Page 39 of The Scandalous Spinster

“I’m here for you,” he insisted. “To keep you safe.”

“Why?” she asked plainly.

“What?”

“You heard me. Why? Why would care about keeping me safe?”

“You are alone.”

Pride drew her up, snapped her spine straight. He wasn’t wrong, and it was nothing to be ashamed of.

Still. She had her books and the Spinsters. It was more than many people had. She did not want his pity.

She wanted so much more.

What a time to admit it to herself. She forced a smile. “Thank you, Captain Thorn.”

He frowned as she moved around him and into the chatter of the house party garden. “What just happened?”

Chapter Fourteen

The lady’s maid who came to help Clara get ready for the evening was frazzled and overworked. She smiled but looked as though she had not slept in days. Margaret was tall, with a tidy uniform and a basket of supplies for hairstyles and cosmetics. She was also slightly out of breath and had likely already been helping ladies with their corsets and hair tongs for hours now. Clara caught the longing glance she sent toward the direction of her tea tray.

Mrs. Meadows continued to make good on her promise and had clearly decided that feeding Bram was going to be her new mission. Clara had never seen so much cheese. The trays never stopped arriving. There three types of scones at minimum, preserves, honey, and cake. Sometimes cucumber salad, always meat pies of one kind or another. Always tins of shortbread.

Margaret curtsied a greeting. “Lady Clara, what should you like? Ringlets? Rouge?”

Clara smiled. As if she could wear rouge. She would like to one day. It would be nice to not always be the color of porridge. “If you could help me with my stays, that would be lovely. I can manage my own hair.”

There was not much to manage, very little frippery, no soft curls or clever twists. Maragret’s expression said as much. “Of course, my lady.”

“I do have some questions for you.”

“Oh?” she said noncommittally, coming to tie Clara’s corset laces and help her with her gown in less time than it would have taken for Clara to pour her a cup of tea.

“Impressive,” Clara murmured. “But you must be tired. There are dozens and dozens of ladies here, and they could not all have traveled with their own maids.”

“House parties are busy,” Margaret agreed. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Of course not—I only mean to say your time is valuable, and I shouldn’t wish to overextend you. Why don’t you sit and have some tea while I do my own hair?”

“In exchange for what?” Margaret asked suspiciously, even as she edged toward the chair and the promised tea.

“Oh, you’re a clever one.” Clara grinned. “That will make this much easier.” She waved for Margaret to help herself. “Have more honey. I only want to know about Miss Taunton,” she said. “She is my cousin and I have not seen her in some time, but apparently she is off to the seaside with the marquis’s ward. Unfortunate timing on both our parts.”

Margaret paused with her cup on the way to her mouth, but only for a moment. “Yes.”

“Do you know her well?”

“A little. She did mention a cousin, actually.”

“I’m glad. It’s been some time. She had pigtails last we saw each other. Is she happy in her post, do you think?” That was something a cousin would ask, wasn’t it?

“I think so, though it’s very staid for someone so…”

“Spirited?” Clara suggested, grinning. Sybil was Sybil. “When we were little, she once dressed a duke’s donkey in his favorite frock coat, embroidered in Italy. He wept.” That was two months ago, actually. And that duke had deserved it.

Margaret’s smile softened, became more natural. She helped herself to an iced currant bun. “That sounds like her. However did she become a chaperone?”