Anne Stuart by Prince of Swords

bowing low. And before Clegg could decide to come closer, he disappeared into the shadows of the dark London night.
    “ But, my dear Jessamine, I had no idea you possessed such talents! You’ve been hiding your light under a bushel.”
    Jessamine stared at Miss Ermintrude Winters’s pale, puglike face with ill-concealed dismay. She would have been much happier if she had been able to hide her entire self under a bushel. At least Mama was still abed, suffering from the megrims and a surfeit of ratafia, and wasn’t there to witness the reentry of one of Jessamine’s childhood acquaintances into their lives.
    Ermintrude had never been more than that. She had always been an unpleasant child, holding herself aloof from the ramshackle Maitlands. Mr. Maitland’s descent into poverty and death had set the seal on her disapproval, and the last time Jessamine had crossed her path, Ermintrude had given her the cut direct.
    Not today, however. Ermintrude was all fat smiles and oozing charm, murmuring remembrances of a shared past which, in truth, they hadn’t shared at all. To be sure, they had both attended the Christmas routs at Lady Andrews’s estate. But Ermintrude had been with her group, Jessamine with hers.
    “ They say you have an extraordinary gift,” Ermintrude continued. “I can’t say that I’m surprised. You always seemed a bit different from the rest of us. It must be those lovely eyes.”
    Jessamine kept a pleasant expression on her face as she listened to these bald-faced lies. Ermintrude must have learned tact during the last few years. She had always made cutting comments about Jessamine’s witch’s eyes.
    Jessamine herself wasn’t feeling particularly diplomatic. “Who says I have an extraordinary gift?”
    Ermintrude blinked. “Why, everyone. Everyone that matters, that is. You’re quite the on-dit of society. Everyone wants you at their parties, everyone is dying to know more about you.”
    “ Including you?” Jessamine said coolly.
    Ermintrude may have learned tact, but sensitivity still eluded her. “I thought you might like to come to a small house-party my married sister is holding out in Kent. I’m certain you remember Sally—she married Mr. Blaine, who was quite a catch, as I’m sure you realize. There will be just a dozen or so guests, and it should all be quite gay. I imagine it’s been quite a while since you’ve been in the country. You were always such a charmingly rural soul.”
    “ Quite a while,” Jessamine echoed. “But I’m afraid I must decline your so-charming invitation. My mother isn’t at all well, and I couldn’t leave my sister without adequate protection.”
    “ Surely the servants could look after your mother,” Ermintrude protested, patently ignoring the fact that she had seen no sign of servants during her damnably long visit that afternoon. “And you could bring your little sister with you. I remember her well—such a pretty child. I’m certain we’ll find other children to entertain her.”
    Jessamine looked at her childhood nemesis. “Let us be frank, Ermintrude. You are not inviting me to your sister’s house party for the pleasure of my company. You wish me to entertain the guests with parlor tricks, do you not? Reading their cards, telling their fortunes?”
    “ It’s no less than you have done for Lady Plumworthy, if rumor can be relied upon.”
    “ Let me give you a little hint, Ermintrude. Never believe rumors. How I choose to use my talents and for what rewards is simply none of your business.”
    “ My sister said I was to offer you fifty pounds.”
    Jessamine didn’t even blink. Ermintrude’s sister Sally had married a nabob, and she’d obviously lost track of things she could spend her money on. Fifty pounds was a very great deal of money. Almost tempting.
    “ I’m sorry,” Jessamine said. “I have my reputation to consider. As well as my sister’s.”
    “ One hundred pounds, and you and your sister shall be honored