“Who’s that woman?” Shapland asked in a break from the dancing. “She’s been standing in the corner for half an hour, watching us.”
Kate followed Shapland’s glance and smiled, casually waving her fan to cool her glowing face. “That’s Leah Lightfoot,” she said. “My new companion and personal maid.” She lowered her voice, although the noise of the ball would mask anything she said. “Her husband died on one of Smith’s ships so that she might be useful. I am cultivating her.”
“You clever woman,” Shapland approved. “Bring her over here, Kate. I want to talk to her.”
When Kate lifted an imperious hand and crooked her finger, Leah pointed to herself, curtseyed, lifted her skirt and scurried across the floor, avoiding the dancers.
“Yes, ma’am?” She curtsied again, avoiding looking at Shapland.
