Simply Perfect by Mary Balogh Page A

gratifying, she was now able to increase the number of charity pupils she took in from twelve to fourteen. And the school was even turning a modest profit.
    She was looking forward to the next hour or so, she thought as Peter’s coachman handed her down from the carriage and she stepped inside Mr. Hatchard’s office.
    Less than an hour later Claudia hurried back outside onto the pavement. Viscount Whitleaf’s coachman jumped down from the box and opened the carriage door for her. She drew breath to tell him that she would walk home. She was far too agitated to ride. But before she could speak, she heard her name being called.
    The Marquess of Attingsborough was riding along the street with the Earl of Kilbourne and another gentleman. It was the marquess who had hailed her.
    â€œGood morning, Miss Martin,” he said, riding closer. “And how are you this morning?”
    â€œIf I were any angrier, Lord Attingsborough,” she said, “the top might well blow off my head.”
    He raised his eyebrows.
    â€œI am going to walk home,” she told the coachman. “Thank you for waiting for me, but you may return without me.”
    â€œYou must permit me to escort you, ma’am,” the marquess said.
    â€œI hardly need a chaperone,” she told him sharply. “And I would
not
be good company this morning.”
    â€œAllow me to accompany you as a friend, then,” he said, and he swung down from his saddle and turned to the earl. “You will take my horse back to the stable, Nev?”
    The earl smiled and doffed his hat to Claudia, and it was too late to say a firm no. Besides, it was something of a relief to see a familiar face. She had thought she would have to wait for Susanna to return from her shopping expedition before she would have anyone with whom to talk. She might well burst before then.
    And so just a minute later they were walking along the pavement together, she and the Marquess of Attingsborough. He offered his arm, and she took it.
    â€œI am
not
much given to distress,” she assured him, “despite last evening and now this morning. But this morning it is anger—
fury
—rather than distress.”
    â€œSomeone upset you in there?” he asked, nodding toward the building from which she had just emerged.
    â€œThat is Mr. Hatchard’s office,” she explained to him. “My man of business.”
    â€œAh,” he said. “The employment. It did not meet with your approval?”
    â€œEdna and Flora will return to Bath with me tomorrow,” she said.
    â€œThat bad?” He patted her hand on his arm.
    â€œWorse,” she assured him. “
Far
worse.”
    â€œAm I permitted to know what happened?” he asked.
    â€œThe Bedwyns,” she said, sawing at the air with her free hand as they crossed a street, avoiding a pile of fresh manure. “
That
is what happened. The
Bedwyns
! They will be the death of me yet. I swear they will.”
    â€œI do hope not,” he said.
    â€œFlora was to be employed by Lady Aidan Bedwyn,” Claudia said, “and Edna by none other than
the Marchioness of Hallmere
!”
    â€œAh,” he said.
    â€œIt is
insufferable,
” she told him. “I do not know how that woman has the nerve.”
    â€œPerhaps,” he suggested, “she remembers you as a superior teacher who will not compromise her principles and high standards even for money or position.”
    Claudia snorted.
    â€œAnd perhaps,” he said, “she has grown up.”
    â€œWomen like her,” Claudia said, “do not grow up. They just grow nastier.”
    Which was ridiculous and unfair, of course. But her antipathy toward the former Lady Freyja Bedwyn ran so deep that she was incapable of being reasonable where the woman was concerned.
    â€œYou have an objection to Lady Aidan Bedwyn too?” he asked, touching the brim of his hat to a couple of ladies who were walking in