She started at the touch of Althea’s hand. “I’m sorry. I wish you’d told me sooner, but I’m glad you’ve told me now. It explains so much. Why you’re here. The way you think about men.” After a moment, she added, “Not all men are like that.”

Clarissa laughed, her vision blurring a little. “It would be an impossible world if they were. Truly, Thea, I doubt you’ve ever met anyone as foul. The mere thought of him makes me feel sick.”

Althea refilled Clarissa’s teacup and put it into her hand. “Drink up. It’ll steady you. Why did your parents permit such a match?”

Clarissa almost choked on a mouthful of tea. “Permit? They arranged it and forced me to agree. They sold me to him,” she went on, hearing the acid bitterness in her voice, but unable to stop it. “Two thousand upon my betrothal in the papers, and two upon my wedding. Then five hundred a year as long as I lived with Deveril as a dutiful wife.”

“What? But that’s atrocious! It must be illegal.”

“It’s illegal, I think, to force someone into marriage, but it’s not illegal for parents to beat a daughter, nor for them to mistreat one in all kinds of ways.”

Instead of distress, Althea’s eyes lit with outrage. “Though it may not be entirely in keeping with the Gospels, Clarissa, I, too, am delighted that Lord Deveril died.”

Clarissa laughed with relief. “So am I. Glad he died, and glad I told you. It’s been a burden to lie to you.”

Althea cocked her head. “So why did you tell me now?”

Clarissa put down her cup. “I dislike dishonesty.” She sighed. “Miss Mallory says I must leave, and my guardian agrees.”

“What will you do?”

“That’s the puzzle.”

“What do you want to do?”

Clarissa rubbed her temples. “I’ve never quite thought of it like that. Last year I wanted balls, parties, and handsome gallants.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“But now I’m a walking scandal. The Devil’s Heiress. And a Greystone to boot. I don’t think I’m going to receive many invitations. And of course, any gallants I do attract will be after my money.”

“Not all of them, I’m sure,” Althea said with a smile.

“Thea, please, be honest. No man has ever shown interest in my charms.” Then she winced at Althea’s distress. “I’m sorry. It’s all right. I truly don’t want to marry, and with money I don’t need to.”

“But you want the balls and parties.”

“Not anymore,” Clarissa said, aware that it was a lie. If it could be done without scandal, she still wanted what most young ladies wanted—a brief time of social frivolity.

Althea fiddled with her sprigged muslin skirts. “I might be leaving Miss Mallory’s, too.”

“But you’ve been here less than a year.”

Delicate color enhanced Althea’s beauty. “A gentleman from home has approached my father. A Mr. Verrall.”

Though Clarissa had just talked about leaving, this felt like abandonment. “Approached your father? Isn’t that a little cold-blooded?”

“Bucklestead St. Stephens is seventy miles from here, and Mr. Verrall has four children to care for.”

Worse and worse. “A widower? How old?”

“Around forty, I suppose. His oldest daughter is fifteen. His wife died three years ago. He’s a pleasant gentleman. Honorable and kind.”

Clarissa knew it was a reasonable arrangement. Althea would live near her beloved family, and this Mr. Verrall would doubtless be a good husband. As Althea’s father was a parson with a large family, she wouldn’t have many desirable suitors. All the same, Mr. Verrall sounded like dry crumbs to her.

“Don’t you think perhaps you should look around more before committing yourself to this man? You attract all the men.”

Althea shook her head. “I will not love again.”

“You should give yourself the chance, just in case.”

Althea’s eyes twinkled. “By all means. With whom? Mr. Dills, the clock mender? Colonel Dunn, who always raises his hat if we pass in the street? Reverend Whipple—but then, he has a wife.”

Clarissa pulled a face. “It’s true, isn’t it? We don’t meet many eligible men. At this time of year, there aren’t even any handsome brothers passing through.”

“And handsome brothers are usually dependent on their fathers, who would turn up starchy at the thought of marriage to a penniless schoolteacher.”

“Surely not quite penniless,” Clarissa protested.

“When it comes to eligible gentlemen, I am. My portion is less than five hundred pounds.”

It was virtually nothing. Clarissa took another bite out of her bun and chewed it thoughtfully. If only she could give Althea some of her money—but her trustees were sticklers for not letting her be imposed upon. And it didn’t sound as if Althea would wait until Clarissa was twenty-one.

“Beth Armitage married the heir to a dukedom,” she pointed out, “and though I admire her a great deal, she has not a tenth of your beauty.”

