The Virtuous Ward

CHAPTER Six

The late morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of Amity's bedroom windows. She lay still, arms behind her head and smiled at the beautiful day. Contentment filled her as she remembered the magic of the ball the night before. Thanks to Max the evening had been a total success; she was well launched in society.

For the first time since she had arrived in London she felt like herself. She had been so caught up in the excitement of all the new experiences that she had lost sight of the person she was. For the last several weeks she had been dominated by Honoria's personality and had tried to be someone she was not. She had resolved yesterday that she would take charge of her own life and see if she might make better use of her life. She had been living an artificial existence, letting others guide her and not being guided by what she knew was her own character and style. Perhaps her mistake had been in wanting so much to be approved of by both Max and Honoria that she allowed herself to be manipulated.

In her two weeks in London she had observed the cynical, jaded manner of the elegant fashionable set and hated the thought of presenting such a picture of boredom. She felt a true excitement with life and did not want to lose that feeling. She suspected that Max was correct in that she must behave in a more ladylike manner but she recognized that much of what her guardian criticized was basic to her character. She was impetuous by nature, prone to great bursts of enthusiasm and joy. It bothered her that in order to be acceptable she would have to adopt a superficiality that went against the grain. Much as she wanted to please Max, there must be some compromise she could work out to be both acceptable and herself.

Thus contented for the moment, Amity pushed herself up in the center of the bed and stretched her arms over her head in a satisfying stretch. She smiled at Muffin curled up at the foot of the bed. Every night when she went to sleep the dog was nestled on the rug by the fireplace, but when she woke in the morning he was snoring on the comforter. Now ready to start the day, she prodded Muffin with her toes.

"What a lazybones you are," she said.

Muffin opened one eye and viewed her with disfavor but Amity was impervious to censure. Throwing back the covers, she crawled to the foot of the bed, throwing her arms around the dog and hugging him. After a smothered snort of disdain, he favored her with a wet lick on the cheek and as she scratched between his ears, he emitted a low growl of contentment.

"Bout time you're moving," Betta said, peeking around the opened door of the dressing room. "I was just about to come and see iffen you had taken up the ways of the fashionable set and were plannin' to sleep until afternoon."

"I should have known better than to hire an uppity servant," Amity said, grinning at the young girl. She bounded off the bed, sticking her nose in the air in great hauteur. Her pose was ruined somewhat when she bumped into a small table and stubbed her toe but she tried to keep her face serious despite the giggles issuing from her abigail.

"Me mum would say that was the Good Lord's justice for being uncharitable to underlings."

"Besides it is extremely uncomfortable," Amity said, wriggling the toes on her injured foot. "It's not easy being elegant, you know."

While Betta whisked around the room, Amity dressed, asking the girl how she liked her new position. She was enthusiastic over her reception by the other servants. Betta had been apprehensive that the replaced Emily would be angry over her arrival but after talking to the parlor maid was assured that she was welcome. Amity's assessment of Emily and the footman's interest in each other had been correct. Betta described the mooning looks the two servants had exchanged much to Amity's entertainment.

After dressing Amity hurried downstairs to breakfast where Max was just finishing. Her guardian greeted her with congratulations for her successful debut.

"Lady Jersey has agreed to send you a voucher to Almack's," he announced, casting his eyes up to the ceiling and heaving a long sigh. "Now I shall be squiring you to the most boring of functions."

"Tis treasonous to speak such words," Amity said, shaking her head at her guardian's pose. "I am in high alt to have received such an honor. Can't you tell by my serious demeanor?"

Max's eyes twinkled across the breakfast table. "It has occurred to me that you desire to cozen me by such behavior. Your eyes tell another story. Behind the sparkling color, mischief is apparent, just waiting to burst forth."

"La, sir, you malign me." Amity pouted, her face pulled into an expression of demure innocence.

"Baggage!"

