Chapter 119
The language of the fan. To hold it in front of her face? I am hot. To hold it closed? No idea. To hold it open, covering her mouth? How about, wafting the champagne she could taste on her breath?
"Lady Winterbourne, such a faux pas when you are a married lady."
She jerked her chin around. What she was really doing was hoping Stillmore might behave a little more dutifully-what was fan language for get over here and look as if I am the whole world to you? Now that Babs Langley stood there, she snapped the fan shut.
"Do you mean women should abandon the right to a glass of champagne when they're married?" With a husband as disagreeable as Stillmore, a woman would be in a bad way.
"May I?"
Before Splendor could say she may not, the neighboring cushion sank ever so slightly beneath Lady Langley's silk clad derriere. Not quite scarlet to match the kind of woman she was, but red enough. "Slowly ...Slowly ... "
"Do you speak of the way to lower yourself into a seat? Or-"