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“And mostly I’d rather be in the library with a good book.”

Selene laughed. “Me too.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Except for the grotto, of course.”

“Um…”

She laughed harder. “There’s no need to be ashamed.”

“I’m not. Exactly. It’s just…my reputation.”

“Ah yes, the holy reputation of a lady. I remember it well enough. It was dismal and exceedingly tiresome.”

“You do?”

“I am a viscount’s youngest daughter,” Selene said. “Or was, before he disowned me. After I ran away with a very handsome lad who was very good at lying and had no intention of taking us all the way to Gretna Green.”

“I hope you made him suffer.”

“Eventually.” She poured more tea into her cup. “His wife is very pretty. And she likes me best.”

“Would you ever…” Clara hoped she wasn’t about to cause offense. None of her books dealt with the etiquette of a conversation like this. “Would you ever consider telling me what you know of the marquis? What his rooms look like?” She must sound mad. “Anything unusual, say?”

Selene paused, then looked delighted. “You’re a Spinster!”

“That’s hardly news.”

“No, a Spinster.”

Clara blinked. “You’ve heard of us?”

“Of course I have. I’m quite jealous, you know. I did a bit of espionage during the war, but it sounds much more interesting to take down those who want to keep us in cages.”

“You must know all about them. The men on our lists. Some of the ladies too.”

Selene nodded. “More than I’d like, mostly. But a woman has to eat. I do not care for hunger. Or sewing.”

“Would you help me? If it weren’t dangerous? I would pay, of course.”

Selene tilted her head, watching her for a long moment. “Yes, I think I would. And do you know why?”

Clara shook her head.

“Because you haven’t once looked down your nose at me, Lady Clara Prescott. I can’t tell you how rare that is.”

“I feel the same way, I assure you. You haven’t looked down your nose at me.”

Selene winked. “And it sounds like fun.”

“I might have…other questions.” Questions the Nightingale wanted answered.

“Everyone does.”

Clara could not ask them, though they crowded on her tongue. Mrs. Meadows laughed from the doorstep.

“She’s sweet on him.” Selene smiled.

Mrs. Meadows knocked before entering, followed by a maidservant bearing a new tray. This one was heaped with dishes of coddled eggs and ham and potatoes roasted with chives, all on painted porcelain.

She clicked her tongue at the tray already on the table. “Now who in the world brought you this?”