On that happy note they exchanged smiles and began to talk of the evening past. Max informed her that bouquets of flowers and engraved invitations had arrived while she slept, proof positive of her acceptance. He asked her plans for the day and, when she told him she must visit Madame Bertoldi for final fittings on her wardrobe, offered the carriage. He debated telling her of his discussion with Honoria concerning the ball gown but could not bear to criticize her in the face of her happiness. Time enough to discuss her stubborn refusal of Honoria's well-meant advice. As she blew him a kiss and scampered from the room, he returned to his coffee, surprised that he found little joy in the empty room now that the girl was gone. It was almost as if she had taken the sunshine with her when she left.

Collecting Betta and her bonnet and pelisse, Amity set off for the establishment of the modiste, Madame Bertoldi. When she arrived, she dismissed the carriage and entered the shop. She discovered the plump little woman lecturing a clerk over the placement of a particular bolt of fabric. Amity smiled at the darting hand gestures and flashing black eyes of the formidable Madame. When the woman became aware of her presence, a hint of wariness in the little Frenchwoman's eyes told Amity all that she needed to know about the wardrobe being prepared for her. The woman patted down her dress and tucked a greying strand of black hair into her disordered bun and crossed the floor. Amity felt sorry for the woman who had been caught between Honoria and an unknown customer and set out to allay the seamstress' fears.

"Madame, a moment of your time." Amity pitched her voice low so as not to be overheard by the curious assistants who hovered beyond the woman. "I have come to you to apologize for my foolishness?"

The woman blinked several times, thrown off balance by the young lady's words. "A-apologize?" she stammered.

Leaning forward as though confessing a shameful secret, Amity continued, "I have been very stupid, Madame. In my excitement over choosing my own garments, I have not listened to the voice of experience in my dealings with you. It is only now that I realize I should have spoken to you earlier but I am hoping that you will find it in your heart to forgive my youthful ignorance."

The sharp black eyes searched Amity's face and her perception of the situation was immediate. "It is the wardrobe, n'est pas ?"

"Yes, Madame. I fear that it will not do." She placed her hand on the agitated woman's arm, keeping her tone firm to command her attention. "The bills I have incurred will be paid regardless. It is the realization that perhaps I might convince you to give me the benefit of your knowledge in striving for a more sophisticated look that has brought me to you today."

Once the practical Frenchwoman realized she would lose nothing financialy, she capitulated In moments Amity was ensconced in her private sitting room with a cup of hot chocolate and a smiling Madame hovering over her. Assistants scurried about the room, laying out the nearly completed wardrobe on all the surfaces of the furniture. Looking at the dresses with a more objective eye, Amity had to admire the cleverness of Honoria. Each outfit was beautiful in itself but each one had one feature that made it unsuitable for Amity. In some cases the color of the dress washed out her own natural complexion, giving her a ghostlike quality. In others the style of the dress was inappropriate or the trim clashed with her red hair.

"What a waste," Amity muttered.

"C'est vrai ," Madame responded over her shoulder.

Turning to the woman, Amity smiled. "My thought, Madame, is that with your help we can decide which of the outfits are totally unsuitable and which others we can, shall we say, modify."

"Eh bien ." The woman's voice was brisk with decision. "Please to sit down while I consider."

Amity subsided against the back of the cushioned chair and watched as the little woman bustled around the room. Her wrinkled face was pinched in concentration and her mouth was pursed in a moue of distaste as she viewed each garment. She glanced at Amity, her head cocked to the side and her eyes narrowed in study, then with a nod of her head she would return to an inspection of the offending article. Amity winked at Betta who sat on the edge of her chair and the girl relaxed, grinning in return.

To Madame's credit, once she had decided to involve herself she spared neither herself, her assistants nor Amity. Each garment was tried on under the piercing eye of the modiste. Soon the room was littered with bolts of fabric, cards of trim and other accessories. By unspoken agreement neither Madame nor Amity mentioned Honoria's name, although the deceitful blond was on both of their minds. At the end of several hours, everything had been decided to everyone's satisfaction. The dresses that were deemed unsuitable had been given to the wide-eyed Betta, to remake for herself, with others chosen to replace the missing items. The remainder would be altered and both Amity and Madame agreed they would be the first stare of fashion.

