Page 65 of The Scandalous Spinster

“You noticed that too?”

“It’s my job to notice things.”

“I suppose it is.”

“Not to show off,” Selene added, “though I do love to, but I can tell, for instance, that you had quite the evening.”

“I did see a man nearly stabbed.”

“Pish.” She waved that away. “I thought we were becoming friends, however unlikely for an earl’s daughter and someone like me.”

“We are,” Clara said. She liked the other woman. She was straightforward and funny.

“Then why are you fobbing that pathetic lie off on me?” Selene grinned. “I know I well-pleasured woman when I see one.”

Clara pressed her palms to her warm cheeks. “Is it that obvious?”

Selene shrugged elegantly. “My job, remember?”

“I know I’m not supposed to.”

“Supposed to what? Be happy?” Selene outright snorted at that. “There are a thousand things we’re not supposed to do. From what I can tell, you especially should do all of them.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you deserve a little fun. You have the patience of a saint for not stabbing half the people here with your fish fork.”

“He’s not like anyone I’ve ever known,” Clara admitted quietly, reaching for a scone.

“You are still blushing. Good for you. Good for him.”

“I know it can’t last, but…”

“We don’t know anything, not really. After all, should I be sitting here over tea with an earl’s daughter? Invited to supper at a marquis’s table?” Selene broke off a piece of scone as well. “These are truly terrible, though, I must admit. Even considering what Mrs. Meadows thinks of me.”

Clara was thinking the same thing. Yesterday’s scones were drizzled with caramel sauce and served with chocolate pudding dressed with strawberries. These were plain and dry and there was no butter. The tray held enough food for several people, but not the kind generally delivered to guests. Thin beef tea, the end of a chunk of cheese. No delicate bone china here—the plates were glazed brown ceramic.

“Did you see the footman go back to the Hall?” she asked, frowning.

“I think he went that way. I wasn’t paying much attention. Why?”

“Just wondering.” Clara looked out the window where Selene had motioned. The path led back to the Hall, diverting once into the gardens and again toward the grotto. What if this food wasn’t meant for them? What if it was supposed to be delivered to women no one was supposed to know about—say, a ward and her chaperone locked up somewhere on the estate?

“How well do you know the marquis?” Clara asked. She had no proof, only that sense of instinct prodding her.

Selene popped a strawberry into her mouth. She made everything look effortless elegant and sensual, even with her shoes kicked off and her feet drawn under her. “Not terribly well.”

“When did he hire you?”

“He didn’t.”

Clara turned away from her perusal of the paths leading from the dower house. “He didn’t?”

“Devil hired me and my house. He usually does. The marquis just likes to act as though everything is his idea. Why did you come here, if you don’t mind my asking?”

If she wanted Selene to share confidences, Clara supposed she should as well. “I had a friend who was visiting, and I haven’t heard from her in a while.” She shrugged, not nearly as elegantly as Selene had. “And truthfully, ordinarily I would never be invited to a party like this. I wanted to see what the fuss was about.”

“And?”