Free Lady Pamela by Amy Lake

your reply.”
    This bit of cheek was beyond the duke’s experience, even of Josiah.
    “You took the liberty of making my reply ?” He stood up and advanced toward his valet, towering over Josiah, who remained uncowed.
    “Didn’t know you was so set agin’ it.” Josiah shrugged again and looked as if he was about to spit, then–hearing the housekeeper below–apparently thought better of it.
    The duke closed his eyes for a moment, mentally consigning his valet to some special rank of hell. The rank reserved for pushy, impertinent servants.
    “Don’t have no choice, now,” Josiah added. “The toon has them rules. If’n you said you’d go...”
    Benjamin snorted in exasperation, sinking back against the balustrade. Could this be possible? Was he really trapped into attending a ball ? And after all his attempts to remain anonymous!
    He considered the situation, and what he knew of London society. If Benjamin Torrance had been–say–a young and unimportant baronet, spotty and without prospects, his absence might go unremarked at any of the larger affairs. Assuming such a baronet ever received such an invitation, of course.
    But as a duke? As the Duke of Grentham, one of the richest landowners in England, a bachelor, and newly arrived in London?
    And a duke, moreover, who had agreed to attend. Word might already have spread.
    No. His absence would certainly be noticed. Even a relative neophyte could see that. Noticed and remarked upon. And ’twould only make matters worse, when, eventually, he did choose to make his debut in the amusements of the haut ton .
    Which he would wish to do, someday, would he not?
    See her again, someday. Would he not?
    And if word was already spreading, perhaps Lady Pamela knew, perhaps she would be at the Marthwaite’s ball, as well.
    “Be a plonking great scandal, if you don’ go,” the valet informed him.
    “ Josiah . I will go.” The duke sighed, defeated. “But I’m going to want a hot bath, with decent soaps. And you are not to ask Bess or Mary to carry that water upstairs, hear?”
    Josiah seemed content at this assignment.

 
    CHAPTER FIVE
     
    “May I have the honor of the next dance?”
    Lady Pamela hid a smile behind her fan as Lord Burgess, his huge hand engulfing Amanda’s own, kissed Lady Detweiler’s wrist and requested the waltz.
    “Oh–” began Amanda. Unaccountably, she flushed.
    “Lady Detweiler would be delighted,” said Pamela, answering for her friend and waving them away with a flourish of the fan. ’Tis only turnabout , she thought, smiling sweetly as Amanda, looking backwards at the first turn, sent daggers in her direction. ’Twas not I who insisted on attending the Marthwaite’s ball, nor on being dressed in this...this...
    This glorious treasure of a gown, finished a small voice. A gown which needed none of the overblown decorations festooning the costumes of several of the noble ladies present to attract attention, which draped about her form as if born to it, the bodice glittering each time she took a breath. A gown which, in its dazzling, consummate elegance, had been the cause of stares and murmurs following Lady Pamela since she entered the Marthwaite’s ballroom.
    “My dear Pamela, you are the loveliest of females, as always.”
    “Incomparable, my lady, such a gown –”
    Such a lot of fuss over a dress.
    Madame Gaultier’s creation was indeed breathtaking, but Lady Pamela was mistaken if she thought it the sole cause of admiring glances sent her way, for she had long been an acknowledged beauty. Her hair was drawn up this night into a high knot and entwined with a rope of pearls. Heavy, white-gold ringlets cascaded around her neck and down her back, and a satin ribbon was tied at her neck, adorned with a simple diamond pin. Her eyelashes were dark and thick, and her wide eyes flashed clearest blue.
    “Darling Pamela, I must have a waltz–”
    She moved slowly through the crowd, murmuring her thanks for every compliment,