My Dear Jenny by Madeleine E. Robins

asperity, heartily wishing he had decided to visit any other box in
the theater; she was certain that she could feel Lady Teeve’s red-hot glance at
her back.
    “You are particularly decorative tonight, Miss Prydd. Or may
I truly call you Jenny? I did not mean to tease you into a familiarity with
which you are not comfortable.”
    “At this point, Mr. Teverley, I hardly think it matters.”
Then, to change the subject, “I let Emily supervise my dressing tonight, and
the result is as you see.”
    “Very fine, and exceedingly becoming, but, I think, a little
uncomfortable?”
    “I am far too plain a churchmouse to dress up in such a
fashion,” Jenny said candidly. “But it made Emily happy to use me for her doll—”
    “Neither a doll nor a churchmouse. But I agree that this
sort of thing is not quite your style. A little more simplicity, I think. A
deep blue or red, in velvet, with thin gold banding. I do admire the topazes at
your ears.”
    Jenny stared at him in astonishment.
    “My dear Prydd ... that is, my dear Jenny, pray do not
believe that because I am a man I know nothing of female fashion.”
    “I am perhaps startled to find you know so much of proper female fashion—” Jenny admitted. “No, see, you have me brangling again,
without the slightest intention to do so. When you have been so pleasant, too.
I think.”
    “A touch!” Teverley grinned. “Jenny, you are becoming a wit!”
    “You are the second to say so today, sir, and I must say
that I think you are both sadly mistaken,” Jenny replied, and was joined in her
protest by Emily, who had forcibly removed Domenic from an admiring Mirabelle
Temple and brought him over to his uncle’s side.
    “Next thing you know, you will be pronouncing my poor Jenny
a bluestocking!” she sniffed in disgust.
    With a careful, delicate nudge, Emily pushed herself to the
front of the box, nearest Teverley, and pushed Jenny back with Dom. Teverley,
with equal aplomb, turned himself so that he was again, in the main, addressing
Miss Prydd. A moment’s irritation crossed Emily’s face, but she restrained from
pushing any further. In the meantime, although she had missed none of the machinations
in her own party, Jenny was increasingly aware of Lady Teeve’s gorgon glare
aimed at her shoulder blades. Partly in compassion for Emily, partly in an
urgent wish to speak to Domenic, Jenny turned the boy to the back of the box
and drew him aside.
    “I was visited by your mother today,” she began.
    “The devil! What did she say?”
    “Well, first off, she took me for Emily. No, Em don’t know
of it—” She pushed him further back in the box, out of Emily’s earshot
entirely. “Nor am I of a mind to tell her.”
    “Was m’mother brutal , ma’am?”
    “That may be putting it too strongly, but she was rather—well,
yes. I do think you might be a little careful of what you do, for Emmy’s
comfort if not for mine or your own; if your mamma so dislikes the idea of
Emily—of course, she thought I was a shameless older woman,
twining my desperate toils about you, and I know not what else, but even so...”
    “But you , ma’am? She thought you was Emily? I beg
your pardon, but Mamma surely knows better than that! Why, you’re old enough to
be my—my—” here he foundered, embarrassed.
    “Your older sister?” she suggested evenly.
    “Exactly!” Dom missed the irony of her tone. “I’m sorry if
Mamma was a plaguey nuisance, but I’ll see to it that it don’t happen again.”
    Jenny smiled, wondering how Dom intended to accomplish this
feat. “It isn’t myself I would worry for, Dom. I shall be out of London and
back at my aunt’s house sooner or later. But Emily is a part of this life, and
your mamma could make it most uncomfortable for her in London. I should hate to
see that happen.”
    “Well, so should I,” Dom agreed stoutly. “But I say, Jenny,
don’t you think you might pretend to be Emmy for a little, so that Mamma won’t
realize that