Free Improper Ladies by AMANDA MCCABE Page B

irritated that Harry had seen her first. “She’s not exactly in your style, is she?”
    “What are you talking about?” Harry shot back. “She is exactly in my style! Only a true paragon of fashion could have chosen that sublime shade of purple.”
    Only then could Justin tear his gaze away from the lady in yellow to the girl who stood beside her.
    Now, she truly was in Harry’s style.
    She had very pretty golden curls and was obviously young and high-spirited. But she wore a gown that was much too old for her, of bright purple-and-yellow striped muslin topped with a purple braid-trimmed spencer. On her head perched a tall-crowned purple hat ornamented with a band of gold lace. If Justin had been in the habit of wearing a quzzing glass, he would have been groping for it.
    “She seems to know Mother, too,” Harry said eagerly. “Come on, let’s see if she’ll introduce us.” He came unfrozen then and hurried forward, all his fashionable weariness and whining forgotten in his rush to meet the “paragon of fashion.”
    Justin followed, more than a little curious himself to meet these new arrivals.
    Especially the lady in yellow.
    “There you are, my dears,” his mother said. “Do come and meet my new acquaintances, Mrs. Aldritch and her sister, Miss Lane. These are my two sons, Lord Lyndon and Mr. Harry Seward.”
    The lady in yellow looked at them rather coolly, her fair face expressionless as a mask. “How do you do, Lord Lyndon, Mr. Seward?” she said quietly.
    Justin had the distinct impression that she was quite underwhelmed to make their acquaintance. As she tilted up her chin a bit, he wondered if perhaps he had forgotten to bathe that morning.
    The other lady showed no such reservations. She seemed to bounce on her feet and smiled up at them brightly. “How do you do!” she said, her pretty violet-blue gaze fastening on Harry.
    “How do you do, Miss Lane?” Harry said, then added hastily, “And you, Mrs. Aldritch. Dashed glad to meet you.”
    Miss Lane giggled, and Mrs. Aldritch laid her hand on her sister’s purple-covered arm, stilling some of that dizzying bouncing.
    Justin suddenly realized that he was staring, quite rudely, and said quickly, “Have you been in Wycombe very long, Mrs. Aldritch?”
    “Not at all,” she answered, still very quiet. She ducked her chin back into the shadow of her bonnet, giving the impression of great shyness or reserve. A reserve he longed to pique. “We only arrived yesterday, and your mother is our first acquaintance here.”
    “They are the daughters of an old friend of mine,” Amelia said happily. “Isn’t that the most marvelous coincidence?”
    “Marvelous,” Justin echoed, watching the quiet Mrs. Aldritch.
    “And now you must join me in persuading them to come back to the tea shop with us and meet the Bellweathers,” Amelia continued.
    Justin almost groaned aloud. The Bellweathers! How could he have forgotten them not five minutes out of their company? He was meant to be paying special attention to Miss Sarah Bellweather.
    “Oh, you must!” Harry burst out. “You must join us, I mean. They have the most excellent strawberries.”
    “I adore strawberries!” Miss Lane said, with another little bounce for enthusiastic emphasis. She looked to her sister inquiringly. Only when Mrs. Aldritch gave a small nod did she bounce forward to take Harry’s arm.
    He led her toward the tea shop, both of them chattering happily away. About fashion, no doubt.
    “Well, then, Mother. Mrs. Aldritch,” Justin said, offering an arm to each of the ladies. “Shall we join them before they devour all the strawberries?”
     
     
    “And where is your family from , Mrs. Aldritch?” Lady Bellweather, a rather buxom matron with suspiciously dark hair arranged in girlish curls about her creased face, sounded as if she strongly suspected Caroline’s family came from a cave somewhere. Her eyes were narrowed as she peered at Caroline over her large plate of