Althea laughed gently. “The sort of story to make idiots of us all. Such things cannot be relied on.”

“True,” said Clarissa, remembering the dark side of the fairy tale.

Althea was right. She had nothing but her beauty and good nature to recommend her. The world would say she should be grateful for any suitable offer, even that of an elderly widower with a daughter not many years her junior.

“I came to thank you again for taking the girls,” Althea said, clearly changing the subject. “I’m so sorry you ended up in such trouble.”

“It wasn’t too bad.”

“The girls seem to see it as a wonderfully perilous adventure, including rescue by Saint George, complete with halo.”

Clarissa laughed. “Hardly, but Major Hawkinville did help us, yes.” She gave her account of the event. “I wonder if he found the woman’s lost evangelists. He seemed capable of it.”

Althea cocked her head. “Heaven, purgatory, or hell?”

“I’m a nonbeliever, remember? No marriage for me.”

“Nonsense. I’m sure Lord Deveril was as hellish as you say, but when you meet heaven you’ll change your mind.”

“I won’t trust heaven.” Major Hawkinville somehow merged in her mind with handsome Lord Arden, afire with rage. “Any man, if angered enough, can turn into hell.”

“Not Gareth,” Althea said firmly.

Clarissa couldn’t hurt her by arguing. “Perhaps not, but how are we to know?”

“A decent period of courtship. Gareth and I had known each other for years, and been courting for two.”

Clarissa pounced. “So you shouldn’t consider marrying this widower without a decent period of courtship.”

“But I’ve known Mr. Verrall for years too, and I like him.”

Balked, Clarissa still protested, “You need to meet some other men first.”

“Perhaps it’s a shame I didn’t take the girls to the parade and fall into an adventure with the handsome major.”

Clarissa chuckled, but a plan stirred. Althea needed to meet eligible men, and, as she’d said, that was unlikely here in the school. Once the last girls went home, Althea would return to Bucklestead St. Stephens and marry her doddering widower.

What was needed was what the army called a preemptive strike.

“I wonder where I should go?” she mused. “ ‘The world’s mine oyster…’ ”

“ ‘Which I with sword will open’?” Althea completed.

“With money, perhaps. It frightens me, Althea. Miss Mallory says I should not stay in the familiarity of Cheltenham, and Bath is so dreary.”

“London, then.”

“No.” It came out rather abruptly, but then Althea would guess that London had bad memories for her. “Anyway, it’s the end of the Season there. The place will soon be empty.”

Clarissa still hadn’t worked around to her true purpose—persuading Althea to accompany her for a few weeks and meet a suitable husband. “Where would you go if you were me?” she asked.

But Althea shook her head. “I’m a country mouse. I like life in a village.”

“I think I might, too,” Clarissa said, “though I’ve never tried it. My father sold his estate when I was in the cradle to pay debts and buy a London house.”

A village, however, would be an unlikely place in which to find Althea a prime husband.

Her frustrated thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Clarissa answered it and the school’s upstairs maid said, “There’s a gentleman inquiring for you, Miss Greystone.” Her expression was a combination of disapproval and interest. “Miss Mallory isn’t home yet…”

“A gentleman?”

“A Major Hawkinville, he says.” Mary added with disapproval, “But he’s not wearing a hat.”

Clarissa actually squeaked with surprise, but managed to compose herself. The major. Here!

Then she saw Althea’s smiling interest and realized that this was a chance to introduce her to at least one eligible man. He must be eligible, mustn’t he, and Althea clearly favored a military man.

“Major Hawkinville lost his hat saving me and the girls, Mary. We cannot turn him away. Miss Trist and I will be down in a moment.”

As soon as the maid left, Clarissa whirled to the mirror. She could hear one of Miss Mallory’s favorite admonishments: Only God can give beauty, girls, but anyone can be neat. It had usually been accompanied by a pained look at Clarissa. God had neglected to give her tidiness, too.

She began pulling the pins out of her hair.

Althea came over and pushed her hands away. After a few moments with the brush and a few more with the pins, Clarissa’s hair was pinned in an orderly, and even slightly becoming, knot.

“I don’t know how you do it,” she said somewhat grumpily.

Althea just laughed again. “Don’t you have any ribbons?”

“No, and they’d look silly with this plain gown.” Clarissa felt that she’d exposed enough folly for now. “Thank you for tidying me. Now let’s go and thank the hero of the day.”

“Don’t you have any other clothes?” Althea asked, frowning at the beige dress.