small house. “If you say so, old son. If you say so.”
“ You’re quite the talk of society, my dear,” Lady Plumworthy cooed from across a plate of tiny cakes. It was late afterno6n the next day, and Jessamine hadn’t eaten since early that morning, and the porridge had been thin and tasteless at that.
It had been months since she’d had a truly decent cup of tea served in fine bone china. She hadn’t realized how very much she missed the small elegancies of life. She’d trained herself to concentrate on more important matters, such as life and death, yet there she was, seduced by an elegant cup of tea. “Am I?” she murmured in polite response, managing not to devour the cake in one gulp.
“ It appears that your readings were amazingly accurate. I’ve had all manner of notes and visits, with people inquiring about you and regaling me with tales of the veracity of your forecasts. Of course, some say you’re a witch, but fortunately we no longer burn witches in England.” Lady Plumworthy’s honk of laughter would have been unnerving, but Jessamine didn’t even blink.
“ I have a gift,” she said. “I have no idea where it comes from, but I assure you, I’ve made no pact with the devil.” There was a pact with fate, she added to herself. A cold bargain that was no one’s concern but her own. “I simply see things others don’t.”
“ You have a gift for telling the future, but your taste in clothes is boring beyond comprehension.” Lady Plumworthy gave a theatrical shudder as she surveyed Jessamine’s attire. Jessamine knew full well how she appeared, and she had no interest in changing. She was an average young woman with the normal requisite of curves, unremarkable features except for her dratted eyes, and plain brown hair. Her wardrobe was limited by finance, and she still dressed in the plain day dresses of her youth. They’d been made by the finest seamstresses, of excellent cloth, and even if they strained a bit over her lately acquired curves, they were serviceable enough.
“ They suit me,” she murmured, helping herself to another cake. It was her fourth, and she devoutly hoped Lady Plumworthy wouldn’t notice.
“ You look so ordinary! A fortune-teller shouldn’t look ordinary,” Lady Plumworthy complained. “I’m going to arrange for my dressmaker to come up with something suitable. No need to thank me, my dear. I’ll simply subtract it from the money I’d pay you.”
Jessamine took a fifth cake, not bothering to argue. It was going to make her sick, but the alternative, shoving it in Lady Plumworthy’s smug face, was unacceptable no matter how tempting.
“ But now my guests are waiting, and quite impatiently,” her ladyship continued, rising. “If you can wipe the crumbs off your face, then we can join them and commence with the reading. You’re prepared, aren’t you?”
“ Of course.” In actuality it was a lie. Jessamine did far better on an empty stomach, but then, she had no intention of giving these flighty social butterflies her best work. Some of the things she saw in the cards were too disturbing for such people to handle.
He was there in the room. She must have known it—it explained the unnatural tightening in her stomach, the high pitch of her nerves. He stood apart from the various groups of people, watching her with a lazy intensity that made her want to turn back and slam the wide double door behind her.
It was impossible, of course. For one thing, the unpleasant majordomo kept hold of the door, and she would never be able to wrest it from him. For another, she wasn’t a coward, and she had no intention of displaying her uneasiness to anyone, particularly to him.
She simply ignored him, sitting down quietly at the side of the same green baize table she’d used before, pulling her velvet-wrapped pack of cards from her reticule and preparing to do her job.
At first it was quite simple. She could steer Miss Ocain in the direction of an eager
“ You’re quite the talk of society, my dear,” Lady Plumworthy cooed from across a plate of tiny cakes. It was late afterno6n the next day, and Jessamine hadn’t eaten since early that morning, and the porridge had been thin and tasteless at that.
It had been months since she’d had a truly decent cup of tea served in fine bone china. She hadn’t realized how very much she missed the small elegancies of life. She’d trained herself to concentrate on more important matters, such as life and death, yet there she was, seduced by an elegant cup of tea. “Am I?” she murmured in polite response, managing not to devour the cake in one gulp.
“ It appears that your readings were amazingly accurate. I’ve had all manner of notes and visits, with people inquiring about you and regaling me with tales of the veracity of your forecasts. Of course, some say you’re a witch, but fortunately we no longer burn witches in England.” Lady Plumworthy’s honk of laughter would have been unnerving, but Jessamine didn’t even blink.
“ I have a gift,” she said. “I have no idea where it comes from, but I assure you, I’ve made no pact with the devil.” There was a pact with fate, she added to herself. A cold bargain that was no one’s concern but her own. “I simply see things others don’t.”
“ You have a gift for telling the future, but your taste in clothes is boring beyond comprehension.” Lady Plumworthy gave a theatrical shudder as she surveyed Jessamine’s attire. Jessamine knew full well how she appeared, and she had no interest in changing. She was an average young woman with the normal requisite of curves, unremarkable features except for her dratted eyes, and plain brown hair. Her wardrobe was limited by finance, and she still dressed in the plain day dresses of her youth. They’d been made by the finest seamstresses, of excellent cloth, and even if they strained a bit over her lately acquired curves, they were serviceable enough.
“ They suit me,” she murmured, helping herself to another cake. It was her fourth, and she devoutly hoped Lady Plumworthy wouldn’t notice.
“ You look so ordinary! A fortune-teller shouldn’t look ordinary,” Lady Plumworthy complained. “I’m going to arrange for my dressmaker to come up with something suitable. No need to thank me, my dear. I’ll simply subtract it from the money I’d pay you.”
Jessamine took a fifth cake, not bothering to argue. It was going to make her sick, but the alternative, shoving it in Lady Plumworthy’s smug face, was unacceptable no matter how tempting.
“ But now my guests are waiting, and quite impatiently,” her ladyship continued, rising. “If you can wipe the crumbs off your face, then we can join them and commence with the reading. You’re prepared, aren’t you?”
“ Of course.” In actuality it was a lie. Jessamine did far better on an empty stomach, but then, she had no intention of giving these flighty social butterflies her best work. Some of the things she saw in the cards were too disturbing for such people to handle.
He was there in the room. She must have known it—it explained the unnatural tightening in her stomach, the high pitch of her nerves. He stood apart from the various groups of people, watching her with a lazy intensity that made her want to turn back and slam the wide double door behind her.
It was impossible, of course. For one thing, the unpleasant majordomo kept hold of the door, and she would never be able to wrest it from him. For another, she wasn’t a coward, and she had no intention of displaying her uneasiness to anyone, particularly to him.
She simply ignored him, sitting down quietly at the side of the same green baize table she’d used before, pulling her velvet-wrapped pack of cards from her reticule and preparing to do her job.
At first it was quite simple. She could steer Miss Ocain in the direction of an eager
Similar Books
