Clarissa longed to sit down again and refuse to be removed, but that was pointless too. As she went upstairs with Althea she muttered, “Intolerable!”

“Perhaps she’s able to do what she’s supposed to do,” Althea suggested.

“If so, she can stay. Otherwise, out she goes.”

“You can’t!”

Clarissa wasn’t sure she could either. Moving Miss Arabella Hurstman might require the entire British army and the Duke of Wellington to lead it. But could she endure much more of Miss Hurstman? The woman was going to turn this delightful adventure into misery.

She went into the front bedroom that Mrs. Taddy indicated, finding their luggage already there and a sober-faced maid beginning to unpack.

“Who are you?” Clarissa demanded.

The woman dropped an alarmed curtsy. “Elsie John, ma’am. Hired to be maid to Miss Greystone and Miss Trist.” She, too, was clearly having trouble deciding who was who.

“I’m Miss Greystone,” said Clarissa, beginning to lose patience with this farce. “That is Miss Trist.”

The maid rolled her eyes and turned back to her work. Clarissa sucked in a deep, steadying breath. She had failed to stand up to Miss Hurstman, so she was taking out her anger on the innocents.

Then Althea said, “Would you mind if I lie down, Clarissa? I have a headache.”

“No, of course not. It’s probably because of that dreadful woman.”

Clarissa knew, however, that it was as much her fault as Miss Hurstman’s. She reined in her temper, and even found a smile for the maid. “Elsie, you may go for now.”

She helped Althea out of her gown and settled her in the bed with the curtains drawn, but then didn’t know where to go. She couldn’t stay here and be quiet. She didn’t feel at all quiet. She needed to pace and rant.

She left the room, closing the door quietly. There were supposed to be three bedrooms, and there were three doors. What if the third was the housekeeper’s? She crept downstairs, but she suspected the only rooms below were the front parlor and the dining room. She headed for the dining room.

“Ah, good!”

Clarissa jumped.

Miss Hurstman had emerged from the parlor like a spider from a hole. “Come back in here.”

“Why?”

“We have things to discuss. Believe it or not, I’m your ally, not your enemy.”

Clarissa found herself too fascinated to resist.

“You’re strong,” Miss Hurstman said, as Clarissa reentered the room. “A bit of brimstone, too. That’s good. You’ll need it.”

“Why?”

“You’re the Devil’s Heiress. And you’re a Greystone. Even under my aegis, you’ll receive some snubs.”

“I don’t care, except if it hurts Althea.”

“It’ll hurt her if people are cruel to you. She can’t take any fire at all, can she?”

“She doesn’t like discord, but she can be strong in fighting for right and justice.”

“Pity we don’t have lions to throw her to. She might enjoy that.”

Enough was enough. “Miss Hurstman, I’m not at all sure you will suit, but if you are to be caustic about Miss Trist, you certainly won’t.”

The woman’s lips twitched. “Think of me as your personal lion. Now sit down. Let’s talk without a delicate audience.

“I like you,” Miss Hurstman said as she returned to her straight-backed posture in her chair. “Don’t know what fires you’ve been through, but it’s forged some steel. Unusual in a gel your age. Your Althea is doubtless a lovely young woman, but tender lambs like that give me a headache. They can always be depended on to say the right thing and to suffer for the stupidity of others.”

“It wasn’t stupidity that killed her fiance.”

“How do you know? War is stupid, anyway. Do you know we lost ten times as many men to disease as wounds? Ten times, and a regiment of women with sense could have saved most of ‘em. Enough of that. I want to have things clear. We’re to find her a good husband, are we?”

Clarissa imagined that Wellington’s troops must have felt like this before battle, and yet there was a starchy comfort in it. Miss Hurstman, despite her unlikely appearance, radiated competence and confidence.

“Yes.”

“Any dowry at all?”

“A very small amount.”

Miss Hurstman humphed. “The right man will find that romantic. What’s her family?”

“Her father is the vicar of Saint Stephen’s in Bucklestead St. Stephens. He’s brother to Sir Clarence Trist there. Her mother is from a good family, too. But there’s no money and seven other children.”

“Where did the fine clothes come from, then?”

“I gave them to her.”

“Why?”

Clarissa considered her answer. “Do you know Messrs. Euston, Layton, and Keele, ma’am?”

“Only by repute and a letter.”

“Thorough,” said Clarissa. “Conscientious. Determined to pass over my fortune when I’m twenty-one with scarcely a nibble out of it.”

“Very right and proper.”

