Page 19
How could I miss her in that primrose gown?
“She trundles her thick backside off regularly and takes a nip from the flask she has hidden in her reticule.”
Jemmah bit the inside of her cheek to keep from giggling.
“Over there,” the dowager swung her cane toward a regal dame, epitomizing haut ton elegance. “Lady Dreary—
“I believe that’s Lady Drury—”
“Hmph. She’s as dreary and cold as frozen fog on a grave. But that was beside the point. Her ladyship is most clever—keeps whisky stashed in her vinaigrette instead of ammonia or smelling salts.”
How, for all the salt in the sea could Jemmah have forgotten the ... erm … unique labels the clever dowager attributed to others? Sometimes she explained a name’s genuine meaning, but others, as she’d just demonstrated, a droll play on words.
A speculative glint entered her ladyship’s watered-down-topaz-colored eyes. “Even Lady Wimpleton, whom I admire very much indeed, is wont to take a nip on occasion.”
Jemmah laughed and threw her hands up in defeat. “You win, my lady. I shall return shortly. Pray my mother doesn’t espy me.”
Though how she would manage the task without Mama hearing of it or some other nosy dame deciding it was her duty to chastise Jemmah, she hadn’t yet conceived.
“I can deal with Belinda well enough, my dear. You’re kind to humor an old woman’s idiosyncrasies.”
As Jemmah neared the table, a footman loading a tray with filled punch glasses smiled a polite greeting. “Good evening, Miss Jemmah. Mary said you were attending your aunt’s ball.”
“Frazer Pimble, isn’t it?”
Here was Jemmah’s answer to her dilemma. Most providential to come upon her maid’s brother.
“Aye.” He nodded once, a kindly smile emphasizing the swath of freckles across his nose and cheeks.
“May I impose upon you?” When he nodded, Jemmah angled toward the ballroom’s west side. “See that lovely lady in the gold and black, with the spray of black ostrich feathers in her hair. The one holding a cane and peering in our direction?”
“I do, miss.”
“She desires a glass of punch, and I don’t dare take it to her.” Jemmah bent a tiny bit nearer and murmured, “Can you imagine the gossip? Would you be so kind as to put a serving in a teacup for her?”
Frazer gave a quick glance around. “Leave it to me, miss. Do you need a beverage as well? If I may be so bold, you look a bit flushed.”
“I would love lemonade, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
He nodded and gave a small wink. “Return to your seat, and I shall be along straightaway.”
Jemmah resumed her seat and had just turned to explain the plan to the dowager when, true to his word, Frazer approached, carrying a tray with a glass of lemonade in addition to a teacup and saucer.
He presented the china cup to the elderly dame, and Lady Lockhart’s eyebrows crept up the creases of her forehead to hang there suspended.
“Tea?” fussed the dowager, giving Jemmah the gimlet eye. “I most definitely declined tea.”
“Oh, but this is a very special brew, my lady. I’m sure you’ll quite like it.” Frazer inclined his head, and the dowager’s eyes rounded.
She took a dainty sip, then smiled in pure delight. “Indeed. An exceptionally fine brew. Thank you.”
Frazer left them, and her ladyship turned an approving eye on Jemmah.
“That was well done of you, Miss Dament. Clever too.” Her watery gaze bored into Jemmah for a long moment before she nodded slowly, as if coming to a conclusion. “I’ve been of a mind to sponsor a worthy young woman this Season, someone to act as my companion too. I would be honored if you’d consider the proposition.”
Jemmah choked on her lemonade.
Eyes watering and swallowing against the burning at the back of her throat, she gaped.
