dressed?”
Lottie’s mouth twitched, and Victoria detected a hint of mockery in her expression. She hoped her friend was kinder than Lottie was. Or at least didn’t have a face that could curdle milk.
Sometime later, she was sitting in Frascati’s Winter Garden and feeling as if she, in a plain dark walking suit, and Lottie, in a black skirt and white blouse, were woefully underdressed for such a venue. The gold and silver décor and large palms seemed to have stunned Lottie into silence. Victoria didn’t much like silence and hoped Lottie’s friend would be more engaging. If Kit were here, he would be whispering snide remarks about the other stuffy patrons and making her laugh. She gave a sharp sigh and turned to Lottie. “Tell me about your friend.”
To her surprise Lottie looked away and shifted in her seat. “Her name is Martha,” she finally said, somewhat reluctantly.
“What does your organization do?”
“We fight oppression,” Lottie said.
“How?”
“At the moment, we’re concentrating on our newspaper.”
Victoria leaned forward. “Oh, really? Who are your readers?”
“Wait until you talk to Martha. She will answer all yourquestions and then tell you what you can do to help. If you want to, that is.”
That last line was uttered derisively and Victoria burned. Lottie clearly thought her a wilting violet.
Just then a slight, dark-haired woman in a wine-colored velvet and lace dress put her hand on Lottie’s shoulder.
“I am so sorry I’m late. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
Lottie actually smiled. “Not long at all,” she said. “Martha, this is Victoria Buxton. The Honorable Victoria Buxton, if you will, and she has quite the story to tell. Victoria, this is Martha Long, founder of the Suffragettes for Female Equality.”
Victoria stared wide-eyed at the elegant woman who stood before her. “Pleased to meet you.”
Martha gave her a charming smile as she took a seat at the small, linen-covered table. “We don’t do titles in our organization, but I am still pleased to meet you. Tell me your story and I’ll judge whether it’s front page or not. Lottie tends to exaggerate everything.” She gave Lottie a quick smile as if to take the sting out of her words.
Victoria cocked her head at the pleasing, cultured tones of Martha’s speech. They might not do titles here, but Martha was as wellborn as Victoria was, she’d stake her life on it. As Victoria told her about The Botanist’s Quarterly , Martha pulled a pencil and a tattered yellow tablet out of her reticule, jotting down notes as she spoke.
They fell silent as a waiter approached with silver salvers full of delicate tea sandwiches and a heaping platter of miniature scones. Lottie took up the task of serving as Martha regarded Victoria, her dark eyes ablaze.
“So your last name is Buxton? And you say your father was a respected botanist?”
Victoria nodded. “He was knighted for his work.” Victoria shifted uneasily. “I’m not sure if we should use my full name.” She hadn’t known Lottie had brought her here for an interview, and while the prospect of a newspaper article sounded exciting, she had a feeling her aunt and uncle would be much less enthusiastic.
Martha read her mind. “I can’t imagine the Buxtons would be too pleased with this type of exposure.”
Victoria frowned. “You know of my family?”
“Mm-hmm.” Martha jotted something on her pad. “This is definitely worth a story, but I’m not sure whether it should go on the front page or on the editorial.”
“I take it you run the newspaper?”
Martha nodded. “Among other things. There is so much we need to do to further the cause. It’s just impossible to do everything ourselves.”
Victoria nodded, recalling the few suffragette meetings she’d attended in the past. She was no stranger to crusading. Her father and his friends were always championing a cause such as labor rights, and listening to their discussions
Lottie’s mouth twitched, and Victoria detected a hint of mockery in her expression. She hoped her friend was kinder than Lottie was. Or at least didn’t have a face that could curdle milk.
Sometime later, she was sitting in Frascati’s Winter Garden and feeling as if she, in a plain dark walking suit, and Lottie, in a black skirt and white blouse, were woefully underdressed for such a venue. The gold and silver décor and large palms seemed to have stunned Lottie into silence. Victoria didn’t much like silence and hoped Lottie’s friend would be more engaging. If Kit were here, he would be whispering snide remarks about the other stuffy patrons and making her laugh. She gave a sharp sigh and turned to Lottie. “Tell me about your friend.”
To her surprise Lottie looked away and shifted in her seat. “Her name is Martha,” she finally said, somewhat reluctantly.
“What does your organization do?”
“We fight oppression,” Lottie said.
“How?”
“At the moment, we’re concentrating on our newspaper.”
Victoria leaned forward. “Oh, really? Who are your readers?”
“Wait until you talk to Martha. She will answer all yourquestions and then tell you what you can do to help. If you want to, that is.”
That last line was uttered derisively and Victoria burned. Lottie clearly thought her a wilting violet.
Just then a slight, dark-haired woman in a wine-colored velvet and lace dress put her hand on Lottie’s shoulder.
“I am so sorry I’m late. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
Lottie actually smiled. “Not long at all,” she said. “Martha, this is Victoria Buxton. The Honorable Victoria Buxton, if you will, and she has quite the story to tell. Victoria, this is Martha Long, founder of the Suffragettes for Female Equality.”
Victoria stared wide-eyed at the elegant woman who stood before her. “Pleased to meet you.”
Martha gave her a charming smile as she took a seat at the small, linen-covered table. “We don’t do titles in our organization, but I am still pleased to meet you. Tell me your story and I’ll judge whether it’s front page or not. Lottie tends to exaggerate everything.” She gave Lottie a quick smile as if to take the sting out of her words.
Victoria cocked her head at the pleasing, cultured tones of Martha’s speech. They might not do titles here, but Martha was as wellborn as Victoria was, she’d stake her life on it. As Victoria told her about The Botanist’s Quarterly , Martha pulled a pencil and a tattered yellow tablet out of her reticule, jotting down notes as she spoke.
They fell silent as a waiter approached with silver salvers full of delicate tea sandwiches and a heaping platter of miniature scones. Lottie took up the task of serving as Martha regarded Victoria, her dark eyes ablaze.
“So your last name is Buxton? And you say your father was a respected botanist?”
Victoria nodded. “He was knighted for his work.” Victoria shifted uneasily. “I’m not sure if we should use my full name.” She hadn’t known Lottie had brought her here for an interview, and while the prospect of a newspaper article sounded exciting, she had a feeling her aunt and uncle would be much less enthusiastic.
Martha read her mind. “I can’t imagine the Buxtons would be too pleased with this type of exposure.”
Victoria frowned. “You know of my family?”
“Mm-hmm.” Martha jotted something on her pad. “This is definitely worth a story, but I’m not sure whether it should go on the front page or on the editorial.”
“I take it you run the newspaper?”
Martha nodded. “Among other things. There is so much we need to do to further the cause. It’s just impossible to do everything ourselves.”
Victoria nodded, recalling the few suffragette meetings she’d attended in the past. She was no stranger to crusading. Her father and his friends were always championing a cause such as labor rights, and listening to their discussions
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