Lady Bodonel grabbed my bruised wrist. “This dinner is just a taste of how grand the ball will be. Are you not excited?”
“Yes,” I said with a wince.
She looked over my head and waved her fan. “You are an excitable one.”
I watched the slim woman float away in her cream dress, light catching on the seed pearls decorating her cap sleeves. The woman accosted the Lord Mayor’s wife.
Patience’s mother-in-law was an interesting person. She seemed lost sometimes, but the minute you wanted to help her she’d revert to the caricature of an unfeeling creature looking for stature and greener and greener fields.
Where was Patience?
I should be able to see my friend. Where did she go? We came in together.
My frets drowned in the music.
Beautiful violins.
My comfy slippers made time with the string quartet. Tap. Tap. One of the musicians looked a lot like Ashbrook’s card-playing friend.
The melody, soft and soothing—this would be a wonderful dance.
Skipping wouldn’t be appropriate, but my heart did so. Maybe I was a dancer.
Maybe I was graceful and twirled about the room with ease. Maybe that’s how Cecil St. Maur and I met.
I took a step and found my slippers missed the beat. My ankle twisted a little. Well, maybe not a great dancer.
Still, the music felt good; it hit deep in my soul, lifting me. Last night’s dream, I faced the nightmare, the howl of the endless winds, the sheer panic of trying to keep to my head and hers above water.
I was sure it was a girl in my arms.
A little one.
She was small, for I could hold her in the crook of my arm and the mast at least for a little while.
“Jemina, are you all right?”
“Mi den yah. I mean, I’m here.” After a few blinks, I saw Patience’s face. She looked beautiful in her cream gown with an overdress of sunny garnet.
But her smile was gone, her lips pressed too tight.
“I just left Lady Bodonel and her group offriends.”
She stepped to my side, and I took her arm. “Do you need air, Your Grace?”
“No, too much time with my mother-in-law. She can’t be tolerated in long settings. Goodness.” She rubbed her brow. “We still have to get through dinner.”
We moved from the crowd and made our way closer to the middle of the room. We stopped at one of the long tables. Each hosted twenty. Elegant pressed tablecloths shrouded them like snowy doves. Bisque-colored tureens sat at the ends. The air around the pots felt hot.
A peek inside exposed white soup with the heavenly scent of toasted almonds. I loved white soup. Lady Shrewsbury served this to the Widow’s Grace at the end of successful missions. It was her chef’s specialty.
“The colors tonight, red and white, seem to be a trend.” Patience put her hand on the red chairs. Her pinkie skirting the shiny brass nails tapped into each.
Smoothing my lacy bodice, I felt sick. “Then I was meant to stand out in dove gray.”
“You’re still elegant, Jemina.”
I toyed with my thin gloves, wishing I had waited for Patience to retrieve the sparkly pair she thought would go well with my gown. “I’m sort of overcast skies. I shouldn’t have come.”
