As Emma walked up behind the group of suitors, she heard Cloutier say, “She must arrive within the next minute, or I lose!”
“Lose what, my lord?” Emma stepped into the circle.
Lady Lettice jumped. Her skin turned ruddy with displeasure, all the way down to her amply displayed breasts, and she snapped, “Where did you come from, girl?”
“The ladies’ convenience, as you commanded.” Emma extended the handkerchief.
Lady Lettice plucked it out of her palm. “It’s wadded up, and too wet. You stupid girl, can’t you do anything right? Must I instruct you in every nuance? To think that you are the best the Distinguished Academy of Governesses had to offer is simply—” With a flip of the wrist, she opened the handkerchief.
And a tiny, still-wiggling goldfish slipped out and down her cleavage.
She screamed. Leaped to her feet, slapping at her chest. Screamed again.
The dancing stuttered to a stop.
The men around her backed away and burst into hearty laughter.
And a horrified Emma Chegwidden backed away, murmuring, “I am ruined.”