"I feel very much relieved, Betta," Amity said as they exited the shop. "And it's a fine day for a walk."

"Can't say as I'll mind," the practical abigail said as she sniffed the air. "That Madame uses a powerful lot of scent. Must be because she's a foreigner. Wouldn't like to work for her. She's a regular tartar the way she snaps out orders and stares down her nose at all those little assistants."

"You have to admit that she agreed to help without a single argument."

"She'd nothin' to lose and everything' to gain, if you ask me," Betta responded, unwilling to give an inch. "Didn't lose a cent, did she now and you'll be wearin' her clothes all over London and looking like a regular princess."

"Oh, I do like the sound of that," Amity chuckled. "I shall walk with my nose in the air and everyone shall fall down in awe."

"More certain you'll do the fallin', iffen you don't look where you're goin' "

Amity turned to grin at her abigail and a moment later crashed into a very substantial body. She whirled to apologize and was confronted by a handsome soldier whose empty sleeve was pinned to the shoulder of his uniform jacket. As she opened her mouth to speak, she noticed the sudden pallor of the man's face and the dots of perspiration that had broken out on his forehead.

"Hartshorn, Betta," she whispered, knowing her abigail always carried ample supplies of necessities.

While the girl dug in her reticule, Amity pushed the weakened man against the wall of the building, where he sagged, held up only by Amity's strong arms. Betta opened the vial and thrust it beneath the soldier's nose. It took two whiffs before his eyes fluttered open and his head jerked away from the burning aroma.

"Blimey," he said with disgust.

"Are you better?" Amity asked.

"I'll never smell again." His voice was raspy but there was a rather shaky grin on his face and his brown eyes twinkled at the two ladies now giggling at his words.

"I'm so sorry I bumped into you," Amity said. "Did I hurt you?" She indicated his missing arm and his smile widened.

"Twas not me arm giving me trouble, Miss, but me belly," he said. "I've neglected to eat much today and I was feeling a bit rocky."

"Well that's easily attended to," Amity said taking charge of the situation in her usual high-handed manner. "Bring him along, Betta."

In his weakened condition, the soldier was unable to gainsay the little abigail and in no time at all the three were seated in a nearby tearoom. Amity ordered sandwiches and pastries and then introduced herself and Betta to the bemused young man.

"Jason Conway, miss. Was a sergeant before the Frogs took me arm. Been in London several days and now I suspect I've died and gone to heaven for I'm surrounded by angels."

Amity liked the look of the soldier with his thick thatch of hair and cheeky smile. Now that the color had returned to his face, he looked tan and healthy despite the missing arm. When the food arrived he ate with deliberation although she suspected his inclination was to cram everything into his mouth. It was apparent that it had been quite awhile since he had eaten and his uniform was much the worse for wear. If not penniless, he was close to it.

"What did you do before the war, Jason?" Amity asked as she sipped her tea.

"Worked for a solicitor. I've a head for numbers, though lot of use that'll do me," he said, bitterness creeping into his voice for the first time.

"Why ever not?"

"There's many a soldier back from the war that finds that there are no jobs available. Can't work without a recommendation and the army's not much of a reference."

"I see," Amity said, exchanging glances with Betta who remembered being in a similar situation. "Are there many men out of work?"

"Plenty, miss, and it's a bleedin' shame. Beggin' your pardon, ladies," he said nodding to Amity and Betta. "There's more coming to London every day and the government has done nothing to provide for ex-soldiers."

"Someone should do something," Amity said, placing her cup in the saucer with a decisive clink of china.

"A few of us have gotten together to pool our resources. Those that got jobs try and help those what ain't."

"Have you tried the agencies?" Betta interjected.

"No good, miss. Not without a character."

"There must be hundreds of jobs in this city," Amity said. "All we'd need to do is locate a few and then as word got out we could find others. I've made a lot of friends since I arrived and I could ask if they have need of any staff."

