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“What’s happened?” he asked carefully. “Are you unwell?”

She blinked swiftly, ridding herself of her tears and thinning her lips as she stuffed the two letters from her hand into her reticule.

“Of course I am well, sir,” she said stiffly. “Why would I not be?”

Sir? When was the last time she’d called him that?

“Forgive me, but you do not appear well,” he said ever softer.

She was upset, as clear as day. But he had no idea why.

“That is an unkind thing to say to a woman,” she said. “Even a housemaid. At any rate. I must leave you. Good day.”

She curtsied, raised her chin, then stormed away.

Oliver stared after her, utterly stunned. He remained rooted to his place near the post-office before giving his head a little shake and pursuing her. “Clara, please, wait a moment.”

He caught up with her with his long stride in an instant, but Clara didn’t cease her quick pacing. “I must return to Bellthorne, sir. Excuse me.”

“I’m headed there now myself,” he said. “Allow me to escort you back.”

“That will be unnecessary.”

“Why?”

“Because half the household is in town today, and I shouldn’t be seen with you if I wish to keep my place at Bellthorne—as I’ve mentioned countless times before.”

She had every right to be nervous, but in all honesty, the town was heaving. If anyone did see them together, they wouldn’t take a second glance at Clara.

Anyway, he had a feeling her clipped words and testy behavior had nothing to do with being seen and entirely to do with something else.

She couldn’t have seen him down that alleyway, though, could she?

“Clara, I have something to give you,” he attempted again, remaining at her side as she stormed through the crowds.

“Oh, do you?” she asked, scorn dripping through her words. “Allow me to guess what it is—the very same you’ve given Hannah Radcliffe?”

His heart twisted with pain. She had seen, then.

He shook his head, an urgency to explain what had truly occurred causing a panic to rise within him. “Please, Clara, allow me to explain. It was not what it looked like.”

“Difficult to make a kiss look like anything but, sir.”

“It was a kiss, but it was not mutual⁠—”

“Oh, wonderful. You’ve regressed further than I thought, then.”

“No, not from her side, but⁠—”

Suddenly, Clara stopped, facing him directly. A few townspeople stopped, eying them with intrigue before walking past, but Clara hardly seemed to notice as she glared up at him.

“This is all a game, is it not?” she asked. “You lie to the women you cannot conquer, tell them you’ve changed, then get them to beg for you.”

An older woman with wide eyes and a look of disapproval walked by, and Oliver grimaced, lowering his tone to counteract Clara’s raised voice. “That is not true. I⁠—”

“Do you even have sisters?” she interrupted.

“Of course I do. Why would I concoct a lie about⁠—”