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The crowd clapped, and Clara did her best to pretend she was invisible. She supposed it didn’t matter now anyway, though. Tomorrow would be her last day at the house. Perhaps she ought to deliver a brilliant exit. Call out Miss Bowles, ask Lord Dalmeer to dance, or become drunk off the refreshments.

“It may appear a bit scandalous,” Lady Dalmeer continued, “but what is Twelfth Night without a bit of fun? That being said, let us bring out the twelfth night cake for all to enjoy—including our unusual guests.”

A few footmen brought forth trays and trays of the cake cut into small squares. Clara had seen the cook concocting the delicacies all afternoon and was rather pleased to be able to taste them herself, if only to compliment Mrs. Jennet on her skills.

“Now,” Lady Dalmeer continued with a twinkle to her eye, “as per usual, the man who finds the bean in his slice shall become the king this evening, while the woman who finds the pea shall become queen. The cake is no respecter of status, so beware—we may be bowing to the butler this evening!”

She giggled behind her glove, but the crowd didn’t respond.

“Go on, now, go on!” her ladyship encouraged, and the crowds shifted toward the tables to try their hand at luck that evening.

Clara, however, remained behind the shuffle forward, allowing the other servants to walk uncertainly away from their place near the wall.

She wished for no attention that evening, so she would not be partaking in the tradition. Instead, she would remain near the wall and pray that her horrible grey dress didn’t cause her to stand out too terribly against the deep red curtains she stood beside.

“Clara! You came!”

Clara forced her eyes up, spotting Miss Sterling as she came toward her with a happy smile and a piece of cake in each of her hands.

Clara forced a grin. She had not been planning to attend the ball, but when Miss Sterling had sent a note, specifically requesting she joined with the others, Clara had been unable to refuse.

“I’m so pleased to see you again,” Miss Sterling continued, stopping right before her. “How I’ve missed you.”

“Thank you, Miss Sterling,” Clara said humbly. She’d missed the woman, as well. Seeing her now was bittersweet, for she knew she would never speak with her again after this. “I fear I cannot stay for long, though. I’ve still bedchambers to see to.”

“That is all right. Oh, here.” Miss Sterling shoved one of the pieces of cake toward Clara. “You must take one of these so I do not look the porker.”

Clara couldn’t deny the woman’s kindness, taking a small bite of the cake, the icing and fruit melting over her tongue with its sweet, buttery taste.

Miss Sterling’s eyes were on the cake with an odd intensity that made Clara pause. She peered down at the icing, afraid a piece of hair was on it, but Miss Sterling blinked and stole her gaze away.

“Are you having a pleasant evening?” she asked.

Clara nodded. “Quite, thank you. And yourself?”

Miss Sterling focused again on Clara’s cake, her own remaining untouched. “Oh, certainly. But do eat. I’d hate for your cake to go to waste.”

“Do you not wish to sample your own?” Clara asked.

“Oh, of course.”

She took a bite of hers, though her eyes darted toward the table.

Clara couldn’t make sense of what the woman seemed so anxious about. She looked toward the table herself, then, but as if an invisible force tied her to him, Clara instantly found Mr. Cole. His dark eyes were already focused on her as he stood near his cousin, eating his own cake. He looked away swiftly, however, and Clara refocused her attention on Miss Sterling.

Had Mr. Cole finally seen sense? Would he now avoid Clara because he realized that attaching himself to her could very well lead to his own rejection from Society—and that of his sisters?

“This is delicious, is it not?” Miss Sterling asked, motioning to Clara’s piece once more. “Do be sure to eat every last bite. I wouldn’t want you to go hungry.”

Clara narrowed her eyes, though she took another bite, if only to satisfy Miss Sterling. Clara assumed the woman was simply concerned for her well-being, but when a sudden savory taste spread over her tongue instead of the sweetness of the usual cake, she paused, and pulled out a half-eaten pea.

“Oh, my goodness,” Miss Sterling said with a bright smile and the most forced look of surprise Clara had ever seen. “It appears you have found the pea.” She turned around to the gathered group. “Clara has found it! Clara is our queen!”

Clara’s cheeks reddened. “No, Miss Sterling,” she whispered vehemently. “You must take credit for it. After all, you chose the piece of cake. It could have been yours had you not given it to me.”

“No, no,” she said, raising her hands in protest. “What is fair is fair.”

Her eyes twinkled brighter than the candles above as she pulled her to Lady Dalmeer. Clara followed along, aware of all the eyes upon her. She noted Miss Bowles looking utterly displeased, but Clara raised her chin as she swept past her.