A thrill fluttered Jemmah’s tummy.
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.
Today might be the last she’d return to this house as a resident.
Hereafter, she’d only be a visitor; if Mama deemed to invite her, that was.
Jemmah had best not hold her breath waiting for that invitation any time soon.
Unlike Jemmah, Mama did not possess a forgiving nature.
“Good news, miss?”
Pimble puttered about, not doing much of anything, but every moment the maid spent here was far more pleasant than returning below.
“Of a sorts, yes.”
Better not to divulge too much to Pimble, yet. Jemmah slipped the letter into her reticule, afraid to leave it in her room.
“Mama’s up earlier than I expected.”
The servant offered a lopsided, apologetic smile. “And if I may be so bold, in as a foul mood this morning as I’ve ever seen her.”
A wonder Mama had roused herself before noon; a guarantee she’d be crotchety the rest of the day. Far worse for poor Pimble when Mama or Adelinda felt peevish. Both were as prickly and hard to handle as an infuriated hedgehog.
“Jemmah, are you going to dawdle the day away?”
Breathing heavily, her skirts swishing about her ankles, Mama trudged into Jemmah’s chamber. Her pretty, plump, slightly rosy face puckered in displeasure when her gaze lit on the many sketches pinned to the rafters, depicting drawings from new fashions to birds perched upon flowering tree branches.
“I sent Pimble to fetch you a full half hour ago. Whatever is keeping you both?”
Jemmah brushed the wrinkles from her simple Pomona green day gown, or at least tried to, before going to stand before the small, slightly blurry, rectangular looking glass hanging from a support beam.
She smoothed her hair and repinned a few loose strands as she watched her mother in the reflection.
Pimble ducked from the chamber, making good her escape.
Smart girl.
If only Jemmah might do the same.
“It’s only been ten minutes, Mama, and I’m afraid the errand will have to wait until after I call upon Aunt Theo and the dowager takes me shopping this afternoon.” She flicked her fingers toward the arched, four-paned window, the lower right divided by a long crack. “The carriage already awaits outside.”
Scrutinizing her reflection, she frowned.
Dark circles ringed her eyes, and the dress, a brilliant shade on Adelinda, made Jemmah’s skin appear sallow. She did quite look forward to acquiring a gown or two in hues which flattered her coloring, rather than wearing more castoffs from Adelinda, as Jemmah had for as long as she could recall.
Did that make her shallow, or simply a typical woman who enjoyed looking her best?
Especially now that she had a reason to care about her appearance?
Drat, if only she had a fichu to drape about her neck to diminish the gown’s ill effects on her appearance. Perhaps she could leave her redingote on?
“Tell me what it is that you need, Mama, and I shall be happy to take care of it before I return home. Or perhaps, if the matter is terribly urgent, Pimble or Adelinda might attend to it for you.”
Not the least mollified, her mother angled away from the table where she’d been poking about, occasionally scowling or grimacing at something she saw.
“Don’t get impertinent with me, young lady. You know full well Pimble has more than enough to do, and whilst you reside here, you’re expected to do your share.”