“Carried to ridiculous lengths. I can buy what I want and they will pay the bills, but they allow me virtually no money to spend on my own. They would never have let me hire Althea to be my companion—and you have to admit that having her here will be much more pleasant than being here alone.”

“You have me,” said Miss Hurstman with a wicked smirk.

Clarissa swallowed a laugh, and suspected it showed.

The truth was that she was beginning to like Miss Hurstman. There was no need to pretend with her. With Althea, dear though she was, Clarissa always felt she had to watch herself so as not to bruise her friend’s tender feelings. With Miss Hurstman, she could probably damn the king, pick a fight, or use scandalous language and stir no more than a blink.

“Clothes,” Miss Hurstman prompted.

“Oh, yes. The ELK didn’t object to my bringing Althea as a friend, but she needed fashionable clothing. They’d not pay for that, but they’d pay for new clothes for me.”

“Shady dealings, gel.” Miss Hurstman waggled her finger, but the twinkle might be admiration.

Clarissa was surprised to feel that Miss Hurstman’s admiration might be worth something. “It wasn’t a noble sacrifice. I would never have worn those gowns again. They were bought for me to parade before Lord Deveril.”

“Ah. And that shade of blue wouldn’t have suited you any better than the one you’re wearing now. Hope you chose better this time.”

Clarissa looked down at the tiny sprigged pattern that had been the best material Miss Mallory’s seamstress had to hand. “So do I. I chose rather bold colors.”

“Bold seems suitable,” said Miss Hurstman dryly. “If they don’t suit, we’ll choose again. Won’t make a dent in your fortune. So, Miss Trist needs to marry money. And generous money, at that.”

“What she needs is a man who loves her.”

Miss Hurstman’s brows rose. “When she can’t love him back? She’d go into a decline under the guilt of it. And if she doesn’t marry money, she’ll feel she’s let down her family.”

Clarissa wanted to object, but the blasted woman had clearly taken Althea’s measure to the inch. She needed to be of service to all.

“I want her to be happy.”

Miss Hurstman nodded. “She’ll be content with a good man and children, and plenty of worthwhile work to do. You, on the other hand, need a man who loves you.”

Major Hawkinville, Clarissa thought, and reacted by stating, “I don’t need a man at all. I’m rich.”

“You’re obsessed by your money. Guineas are uncomfortable bedfellows.”

“They can buy comfort.”

Miss Hurstman’s brows shot up. “Planning to buy yourself a lover?”

“Of course not!” Clarissa knew she was red. “You, ma’am, are obsessed with… with bed! My trustees cannot have known your true colors.”

Despite that, she could see the wicked twinkle in Miss Hurstman’s eyes, and felt its reflection in herself. She’d never known anyone so willing to say outrageous things.

“Why are you my chaperone?” she demanded. “You are clearly a most unusual choice, even if you are well connected.”

“Nepotism,” said Miss Hurstman, but that twinkle told Clarissa that there was more to the word than there seemed to be. “And you come into your money at twenty-one,” Miss Hurstman carried on. “Unusual situation all around. Unusual that Deveril leave you anything. Even more unusual that he arrange for you to be free of control at such a tender age.”

“I know, and sometimes I wish he hadn’t.” After a moment, Clarissa admitted something she’d never told anyone before. “It frightens me. I’ve tried to learn something about management, but I don’t feel able to deal with such wealth.”

Miss Hurstman nodded. “You can hire Euston, Layton, and Keele to manage your affairs, but it will still be a tricky road. It’s not just a matter of management. A woman is not supposed to live without male supervision, especially a young unmarried lady of fortune. The world will watch every move you make, and scoundrels will hover with a thousand clever ways to filch your money from you.”

Major Hawkinville, she thought, though she couldn’t see him as a scoundrel. “Fortune hunters. I know.”

“At the end of a few weeks with me,” Miss Hurstman stated, “you’ll be more ready, and in ways other than administrative. But don’t put the thought of a husband out of your mind entirely. There are good men in the world, and one of them would make your life a great deal easier. I don’t see you as content with celibate living.”

Put like that, Clarissa wasn’t sure she would be content, either, and she knew part of that feeling was because of the heroic major, even though he hadn’t touched her in any meaningful way. She wasn’t ready to expose such sensitive uncertainties to Miss Hurstman’s astringent eye, however.

Her companion rose in a sharp, smooth motion. “There’s a lot about you that I don’t understand. I won’t pry. As long as it doesn’t affect what we’re doing here, it’s no business of mine. But I’ll listen if you want to talk, and I can keep secrets. You probably won’t believe it, but I can be trusted, too.”