Jason glanced at Betta as if to ask if her mistress were deranged and the abigail patted his arm for encouragement.

"It's just Miss Amity's way," she said. "She does tend to leap in to things but she's of good heart. I know it's presumptuous of us to intrude on your affairs but in this case I think she might have an idea."

While Betta and Jason had been talking, Amity's mind was busy. She had been feeling quite useless since her arrival in town. Used to managing the affairs of Beech House, she could not spend all of her time in attending parties and shopping. She liked the idea that she could somehow put her talents for getting to know people to some advantage. Her thoughts jumped from one problem to another. Suddenly she looked at Betta and Jason, a wide smile spreading across her face.

"I have just thought of an excellent idea. My guardian has a large staff both in the townhouse and the stables. I can talk to Putnam and see if we might not take on a few extra men. They could work for several weeks and then I will write them a recommendation. The letter need not specify how long they worked for Lord Kampford. Do you think that might work?"

Jason opened his mouth but no words came out. He could not quite believe that she was serious and yet when he glanced at the abigail, the girl nodded her head in agreement.

"I do believe you are an angel," he growled, his voice hoarse. "Would you do that?"

"Well of course I will, Jason. After all you fought for my freedom too, so it's only fair that I do something for you. I shall speak to Putnam this afternoon and you shall send round several men. Now then," she continued, "what shall we do with you?"

"Me, miss?" Jason asked. "I thought I might be one of the servants."

"Piffle. A man good with numbers is hard to find. Let me see." She stared at the table her face pinched in concentration. "Bircher? No. Ah! Burgess. Mr. Johannas Burgess. He's the man for you."

"If I might inquire, miss," Jason said, grinning across at the efficient Miss Fraser. "Just who is Johannas Burgess?"

"Man's an importer I've corresponded with for several years. My estate manager Henderson put me on to him and I've found him quite useful in the past. In fact, if I'm not mistaken," Amity stared out the windows at the busy street beyond, "we're not far from his office."

Once more Jason Conway found himself in the clutches of Betta, while Amity paid the charges and started out the door. He and the little abigail had to hurry to keep up with the rapid footsteps of the bustling Miss Fraser and were breathless by the time they arrived at their destination.

"I'll just duck in here and have a word with Mr. Burgess. Please to wait, Jason. We shall be out quite soon."

Thus saying she left the astonished man and disappeared up the stairs of the building, followed by her abigail. Jason never knew what was said, but when she returned he had a position starting the next day and a week's advance on his salary for suitable clothing and food. Before he could do more than babble his thanks, she was taking her leave.

"I shall send Betta around with a message if I am successful with Putnam, but I have little doubt he will be happy to cooperate," she said. "We shall meet soon and work out a more thorough plan. Good day, Mr. Conway."

Amity and Betta discussed the problem all the way back to the townhouse. The abigail suggested that she might ask among the servants in other houses and thus widen their circle of opportunity. The servants network was efficient, there was little that went on upstairs that the downstairs brigade was not aware of. Amity was delighted with the whole project and on her arrival went to work cajoling Putnam into hiring a few of the soldiers. Their project was now off to a good start.

A week later her wardrobe began to arrive and Amity was anxious to show off her new garments. Standing in front of the mirror, she felt almost elegant. The lime green walking dress was tailored to show off her slim figure. The darker green trim on the edge of the jacket minimized her height and was repeated at the wrists and again at the bottom of her skirt. Now that she was dressed in style, she was eager to be abroad and accompanied by Betta and the ever-present Muffin made her way out of the townhouse for a walk in the park. It was several hours later that she glanced in dismay at her lapel watch.

"Oh, Betta, we're late for nuncheon again," Amity said, hurrying through the gates of the park. "Lady Grassmere made me promise just two days ago that I would be more careful of the time."

Amity sighed aware of her shortcomings but there were so many sights to see in London that every time she went out she forgot to pay much attention to the passage of time.

"Miss Amity," Betta called, trying to keep pace with the longer strides of her mistress. Even Muffin had fallen behind and the abigail called once again. "Miss Amity, have mercy. I can't keep up with your steps and if his lordship sees you he will not think you are behaving in a proper ladylike manner."

