“Whatever can he want? Did he say, Mr. Keeble?” “He did not say and I did not ask, miss,” the porter replied. “But if you was to ask me, he is up to no good. He smiled at me.” “Ha! A cardinal sin indeed,” Claudia said dryly while Eleanor laughed. “Perhaps,” Lila suggested, “he has a daughter he wishes to place at the school.” “A marquess?” Claudia raised her eyebrows and Lila looked suitably quelled. “Perhaps, Claudia,” Eleanor said, a twinkle in her eye, “he has two daughters.” Claudia snorted and then sighed, took one more sip of her tea, and got reluctantly to her feet. “I suppose I had better go and see what he wants,” she said. “It will be more productive than sitting here guessing. But of all things to happen today of all days. A marquess.” Eleanor laughed again. “Poor man,” she said. “I pity him.” Claudia had never had much use for the aristocracy—idle, arrogant, coldhearted, nasty lot—though the marriage of two of her teachers and closest friends to titled gentlemen had forced her to admit during the past few years that perhaps some of them might be agreeable and even worthy individuals. But it did not amuse her to have one of their number, a stranger, intrude into her own world without a by-your-leave, especially at the end of a difficult day. She did not believe for a single moment that this marquess wished to place any daughter of his at her school. She preceded Mr. Keeble down the stairs since she did not wish to move at his slow pace. She ought, she supposed, to have gone into her bedchamber first to see that she was looking respectable, which she was quite possibly not doing after a hard day at school. She usually made sure that she presented a neat appearance to visitors. But she scorned to make such an effort for a marquess and risk appearing obsequious in her own eyes. By the time she opened the door into the visitors’ parlor, she was bristling with a quite unjustified indignation. How dared he come here to disturb her on her own property, whatever his business might be.