Free My Enchanting Hoyden (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel, #3) by Julie Johnstone Page B

the start of the Season about as much as one looked forward to the prospect of death.

T wo Days Later
    Jemma sat as still as she could while her lady’s maid, Eliza, carefully arranged her hair into a coil atop her head and placed a circle of white flowers in her hair. She’d told Eliza that she’d planned to wear it down, but Eliza, her face turning fiery red, had stuttered and stammered and finally spit out that Grandfather had given her specific orders to make sure Jemma’s hair was up and tamed. If she didn’t make it so, Eliza would likely hold the record for the shortest-employed lady’s maid to ever work in this home. Jemma had relented at once. She may want to shock and dismay Lord Glenmore when she met him at the ball tonight, but not at the expense Eliza’s job.
    “I’m finished,” Eliza pronounced, handing Jemma the looking glass. Despite herself, Jemma smiled. Eliza had indeed tamed her hair and made it look quite lovely. Jemma complimented her profusely while Eliza helped her get into one of the ridiculous white, frothy gowns her grandfather had ordered made for her and Anne some time ago. The only thing good she could say about the gown was that the color white did not flatter her one bit. In fact, it made her freckles contrast vividly.
    Anne, who was naturally resplendent in white, breezed through the door looking like a delicate flower as Jemma tried to bat Eliza’s hands away when she attempted to powder her face to hide the freckles.
    “No powder,” she said.
    “But, Miss Adair, your grandfather—”
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Jemma huffed. “Don’t tell me you’ll lose your position if my freckles are showing.”
    The maid nodded. Jemma let out a disgruntled sigh but turned to face Eliza so the woman could powder her. When she was done, Jemma looked in the mirror and frowned. The powder had done its job, which was the opposite of what Jemma had wanted.
    “I believe my work here is done,” Eliza said. She bobbed a curtsy and rushed out the door.
    Jemma grunted. “I’m surprised Grandfather didn’t tell her to bind my feet. After all, they’re too big compared to most women’s.”
    “Your feet are perfect,” Anne said with a slight wince.
    Jemma touched Anne’s shoulder. “Is your leg bothering you?”
    Anne nodded. “It’s the horseback riding lessons. I think I overtaxed myself.”
    Jemma nibbled her lip. “Perhaps you ought not go tonight.” She didn’t voice what Anne already knew: when her leg was bothering her, her limp became incredibly pronounced and could make even walking painful. If Anne had to dance...
    “I’m going! So don’t you dare say a word, especially in front of Grandfather. He might say I cannot attend tonight because he’s afraid I’d embarrass him with my graceless gait. I refuse to be denied.”
    “For goodness’ sake, Anne. Missing one ball will not be the end of your life. You will have opportunity aplenty to meet a man.”
    Anne opened her mouth as if to say something, then clamped it shut. “I’m going. I must, and that’s the end of it. Besides”—she hiked up her dress and pointed at her new slippers—“these do help me tremendously. For all Grandfather’s coolness, it occurred to me how incredibly thoughtful this gift was.”
    Jemma frowned. It was thoughtful, which was completely unlike him. “He must have an ulterior motive.”
    A dark, mutinous look crossed Anne’s face, and she thrust out her chin. “You’ve become a judgmental, cold, tart-tongued shrew.”
    Jemma gasped. It had been funny when Lord Harthorne had called her Katherina from The Taming of the Shrew because she knew he had been teasing her, but Anne was wholly serious. “I do believe that is the rudest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
    Anne sighed. “Well, I’m sorry but it’s true. Just look how tart you were with Lord Harthorne. He paid you a compliment and you told him he had a beautiful gift for lying!”
    Jemma winced. She did feel the teeniest