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Her friend regarded her thoughtfully. “Oh dear, is it really that bad?” she asked drawing off her gloves. “It is so difficult to find a playwright of good quality these days.”

“It is not the quality that troubles me,” blurted Fen. “But rather, the subject matter!”

“Indeed?” Hester Schaeffer’s eyebrows shot into her hairline. “Pray do tell. No!” she said throwing up an elegant hand. “On second thought, allow me to guess!” She chose the seat facing away from the window and selected a piece of marchpane that Trudy had set out for them.

Fen watched her distractedly.

“Patricide!” her friend ventured with her eyes glowing.

“Nay.”

“Matricide?”

“’Tis not murder of any kind.”

“Oh, not incest again,” sighed Hester in disapproval. “One gets so tired of it!”

“Suicide!” burst out Fen. “Of a lady most unhappily thrown over by her husband.”

Hester leant back in her seat with a thoughtful expression. “Oh I see,” she said. “Clever Mr Entner.”

“Clever?” echoed Fen wringing her hands. “Everyone will think I put him up to it!”

“And what if they do?” shrugged her friend. “Tis considered a vastly elegant way of getting revenge on an enemy. Having a thinly veiled insult acted out to them as a play.”

“Is it?”

“Why of course, my sweet Fenella. Why do you suppose Sir Inverdale sponsored that piece of theatre last year that set everyone by their ears? Lady Jarrow’s Innocence.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” admitted Fen dully. She picked up a piece of marchpane and ate it distractedly, barely even registering what it tasted like.

“I forget Thane kept you buried in the country,” sighed Hester. “Well, it was naught but a cleverly concealed barb, about the checkered history of Lord Heber’s third wife. Everyone knew she was the mistress of the Earl of Wallace.”

Fen tapped her foot impatiently. She was not one whit interested in any of these awful sounding people! “But-”

Lady Schaeffer held up a hand again. “No, no my dear Fenella. You must allow yourself to be led by me in such things. Depend upon it, you are upsetting yourself over naught.”

Fen chewed on her bottom lip. Could Hester be right?

“Why don’t I read it?” suggested her friend.

“Oh, would you?” said Fen eagerly. “Now that really would reassure me!”

“Of course,” said Hester soothingly. “Now, pray put it completely out of your mind, for I want to tell you what Andrew said to me as soon as you and Lord Vawdrey left us last night.”

Fen, who was in the act of tidying all the papers together into one pile, abruptly stopped. “What did Lord Schaeffer say?”

“He said that, despite the fact he refused to listen to rumor as a matter of principle, he could see that everything being bandied about regarding yours and Lord Vawdrey’s marriage was entirely true.” Hester sat back in her seat with an expression of utmost satisfaction. “Now what do you say to that, my dear?”

Fen paled and stared down at her hands on her lap. “I don’t know what is being bandied about,” she said with a helpless shrug.

“My dear,” admonished Hester. “What about your servants? Have you not been interrogating them?”

“No,” admitted Fen. “Trudy did tell me some gossip on her first day, but I didn’t think I ought to encourage it.”

Hester rolled her eyes. “How else are you supposed to find out what is doing the rounds? Unless you have a gossipy friend or two.” Her eyes were roaming around the room with a faint pucker between her brows. “My dear, who is that positively gloomy child?” she asked staring at Fen’s portrait.

Fen puffed out her cheeks in frustration. “Hester, please!”