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“Not at all,” she responded. “Many have caught my eye.” She gave Harriet a sly look, and the woman responded with a stifled smile of her own.

“The earl is particularly handsome,” Harriet whispered even quieter than before. “I hope I’m pulled into his group. I wouldn’t mind observing him for the rest of the afternoon.”

“Which one is he?” Clara asked.

“Dark hair, handsome smile. He’s speaking with Miss Prescott and Mr. Fowell.”

Clara found the three of them standing together as Miss Caldwell and Lady Dalmeer approached them. Lady Dalmeer spent a few moments shuffling the men and women around with firm directions, though Lord Dalmeer edged slightly closer to Miss Prescott with his easy smile.

Clara had to agree, Lady Dalmeer’s son was handsome. Remarkably so—just like many of the men there.

Yet, her eyes continually shifted to Mr. Cole. His unkempt hair, not pomaded like the rest. His cravat slightly crumpled. A devil-may-care look in his eye and on his lips.

That roguish charm of his certainly was appealing, and he knew it. Despicable man.

His eyes met hers in that moment, and she took a sharp but quiet inhale before looking straight ahead.

Blast. He’d caught her. Now he knew she was there. Who knew what manner of mischief he’d get up to in order to seek revenge after the water incident?

As Lady Dalmeer continued her less-than-inconspicuous matchmaking attempts, Clara waited with the rest of the help until the groups were ushered out of doors, a few of them pulling a footman from the row when in need, though many of the groups chose to go out without the extra hands.

One-by-one, the footmen left until only the maids were left. Clara fidgeted, her toes wiggling in her boots as her anxiety increased, for Mr. Cole’s group remained near the back.

As Harriet was pulled away by a gentleman—who was decidedly less handsome than the earl—and his wife, Clara nearly snuck away to join them, but in the last moment, Mr. Cole arrived and singled her out, exactly as she’d been expecting him to.

“Let us bring a stout maid with us,” he said, pointing her out to his group. “While I pride myself on my own strength, I do plan on winning the competition, so any extra hands to carry all the greenery we shall obtain will be much appreciated.”

Clara felt her brows pull closer together. Stout. Never in her life had she been described as stout. Tall, yes. Sturdy, perhaps. But stout? That was used to describe gentlemen.

“She does look rather robust, does she not?” Miss Bowles said with a laugh behind her dark-gloved hand.

Clara was taller than Miss Bowles by at least half a foot. But Clara was also thinner than Miss Bowles—no doubt thanks to the last seven weeks of eating mere scraps for every meal.

Would she could be robust.

“Come along,” Miss Bowles’s father chided from the doorway. “We must make haste or all the good greenery shall be gone.”

“Oh, Father,” Miss Bowles said. “The estate is so large, there’s no possible chance of that happening.”

The four of them walked toward the door, and Clara hesitated. Perhaps they’d leave without noticing that she didn’t join them.

A moment later, Mr. Cole turned around to face her. “Come along, Clara. You mustn’t dawdle. We’ve greenery to fetch.”

The daring twinkle in his eye made her want to march toward him and slap it soundly away. Instead, she closed her eyes, drew a deep breath, and imagined herself taking part in the pleasurable action before following behind the smaller group in silence.

“How did you know her name?” Miss Bowles asked with a smile, though her eyes stared back at Clara in the way Mrs. Wintle’s did so very often.

“She was charged with seeing to my room before my arrival,” Mr. Cole replied, offering his arm to Miss Bowles and walking ahead of Clara. He dropped his voice, though made no effort to hide his words from her. “I had to call her back because she did such a poor job.”

Miss Bowles shook her head disapprovingly. “You know, there are a few maids of the same sort here, I’m shocked to say. Only last night I was expecting my gown to be brought up when the maid who was tasked the assignment was so late, I nearly didn’t make it to dinner at all.”

“Despicable,” Mr. Cole chided.

Clara stared at the back of Miss Bowles’s thick, dark hair. The woman didn’t even realize Clara was the same maid. It was just as well. After Miss Sterling’s warning, Clara didn’t want to be noticed by her anyway.

As the group headed out of doors, Clara did her best to dwell on how lovely it was to feel the fresh air once more after being inside for nearly three days. But enjoying the chill on the air and the beauty of the frosted grass and bare tree limbs was made difficult with Miss Bowles’s constant flirting with Mr. Cole.

“Oh, Mr. Cole. How marvelous you are.”