“Then I will find new ones.” She spoke confidently, not sure how she would do that. “It is difficult to expand the subscriptions unless there is a regular publishing schedule, so if I am serious about this I need to consider what it will be.”
“Quarterly would be acceptable.”
Clara trusted Althea’s judgment. That her friend now advised more cautious growth meant it was a path to be taken seriously.
Althea reached for one of the cakes. “Lady Grace is so funny. She grabbed one of these right away, but we had to listen to her sayoh, I shouldn’tthree times while she ate it. I wish women would not do that. Either enjoy the sin or don’t commit it, I say. And having embraced the sin, do not fret later about how it might make you stout.”
“Sin freely or not at all, you mean.”
“Exactly. Perhaps I will write my next essay about that. It is a viewpoint women need to hear.”
Clara wondered if Althea would only discuss eating cakes in that essay. Knowing Althea, probably not. Other sins would come into her argument. Althea was nothing if not logical and consistent.
“Is that how you live, Althea? Do you sin freely?”
“The evidence is that I do not sin at all. You did not see me devouring your cakes today.”
“I am not talking about cakes.”
Althea turned her whole body in Clara’s direction. “What are you asking me?”
Althea was probably Clara’s closest friend now, but she found she could not say what she meant.
“Are you asking me if I have had affairs, Clara?”
“Of course not. That would be rude and bold.”
“But you would not mind if I confided in you, correct?”
“Please do not. I should never have blurted that.” She leaned forward and grasped the sherry decanter. “Rather suddenly this looks appealing.”
“Do not apologize. You are curious. As am I. I wonder why this topic is of interest to you now.”
Clara drank rather more of the sherry than was normal for her. It gave her something to do while she found a way out of this conversation.
“Have you contemplated taking a lover?” Althea asked. “Is that the real reason you moved here, or at least one of them?”
“I have no need of a lover. At least not now. I simply wondered if as women mature, they find their views on such matters changing.”
“Most definitely. If yours are changing, you are not unusual. We are not girls anymore.”
So there it was. She was not unusual to find herself indifferent to the rules with which she was terrorized as a girl. Not unusual to be fascinated by pleasures long denied her. She supposed part of the change was that she now had much less to lose.
“Of course,” Althea continued, “your situation is not quite the same as mine. I am a widow. You are not. That does make a difference. I am sure that you understand that.”
“Too well. No one would raise her eyebrows on hearingyouhad set upyourown household, I am sure.”
“I doubt eyebrows would rise more than a fraction if I took a lover, as you wondered. You, on the other hand . . .” Althea reached over to give her hand a gentle squeeze. “It is the curse of the unmarried woman, I suppose. All those notions about virtue and innocence hang on such women forever. Even Lady Farnsworth, who prides herself on her liberality, would not approve if you took up with some man. Nor would he escape unscathed after taking advantage of you.”
I cannot claim he took advantage. I would like to, but I cannot.
Jocelyn came in to take away the tray. Before reaching for it, she removed a letter from her apron pocket and handed it to Clara.
Althea had risen to prepare to leave, but she halted when she spied the letter. “It looks important. Superior paper and a very fine hand. And postpaid.”
Clara opened it so she could satisfy both of their curiosities. “This is odd. I barely know him.” She handed the letter over to Althea. “The Duke of Brentworth has invited me to a party next week. A garden party.”
“He is said to have the finest in town. Garden, I mean. What is this here about your sister?”