"Blast!"

"Miss Amity!" Betta cried in horror. "You promised his lordship you wouldna say that dreadful word."

Amity stopped so suddenly in her tracks that the hurrying little figure bumped into her back. The sight of the heaving bosom of her breathless abigail brought an expression of contrition to Amity's frowning countenance. She heaved a sigh of resignation.

"It is prodigious difficult to be a lady," Amity muttered. "Every rule seems to contradict another. Don't be late! Don't rush! In faith, Betta, I cannot do both."

The little abigail grinned cheekily at her mistress. "It's a sorry life you lead."

"Hah! Great lot of sympathy you give me." Amity returned the grin then tapped her foot impatiently as she stared at Muffin who was padding his way to join them. "Come along, old fellow. If you cannot hold a better pace than that, we shall leave you behind."

The dog raised reproachful eyes to his mistress' face but did not in any way indicate that he was bothered by the threat. He was almost abreast of the two girls when the sound of loud cursing forced him to stop once more.

"Move, you bleedin' bag of bones!"

A whip cracked and Amity's attention was caught by the sight of a dilapidated cart drawn by a nag of ancient, though not of obvious noble, lineage. The carter was standing up in his seat, in turn berating and whipping the pathetic horse. A feeling of rage filled Amity and without hesitation she stalked to the side of the cart.

"Blast ye! Git along," shouted the carter, laying about with his whip.

"Stop that caterwauling at once, you ruffian!" Amity demanded.

The very unexpectedness of the sight of the fashionably dressed young lady, caused the carter to lose his balance and as his arms flailed to keep from falling off his perch, he dropped the whip. Amity pounced on the offending article, snatching it off the cobblestones and glaring up at the choleric face of the man.

"For shame, you blackguard," Amity sneered, her voice an icy stream of contempt. "To treat this fine animal in such an inhumane manner."

The mare in question, drooped in her traces, unaware of the tumult raging over her head. Betta moved closer to her mistress as if her slight figure might protect the raging amazon who had so forgotten herself as to create a public disturbance.

"Miss Amity," Betta hissed in agony. "Do come away. What will his lordship say?"

"Stop your fussing, girl. Would you have me abandon a creature in need of protection?"

Amity waved her hand in the general direction of the pathetic animal in front of the cart. There was a bedraggled pink ribbon tied around her forelock that hung in tattered elegance over one eye. The malnourished mare was brown in color with a coat in dire need of grooming. There were patches of white around her neck where the rubbing harness had worn away the hair and spots of noisome splatters on her legs and chest. Her tail and mane were tangled and greasy, as dirty as the rest of the beast. But to Amity it made little difference if the horse were not a thoroughbred. She could not abide turning away from such a disgraceful sight.

"G'way with you!" the red faced man bellowed, staring belligerently at the red-haired miss. "Tis no affair of yourn."

"Of course it is," Amity said, drawing herself up with great dignity. "It is every citizen's concern to right the wrongs of injustice. England is not a country where one can pass by while a poor dumb beast is whipped. And a female at that. For shame."

"Bloody 'ell!" The carter threw down his reins and clambered out of the cart to stand towering over the impassioned young lady. "And gie me my whip, you interfering little..."

"Silence, you knave! Would you add blasphemy to your already long list of offences." Although Amity felt some slight danger from the outraged man, the press of a cold nose against her skirts alerted her to the presence of reinforcements and her courage was bolstered. "Belay that noise or I shall set my dog upon you."

Muffin, exhausted from his brisk walk, chose that particular moment to lie down. The carter guffawed, snatching his cap off to slap it with great force against his leg. This action caused a cloud of nauseous odor to escape from his filthy clothing and Amity stepped back in disgust.

"Gawd love ya, miss," the man roared in amusement. His mouth lolled open presenting a wide, gap-toothed grin. "You must be a bleedin' Bedlamite."

