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Pimble fished the hunter green-beribboned rectangle from her apron and pitched a worried gaze toward the door as Jemmah stood and stretched again while glancing to the busy street.

Bless Pimble.

It wouldn’t be the first time Mama or Adelinda intercepted a missive meant for Jemmah.

“Thank you, Pimble.”

Jemmah accepted the note, stamped with Dandridge’s seal.

Mama definitely would’ve confiscated the letter. She had Dandridge earmarked for Adelinda.

Jemmah flipped it over to examine the bold, slashing strokes across the face.

Too bad the duke had other plans.

The smile quirking Jemmah’s mouth as she traced his writing with her fingertip might’ve been a teeny bit jubilant.

Or a lot.

For someone who seldom prevailed, this triumph was far more profound. Something to be cherished and kept private, away from prying eyes. Formerly servants’ quarters, perched three stories above the street, her tiny bedchamber allowed her that luxury.

Mama and Adelinda loathed climbing the stairs, especially the last narrow, steep risers, and the room was generally either arctic frigid or blistering hot. But the chamber had served as Jemmah’s private haven for over a decade, and she was content here even if it lacked creature comforts.

She cracked the seal and using the window for light, perused the unfamiliar writing.

My Dearest Miss Dament,

I eagerly look forward to renewing our friendship and would consider it the greatest privilege if you would permit me to escort you to the theater tonight.

Theo is attending as well, so we’ll be well chaperoned.

I anticipate the hours until I next see you today,

Dandridge

Pleasure, secretive and acute, bent Jemmah’s mouth again as she refolded the letter.

Amazing, how in less than twenty-four hours, her prospects had changed so dramatically. Attending the theater was out of the question, of course. She quite literally hadn’t a single gown appropriate for such a lavish affair; not that she was complaining.

Last night, she’d had scant to look forward to, and today...

Well, for one thing, Jules would be at tea and perhaps Lady Sabrina also. So, too, would her soon-to-be employer, the Dowager Lady Lockhart.

God love that dear, feisty woman.

Last night, unperturbed and fully aware of her position and power, she’d regally looked directly at Mama.

“You best teach that one to retract her claws.” The dowager bounced her gray head toward Adelinda, the ostrich feathers atop the dowager’s head pummeling one another with the motion. “Envy turns even the comeliest of young ladies into ugly, spiteful creatures no one wants about. Not at all becoming, I assure you. And if you both wish to continue to be welcome in Society, as Theo has implied, you’ll behave as is expected of someone awarded the privilege.”

Jemmah had barely refrained from clapping.

She would’ve permitted a triumphant smile, except, blast her worn-out slippers, she’d felt pity for Mama and Adelinda. More so that neither had showed the least chagrin or remorse, and the censure leveled at them from those eavesdropping on their conversation had Jemmah’s face flaming in embarrassment for her family.

It had always been so.

She might think uncharitable thoughts and on occasion grumble beneath her breath, and for good reason too. But in the end, a deep-rooted hope that Mama and Adelinda would change —or perhaps it was naught more than fanciful wishing—stirred the remnants of her compassion.

A moment later, Aunt Theo’s carriage trundled to a stop before their humble cottage, earning curious stares from passersby. Only this time, Jemmah’s anticipation of leaving for a few hours meant even more than it usually did.