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at them.
    Flora had been at the school for almost five years. She had spent all of her childhood at an orphanage in London but had been turned out to fend for herself at the age of thirteen. Edna had been orphaned at the age of eleven, when her parents had been murdered while defending their humble shop from thieves, though as it had turned out there had been precious little to defend. There had been nothing with which to provide for their only daughter. Fortunately, Mr. Hatchard had found her, as he had Flora, and sent her to Bath.
    When Claudia stepped inside the Lamb and Flag, she was forced to wait while the landlord finished conducting a leisurely chat with another customer on the fascinating topic of fishing and two other men—
not
to be dignified by the term
gentlemen
—ogled Flora and Edna and desisted with insolent smirks only when Claudia glared at them.
    She then looked pointedly at the landlord, who was pretending not to notice her. If another minute passed, she decided, she would certainly speak up.
    And then the door from the stable yard opened and closed and everything changed just as if someone had waved a magic wand. The fish conversation ended as if it were of no significance whatsoever and the customer faded away into oblivion. The landlord preened himself with obsequious hand-rubbing and jovial smiles.
    It was the Marquess of Attingsborough who had come through the door, Claudia saw when she turned her head to look. And even if the landlord had not yet been informed that he was here—which he no doubt
had
been—there was something written all over the man that proclaimed him an aristocrat, a certain self-confident arrogance that immediately irritated Claudia.
    â€œWelcome to the Lamb and Flag, my lord,” the landlord said, “the most hospitable inn in Marlborough. How may I serve you?”
    Hospitable indeed! Claudia looked pointedly back at the landlord and opened her mouth to speak.
    â€œI believe,” the marquess said, “Miss Martin and her charges came inside before I did.”
    The landlord did an admirable job of starting with amazement as if the three of them had just materialized out of invisibility.
    Claudia fairly quivered with indignation—most of it, quite unfairly perhaps, directed at the Marquess of Attingsborough, who was not at all to blame for the fact that she had been considered a mere nobody until it became clear that a real live
marquess
knew her name. But she certainly had not needed anyone to speak up for her.
    â€œMiss Martin?” the landlord said, smiling jovially at her. She did
not
smile back. “I have your rooms ready for you, ma’am. You may go up immediately.”
    â€œThank—” Claudia got no further.
    â€œI trust,” the marquess said, “they are the best rooms in the house?”
    â€œAll our rooms are superior, my lord,” the landlord assured him. “But the front rooms have been reserved by Mr. Cosman and his cousin.”
    The marquess had come to stand just behind Claudia’s shoulder. She could not see his face, but she could see the landlord’s. The marquess did not say another word, but after a moment the landlord cleared his throat.
    â€œBut I am quite certain,” he said, “the two gentlemen will be only too happy to give up their rooms for the use of such charming ladies and take the two overlooking the stable yard instead.”
    Where Claudia had stayed each time she had put up at this inn before. She remembered a great deal of noise and light in those small rooms all night long, robbing her of sleep.
    â€œThe ladies must certainly have the front rooms,” the landlord said, smiling once more at Claudia. “I must insist upon it.”
    As if she had argued against it. And yet perversely she wanted to argue and she wanted those inferior rooms. She would
not
be beholden to the Marquess of Attingsborough for more comfortable rooms. Good heavens, she was an