“Rot that. I should be able to speak to anyone I damn well please, and take a cup of tea with them without my relations condemning me and sacking you. Ridiculous that a man can share his deepest secrets and best malt whisky with his valet, but I can’t have a chat with the cook without endangering us both.”

“More than having a chat. We have become friends.” My voice was weak, but I knew in my heart this was true. “Your aunt warned me months ago that I was becoming too familiar with you, that I should cease. She threatened to dismiss me then, remember?”

“Why shouldn’t I be friends with you? Never mind you work in a kitchen and I live off my family and can’t afford my own boots. If minds are companionable, the circumstances of the bodies should not signify.”

I smiled shakily. “You have been speaking to Mr. Thanos.” It sounded like something he would say.

“He talks a lot of sense, does Elgin—I mean, Thanos.” Her flush was obvious, even in the darkness. “What shall we do to mend this? I am certain you can find work in any house you like. I can ask about, find a good friend you can cook for who won’t mind me popping in to speak with you.”

“Not so simple if I am dismissed,” I said sadly. “Word gets ’round. I won’t be trusted.”

“Absolute nonsense. Any road, Rankin won’t let you go. You know too much about him and the family scandals to be let out in the world. Auntie misjudges him. But anyone with a title impresses her, including my own scoundrel of a father. Auntie is ecstatic that her husband’s sister—my mum—married an earl, never mind dear papa is one step above a confidence trickster.”

Not much above, from what I had gathered. Cynthia’s father had tricked his way into the earldom—he’d been in line for the title, yes, but a bit further from it than he’d pretended.

“Aristocrats are descended from the worst thugs in history,” Cynthia went on. “But apparently, speaking to a cook is a far worse crime than beggaring serfs. So is remaining unmarried.” She heaved an aggrieved sigh.

Now we’d come to the crux of the matter. “Your aunt believes I encourage you to remain a spinster,” I stated.

“You have nothing to do with my choice, which is what I try to explain to her. If I wish to be a spinster, I should be left to it. But spinster is considered such an ugly word. Don’t know why. No one thinks bachelor a horrible term. But when a woman is a spinster, she is suddenly hideous, shriveled, and unwanted.”

Tears glittered on her cheeks. Cynthia was not one to break down, but I could see she’d been pushed to her limit.