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acceptable.”
    Now that shut the girl up. “First off, call me Dulce. What exactly am I supposed to do? My mother said you just needed a female about to keep the men away.”
    “Not men, man. Carson is my fiancé and there are times when, well, he doesn’t act the proper gentleman.” Amelia could feel her cheeks flush and was so mortified, she failed to see Dulce’s dark look. “But that is not the only reason you are here. I also need a maid.”
    “A maid? My mother does maid stuff.”
    “No, a personal maid. You will do my hair, help me change. Take care of my clothing. Make certain it is fresh and the wrinkles removed.” Amelia shrugged. “I’ve been making do, but most of my gowns are simply impossible to put on by myself, never mind my good corset, which laces in the back.”
    Dulce shook her head, her eyes incredulous. “You want me to dress you?”
    “Well, yes. To assist me,” she said, feeling somehow ridiculous for wanting such a basic thing. “Look at this dress,” she said, opening her trunk and taking it out. It was a lovely gown, made for her London Season by one of the best dressmakers in town. She held up the deep blue silk gown, and turned it round to show Dulce the intricate back held together by tiny buttons. “I could never get this on or off without assistance.”
    “We don’t have fancy dances around here where you could even wear such a thing,” Dulce said, eyeing the gown as if it were made of rat fur instead of the finest washed silk. Amelia could already see that Dulce didn’t put much thought into her own wardrobe. She wore a loose blousy top and a plain brown skirt, but she looked hardly ordinary. There was something wild about Dulce, some underlying smoldering heat that was difficult to pinpoint. She had the look of what her brother would have called a “tart.”
    “Oh,” Amelia said, looking down at the gown, which was one of her favorites. “Practically the only dress I have that doesn’t button in the back, besides the few I’ve been wearing, is my riding habit.”
    “You have a special dress for riding a horse?”
    Amelia dug through her things to find her favorite article of clothing, her dark green wool riding habit. She loved its smart looking jacket, with its wide shawl collar and sleeves that puffed near the shoulder and narrowed on her wrist. She wore the cutest little top hat with it and felt so jaunty and unconventional, and she’d pictured herself many times riding beside Carson in his fancy cowboy gear.
    “Of course. Isn’t it lovely?” she asked, holding it up for the skeptical Dulce to see. “I’m not very good at riding, but I’ve been practicing so that I might be able to keep up with Mr. Kitteridge.”
    “Waste of cloth if you ask me.”
    “I didn’t,” Amelia said, with a flash of anger showing in her eyes. “If you could hang up all my dresses and take care of my things, that would be lovely.” She was done trying to make polite conversation with this difficult woman.
    “What are you going to be doing?” Dulce asked, completely taking Amelia aback. Clearly this girl had never before been hired as a servant—and Amelia had never before been confronted with such hostility from an employee.
    “I’m going to be doing whatever I please,” she said, and had the satisfaction of seeing Dulce frown fiercely. Amelia was normally an exceedingly polite young woman, but she’d had quite enough of Dulce’s criticism and hostility.
    She walked from the room, trying to look like a queen, but the anger flushing her cheeks ruined the effect entirely, she realized. She didn’t know why the girl rubbed her the wrong way, but she did. Perhaps she should try to be more patient with her—and act slightly less rigid. It was clear that the behavior of servants was not the same here in this land.
    As she walked down the hall, she realized she was still wearing the same dress she’d had on all day. It was a wrinkled mess, with a fringe of dust along