Amity recovered and glared up at the man. She raised the whip, poking the tip against the man's chest to emphasize her words. "Have you no conscience, man? The animal is blown. Beating her will gain you nothing but a dead horse."

"Give over, miss." The man flinched away from the point of the whip. "The 'orse is mine to deal with."

"You shall not beat her again, sirrah!"

Amity could feel Betta pulling on the sleeve of her pelisse but her compassion for the poor animal forced her to ignore her abigail. The loathsome carter glared at her and leaned forward until his face was close to her own. When he spoke the stench of his breath made her eyes water.

"Iffen I choose to beat 'er, I will. The 'orse is mine."

"I will not permit you to touch her," she snapped.

"The 'orse is mine!"

"Then I'll buy the bloody horse!" Amity shouted, exasperated beyond all measure.

The sound of applause greeted this salvo and Amity spun around in dismay. Her face flushed in horror as she realized the scene had drawn a crowd of spectators. Although she was mortified, she refused to back down and decided the sooner she finished the business the quicker she could get away. Reaching for her reticule, she tore open the strings and delved inside for some coins.

"How m-much?" she stammered, all too aware of the interested crowd pressing around her.

Seeing the embarrassment on the young girl's face, the crafty owner knew that revenge was close at hand. His face split in a toothy grin, enjoying her discomfort, he extended his grimy hand. "Two pounds," he announced with triumph.

"Well of all the gall," she snapped in returning anger. "You cannot be serious, man."

"Your very words were that the 'orse were a fine animal. She's worth every penny of the price."

"You must have been a highwayman in your younger days, you wretch," Amity muttered. She edged closer, dropping her voice to a coaxing tone. "Look here, good fellow, let's have an end to this haggling. These are all the coins I have with me." Hiding her hand from the ring of spectators, she opened it to give the man a glimpse of the contents. "If you say me nay, I shall leave and you will have on your hands only a half-dead horse. If you agree, I'll put the coins in my reticule and hand you the purse. You can brag to every one that you drove a hard bargain and I shall not gainsay you."

Amity had guessed to a nicety that the man was eager to save face before the crowd. Greed was apparent in his squinty eyes and he licked his lips once before nodding his head with a jerky movement. On cue, Amity jammed the coins inside the purse and shaking her head in chagrin, handed it to the grinning carter. The crowd cheered and her face flushed at once more being the center of their attention.

"Lord love ya, Miss Amity," Betta cried, her face ashen with worry. "How ever are you going to explain this to his lordship?"

Amity gulped at the mention of her guardian but bravely shrugged away her concern. "I shall tell him the horse followed me home."

She watched the carter free the horse from her traces and then loop a dirty rope through the halter. She stepped forward and extended her gloved hand to accept the lead rope.

" 'Er name's Guinevere," the man said, guffawing.

"I would have guessed as much."

Amity turned to lead the horse away and the crowd cheered once more, shouting words of encouragement which made her blush. Raising her chin, she started down the street calling to Betta and Muffin as she went. She had gone a short way when she heard a squeal from her abigail and turned to the girl who was frozen in her tracks, a look of horror suffusing her face.

"Lawks, miss!" Betta hissed. "It's his lordship."

"It needed only that," Amity muttered.

She groaned, wondering if it were possible to disappear off the face of the earth. There was nothing for it then but to brazen it out. She turned her head just as her guardian's carriage drew abreast of her. The window was down and Max, his green eyes flashing under narrowed lids, was framed in the opening.

"And where are you off to with your merry little band?" Max drawled.

Amity gritted her teeth at his bantering tone and raised her chin with great dignity. Perhaps the impression she hoped to give was slighty diminished when the mare stumbled but she kept her eyes fixed to a spot above her guardian's head and pretended she had noticed nothing amiss. "I am for home," she said.

"Can I assume you are accompanied by a new addition to our happy household?"

"Yes, milord. I have just purchased the mare."

"Plans for a stud farm?" he asked, then his eyebrows bunched and he shook his head in negation of the fanciful idea.

"She needed a home," Amity said.

