How to Marry an Earl (A Cinderella Society 1)

Priya laughed. “I’m sorry I missed it. I do love watching them realize you know more than they do.”

“You’re the only one who does. And to be fair, most of the earls and viscounts prefer to fund the expeditions rather than actually join them.” She’d have given her left foot to join an expedition.

“Never mind them, they are dull as cold tea. Why else would I prefer hiding in the shrubbery?”

“You’ve been out of society for a long time, perhaps you’ve lost your touch,” Persephone chuckled.

“Bite your tongue,” Priya said, rising to the challenge. It wasn’t her manners she was proud of, but her preternatural ability to ferret out secrets. “Sir Avon has a tiny poodle he brings everywhere. She eats roses and pate and bites everyone. That’s where he got that scar, though he tells everyone he got it fighting off a cutpurse. And that lady over there in the corner is determined to prove she can swim across the Channel. I can’t think why.”

Persephone darted in for a quick hug. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I you. Where are the other Cinderellas?”

There were eleven goddaughters at last count, but only five unmarried or still in England. One was a hermit who had not left her house in years. “Just you and I, I’m afraid,” she said. “Meg and Tamsin ought to be here any moment, I should think.”

“And Clara?” Priya wrinkled her nose.

“Tomorrow.”

“Pity.”

“Perhaps she’s mellowed.”

“Doubtful.”

Clara was rather high-strung, it had to be said. She was the only Cinderella obsessed with manners and deportment and sharp about it. The others generally enjoyed the softer edges that came with ducal connections. Priya was not out much in Society, but she prided herself on knowing everything about everyone. The patronesses at Almack’s begged to have her and her secrets in their ranks, but she refused every time they asked. She was particular on how she weaponized her talents.

“I knew we’d find you back here,” Tamsin exclaimed, poking her head through the ferns. Her red hair caught the lamplight as she dragged Meg behind her.

“Speak of the devil,” Priya grinned as they exchanged hugs.

“Our carriage broke a wheel,” Tamsin explained. “Or we would have been here much earlier.”

“It was kind of Lady Culpepper to invite us to dine,” Meg added. Her eyes were a startling blue, her smile quiet but heartfelt.

Priya narrowed one eye in her direction. “She’s only looking for the duke’s approval.”

“Still.”

“You’re too thin, Meg. I hope you plan on eating her out of house and home tonight.”

“That’s what I said!” Tamsin interjected. “Skin and bones. And paint, of course.”

Meg wrinkled her nose, rubbing at the dab of paint on the edge of her sleeve. “You said no one would notice.”

“You’re always covered in paint,” Tamsin shrugged. “So no one will.”

“Is your uncle not feeding you?” Priya demanded. The glint in her eye was clear. Here was a possible secret. And one that might be causing her friend harm. Meg threw a pleading look at Persephone. Sometimes bearing the brunt of Priya’s affection took reinforcements.

“Tamsin, have you added anything new to your collection?” Persephone asked, changing the subject.

Tamsin’s face brightened. “I have. Oh, nothing distinguished enough for your lot, of course. But I’m well pleased.”

It was a noted side effect of being one of the Cinderellas: when your godfather the duke was enamored of all things antiquarian, you tended to be brought up exposed to such pursuits. Even if you didn’t live in Little Barrow like Persephone. Tamsin’s own interests lay in the more unique and macabre. Her entire house was a cabinet of curiosities full of tarot cards, bones, and crystal balls more suited to a traveling circus. She didn’t care for provenance, only stories, the stranger the better.

“I’ve located a Hand of Glory,” she continued, excitedly. Meg sent Persephone a grateful smile. “I’m sure it’s not authentic but it is frightfully gruesome,” she added, cheerfully.

“Dare I ask what a Hand of Glory is?” Priya inquired drily.