of eavesdropping, but the people within were speaking so loudly, I could not help but overhear.
“If you wish me to catch a husband, rusticating in the country will do me no good.” Cynthia’s strident tones rang. “The only bachelors for miles are a fourteen-year-old boy and Mr. Weir the farmer next door, who is eighty-two. Do you see me as a doting farmer’s wife?”
“Cynthia, darling, do not be so droll.” A weary female voice floated past Cynthia’s adamance, but the words held steel. “Of course there are plenty of young men near Ardeley Hall. Many of our friends have sons, and they’ve retired to the country for the summer. I cannot imagine how you remain here in London, with the heat and the stink.”
“It smells better than endless cowpats,” Cynthia said.
“Ha.” A man’s voice, rather high-pitched and languid, joined in. “Cynthia, darling, you do say the most amusing things. But really, dear girl, how pleasant can it be for you staying here with my brother-in-law and his dreary wife?”
I wondered, wincing, if the Bywaters were at home to hear him. Or perhaps Lord Clifford did not care whom he skewered with his opinions.
“Better than rattling around a manor house with a leaky roof,” was Cynthia’s rejoinder. “Why you wanted that pile of bricks, Papa, I cannot fathom.”
Lord Clifford chuckled breathlessly. “Yes, yes. Highly amusing.”
“My friends are in London,” Cynthia went on. “But you needn’t worry about me enduring the heat and stink this summer—Miss Townsend has a house at the seaside, and she’s invited Bobby and me to stay with her for a few weeks.”
“Cynthia, you know my views on Lady Roberta,” Lady Clifford said, her dying-away voice full of disapproval.
“You barely know her, Mummy. She’s a good egg with intelligent conversation.”
“She wears trousers.” Lady Clifford pronounced the words as though Bobby, Cynthia’s closest friend, regularly drowned children. “And cuts off her hair. Please tell me she has grown out of such crudeness.”
“Not a bit of it. Miss Townsend’s respectable enough. And bloody rich.”
“Oh dear. Your language.” Lady Clifford’s voice held distress. “You are already a hopeless bluestocking, Cynthia. If you become any more mannish, no gentleman will want you.”
“Excellent. I’ll keep it up, then.”
“I do despair of you. Your sister married, and see what she gained?”
“A husband who chased his maids before she . . .” Cynthia trailed off with a cough. Her sister had died not long after I’d come to work here. She’s been mistress of this house. Lord Rankin, the husband in question, had moved to Surrey in his grief but allowed Cynthia and her aunt and uncle to stay here and run his London home for him.
Lord Clifford cleared his throat. “What your mother means is that Emily married well, and there’s no reason you shouldn’t. Be in charge of your own household—wouldn’t that be better than gadding about London as an eccentric?”
“You were plenty eccentric when you were my age, Papa,” Cynthia observed. “Is being lord of the manor better than that? Or has life grown deadly dull?”
Another chuckle. “My dear, you do have a sharp tongue.”
“Only when I speak the truth. I don’t want to leave London. I am happy here. I have friends—respectable ones—though I can’t imagine why either of you have begun worrying about that. Auntie has been going on to you, hasn’t she?”
“Your aunt has your best wishes at heart,” Lady Clifford said. “However, nothing needs to be decided today. We will stay in London for some time, enough for you to have some summer gowns made.”
“Gowns, eh?” Cynthia huffed. “Where will we find the money for that?”
“Now, daughter.” Lord Clifford lost his amusement. “Do not twit me about funds. I have plenty.”
“Do you? Who did you swindle them from?”
“Cynthia,” Lord Clifford said, aghast. “Really.”
“Do apologize to your father.” The steel in Lady Clifford’s voice increased.
“You know Papa is not much more than a confidence trickster, Mummy. Why have you truly come to London?”
“Your mother told you.” Lord Clifford’s voice hardened. “To fetch you home. Your aunt has given us many stories about you, including you swanning about in gentleman’s attire and associating with a cook, of all people.”
The cook in question was me. I hoped Lady Cynthia would deny our friendship and maintain the peace, but when Cynthia lost her temper, she did not guard her words.
“The cook you dismiss is a fine human being and far kinder to me than you two have ever been. I’ve watched you drinking with stevedores, Papa, so do not admonish me about