at present.”
    “Things will settle soon, I am sure. It’s just that she is in a new place, and everything is so exciting. She can’t stay this energetic forever.”
    “Hmph. If you say so, madam.”
    “I do say so. Now, Mary dear, if we just—”
    “Excuse me,” a woman’s soft voice said from behind Caroline, interrupting her words.
    Caroline turned and saw a small, slender, pretty older woman. She was obviously Quality, with her soft gray walking dress and fine pearl necklace and earrings. Her only slightly faded blue eyes were hesitant but intent as she looked at Caroline.
    “Yes?” Caroline said. “Oh, are we blocking the walkway? I am so sorry!”
    “No, not at all. It is just . . . Oh, this is terribly bad-mannered of me to just come along and speak to you like this! But I had to know if you were perhaps related to Margery Elliston.”
    Caroline looked closer at the woman, startled. “She was my mother.”
    The woman smiled in satisfaction. “I knew it! You look so very much like her. We were school-mates, you see, back when I was just Miss Amelia Petersham. What larks we did have together then!” The woman laughed softly. “But I don’t mean to keep you with my sentimental rambling, Miss . . .”
    “Mrs. Caroline Aldritch,” Caroline answered with a smile of her own. This was just what she had been hoping for, someone who remembered her family. And this Amelia Petersham, or whatever her name was now, seemed so very kind. “You are not keeping me at all. I am always happy to meet a friend of my mother’s.”
    “Oh, the stories I could tell you about her! I was so saddened when I heard of her passing. But have you been in Wycombe very long? Are you here with your husband?”
    “I fear my husband has also passed away, several years ago.”
    The woman nodded in sad sympathy. “I am sorry. Widowhood can be so very difficult, as I well know. I trust you are not alone, though?”
    “I am here with my sister, Miss Phoebe Lane, who you see just there.” Caroline caught Phoebe’s eye where she had wandered rather far afield and motioned her to come back closer.
    “I am here with my family, as well, my two sons and a friend and her daughters. They are taking tea at that shop, and I fear I abandoned them most rudely. But I saw you out the window, and I simply had to come and see if you had known Margery.” She laughed and pressed one gray-gloved hand to her throat in obvious embarrassment. “And now I am being rude again, not introducing myself to you! I am Lady Lyndon; well, I suppose I am the Dowager Lady Lyndon now.”
    Lyndon ? Her name was Lyndon? Caroline’s breath seemed to stop in her throat, choking her. She stepped back from the woman, staring at her, trying to see some resemblance