Chapter 17
Dearest Rosalind,
We hope that you are properly rested, and not yet entirely disillusioned by the chaos of London Society. If you are disillusioned, then you are precisely the sort of young lady we wish to recruit.
After careful deliberation (and by that we mean a spirited debate over tea), we have decided to extend to you an invitation of the utmost importance:
You are hereby invited to join the Corset Chronicles.
Before you panic, allow us to clarify that this is not a political society. Nor a charitable committee. Nor a sewing circle.
It is simply a gathering of young women who have discovered that the world is far more tolerable, and infinitely more amusing, when one has friends to laugh and conspire alongside.
We meet monthly at Lady Thornwall’s home, where the tea is strong, the biscuits are plentiful, and the conversation is… well, unpredictable. But we promise that nothing will be asked of you except your presence.
We would be delighted if you would join us this week. Three o’clock in the afternoon at Thornwall Estate.
With sincere hope that you will accept, and with all the enthusiasm, two ladies can fit into a single sheet of stationery,
Theodora Dowell her cheeks were flushed from all the information she received about certain Lords in the ton. “It reminds me of… of home.”
Theodora placed a fist under her chin and leaned closer to Rosalind. “Your home in the countryside?”