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the earl upstairs, as he was rather large.
    Toplofty manners, money, and the mention of a grand title worked magic on Mrs. Beane, changing her in the wink of a jaundiced eye to a hostess who couldn’t do enough to make her new tenants comfortable, even going so far as to suggest throwing out the guests who occupied the inn’s largest room and giving it to the earl and his countess. With regal condescension, Amanda refused to allow Mrs. Beane to evict unsuspecting patrons.
    When the gentleman was finally taken to a small, low-pitched room and laid out on the bed, Amanda stood over him and looked worriedly down at his pale face. He was still handsome but rather like a statue with his noble features carved from marble—cold and immobile. Lifeless. Amanda had a sudden sickening thought that he might actually die. After all, despite four men manhandling him up the steep, narrow stairs, he was still quite oblivious to his surroundings.
    “Gracious, he looks fagged to death,” commented Mrs. Beane in a tone of forced sympathy. She turned to Amanda. “Where’s your husband’s manservant?”
    “He was … er … not well when we left our home,” Amanda improvised quickly. “He had a fever. My husband is very compassionate and chose to dress himself rather than inflict a journey on his ailing manservant.”
    “Well, I daresay that does show a great deal of solicitude for one’s servant,” Mrs. Beane agreed with scornful disbelief, as if to say she’d never be so solicitous of a mere underling. “But now that your husband is unable to dress or undress himself, you are left to do the job.”
    Amanda felt the blood drain from her head. She grasped the rounded top of a bedpost for support. “Me?”
    “Well, milady,” said Mrs. Beane with raised brows, “I don’t think it will be wise to leave him in those damp clothes, do you? If you hurry, you’ll be able to have him undressed and under the coverlets in three flicks of a lamb’s tail.”
    Amanda stood in shocked silence as Mrs. Beane moved briskly past her to the door. “Meanwhile I’ll make sure your servants get a hot supper in them before they retire to the room over the stables for the night.” Theo, Joe, and Harley stood in the hallway and stared into the room with horrified expressions. “And I’ll send a chambermaid up with more wood for the fire and a tray for you.”
    To reassure her servants, Amanda roused herself and attempted a composed appearance. “Yes, Mrs. Beane, that will do nicely.” She turned to her servants. “Do go along with Mrs. Beane to the kitchen and have your supper,” she told them, forcing a smile. “I shall be quite comfortable and safe here with my husband … the earl.”
    They had immediately caught on to Amanda’s charade and gone along with it grudgingly, but it appeared that Theo in particular was having difficulty leaving his mistress alone with a strange man whose clothing she was intending to remove.
    “Well, do you want your supper or not?” Mrs. Beane shouted from the top of the stairs. “You’ll eat it now or go without!”
    This threat inspired Joe and Harley to scurry away, but Theo stood stubbornly in the hall, his face pulled with worry. “Miss,” he said in an urgent whisper. “This ain’t right! Let me stay and undress the gent.”
    Amanda was sorely tempted to allow him to do so. “No,” she said at last. “It will look odd to Mrs. Beane if I hesitate to undress my own husband. And she must believe he’s my husband, or she’ll throw us out on our ears!”
    “Not if ye pay her enough. She can be bought, that one!”
    “But I already told her he’s my husband, Theo. We’d better leave well enough alone!”
    “Ye told her he’s an earl, too, miss,” said Theo, shaking his head disapprovingly.
    “It was the only way to get the old harridan to treat us with respect!” she replied defensively. “Now do go away, Theo, or you’ll miss your supper!”
    “But miss—”
    Amanda raised her