"So it would seem." Max, his face a bland mask, stared at the horse, the abigail and the mangy dog. "Mayhap in your busy schedule you might find time to have a brief chat with me in the library? I shall, of course, await your pleasure," Max said, his tone a stream of ice. "In the meantime perhaps I might be of some service. Lewis?"

The footman leaped to the ground and hurried to the open window of the carriage. "Aye, milord."

"I realize it is much to ask but if you will be so kind as to relieve Miss Fraser of her enchanting prize, I would be most appreciative."

"With pleasure, milord," Lewis said, trying to keep his mouth from twitching into a grin.

"Take, eh..." Max paused, cocking an inquiring eyebrow at Amity.

"Guinevere," Amity snapped, tired of the game.

"A noble name indeed," Max intoned. "Take the Lady Guinevere around to the mews and ask Dobson to do what he can. Now unless there is something more that I can do, I shall be off. Good day, Miss Fraser."

Max raised the carriage window and tapped on the roof with his walking cane. He had one more glimpse of the odd little tableau before the carriage jerked away from the scene. It was just as well since it was only a moment before he could no longer stem the rolling laughter that welled up in his chest. He laughed until his eyes were streaming as he remembered more and more details of Amity's disgraceful conduct.

"Good Lord, was there ever such a child?" he asked aloud when he could catch his breath.

He had been returning from a visit to Sweet’s Racing Club when his carriage was held up by the crowd of spectators surrounding the dilapidated cart. He had paid little attention until the footman Lewis had alerted him to the fact that the center of the turmoil was his ward. Fury had been uppermost in his mind but, as he watched and listened to the contretemps, the humor of the situation broke through his anger.

As the scene unfolded before him, he had resolved not to interfere unless he found the going too heavy for Amity to handle. He was curious how she would get herself out of such a difficult spot especially when he heard the man demand two pounds. By the look on Amity's face, it was apparent that she did not have that much. He had watched the low-voiced colloquy and wondered what she had done to convince the man to give her the horse. He must remember to ask her when she appeared in the library.

As the carriage pulled up before the townhouse, Max composed himself and managed to exit the conveyance with the proper dignity although he suspected that behind his back, John Coachman would be grinning. He mentioned to Putnam that he would be awaiting Miss Fraser in the library.

Once behind his desk he chuckled anew wondering how Dobson would deal with the Lady Guinevere. The head groom prided himself on the bloodlines of the horses in Max's stables and he suspected Dobson would be outraged at the presence of the pathetic nag.

He must discourage Amity's tendency to bring home strays. The mongrel Muffin was unprepossessing enough but now he was saddled with a carter's half-dead mare. Even Betta was another of Amity's charity cases. After a week of service his ward had come to ask if she might keep the girl on. When Max indicated his approval of the servant, Amity admitted to the subterfuge involved in her hiring. She explained the girl's history and he, having had a chance to study the abigail, agreed that she had been unfairly accused of theft. Although not well pleased with the scheme, Max had capitulated in the face of Amity's honest confession. Besides, as his ward was prone to say, "Betta needed a home."

While he waited for Amity in the library, Max tried to compose his thoughts in order to give a suitable lecture to the minx. He should berate her for her behavior since he had been at such pains to stress his wish for her to adopt a ladylike manner, but thinking back upon the scene, it amazed him that although Amity had been furious she had conducted herself with great dignity. Despite the fact she had been haggling like some raddled fishwife, he had seen nothing vulgar in her manner; all in all she had appeared every inch the lady.

He remembered the evening when he had discussed marriage with his longtime friend Devereaux. He winced as he recalled his plans for acquiring the perfect lady for his wife. In Honoria he thought he had found all the qualities one might ask for in a bride. And yet Amity, in her way, was also a lady. Perhaps he had been in too great a hurry in deciding to declare for Honoria. It showed that one was never too old to learn. He would bide his time for the nonce. He still expected to offer for Honoria but it did no good to rush his fences when he was feeling some confusion . First he would see Amity settled. Time enough after that to resolve his own situation.