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A minute later, Clara returned to Miss Sterling, dressed her in her gown, and managed to pull off a stunning fashion with her dark brown hair curled and coerced to appear regal.

Miss Sterling looked at it back and forth in the mirror. “Clara, you are a miracle worker.”

Clara grinned. She secured Miss Sterling’s pearl pendant at the nape of her neck before stepping back. “I’m pleased you approve, Miss Sterling.”

“I cannot wait to see what you concoct tomorrow.”

Clara nodded her gratitude again, then stepped back.

“Now, I’m off,” Miss Sterling said. “Wish me luck. There is a man here who I wished never to see again.”

With a curtsy, Clara watched Miss Sterling leave before she was left alone to tidy the room herself.

Harriet typically looked after this chamber, but Clara thought to save her new friend some time, so she turned down the covers and stoked the fire before laying out the dressing gown for Miss Sterling that evening—though she’d be back to help her dress down much later on.

It was strange being on the other side of these parties and events. Ashamedly, she never really gave much thought to her lady’s maid when she’d lived comfortably with Mother and Father. If she ever found Father’s solicitor, and if she ever returned to lead a life of luxury, she would not waste a single moment in showing her gratitude to the help.

Speaking of gratitude, did she need to express hers to Mr. Cole? After all, his keeping his mouth shut had been the very thing to allow her to progress to a temporary lady’s maid.

Then again, why did she need to thank him for finally being the gentleman he claimed to be? The short answer was, she didn’t.

So she wouldn’t.

Anyway, he should be thanking her for not spilling her bucket of soiled water across the entire length of him.

She smiled at the memory, then left Miss Sterling’s room behind to go about the rest of her never-ending work.

Eight

Oliver had been looking forward to the parlor games that evening. He knew Lady Dalmeer had plans to match certain men and women together, so after discovering the woman from the inn—who’d been seated between her two parents—was Miss Tabitha Bowles, another attendee of the house party, he was quite pleased.

More than that, he would be seated next to her throughout the next few weeks for every meal, which was more than satisfactory. She proved a fine enough seat companion, though she did speak more than Oliver cared.

George Newton was seated near a lovely young woman, as well—a Miss Leah Sterling. She had a kind look about her, so Oliver no longer had to worry about cheering up his friend throughout dinner either.

When the time came to retire to the drawing room, however, Oliver was more than ready for the speaking to be over and for the games to begin.

His tactic was always to play terribly so he might pay as many forfeits as possible. This was how he narrowed down which woman was more likely to want affection—and which ones clearly wanted nothing to do with him.

Fortunately, Lady Dalmeer seemed quite eager to assign forfeits at even the slightest mishap—Oliver standing too still, George being too gloomy, Miss Stroud not paying close enough attention.

During one of the games, Oliver did his best to pretend he was dodging out of the way from Miss Fuller, who was acting as the blind man in the middle. But he gained a forfeit for moving too swiftly out of the way.

At this rate, he’d be delivering over a hundred kisses in the next few weeks.

“When a man relies on his supposed charm to impress a woman over his own intellect, it is always a warning that she ought to flee in the opposite direction.”

Clara’s words suddenly echoed in Oliver’s mind, and he faltered, remaining in his place and forgetting about the game entirely. He’d done well at shutting out the woman’s attacking words, but now, they repeated over and over again.

“She ought to flee in the opposite direction, if only to save herself from dull experiences—whether that be speaking or something far more intimate—for both would prove to deaden her own intellect when engaging in such interactions with a man like you.”

He shook his head, attempting to rid his mind of the intrusive words, but Lady Dalmeer bestowed upon him another forfeit for seemingly becoming frustrated with the game.

He wasn’t about to protest the countess, so he merely smiled and shrugged. Ah, well. He’d received what he’d wanted, hadn’t he? Another forfeit to kiss another woman—which was his primary goal at this house party.

No matter what some haughty servant said to him.

By the end of the evening, Oliver had earned three forfeits, as Lady Dalmeer had eventually focused her forfeits on poor George, who had to pay over eight of them for his “lack of effort” that evening.