For the past several hours, Mrs. Batenhorst – or Mrs. Battle-axe as Amanda was now referring to her silently – had been lecturing the young woman as to the dos and don'ts that she deemed separated a lady from a guttersnipe. Amanda had started out listening politely, nodding, agreeing, even smiling occasionally. But now she was simply enduring the assault on her eardrums. "You must never run in public. Actually, you must never run in private either. The only acceptable time for a lady to run is to escape a fire."

"What about a wild animal chasing her?" piped up a small voice. "Like a bear?"

"Best stay out of it, Timmy," cautioned Mr. Trent with a chuckle in his voice.

"No self-respecting lady would ever be chased by a wild animal," pronounced Mrs. Batenhorst dismissively. "Now, I noticed when you were boarding the stagecoach, you clambered in without waiting for Mr. Jones to help you. In the process, you lifted your skirts so high I daresay your ankles were visible. That's something a lady must never do. And when the horse team ran wild, the manner in which you thrust your head out the window was simply scandalous. Are you listening, Miss Grady?"

The tow-headed young boy sitting solemnly next to his grandfather on the opposite seat could take this no longer.

"Sheesh, Miss Grady. How are you gonna remember all the things a lady can't do?" he asked earnestly.

"That's easy," she answered conspiratorially. "If it's something that might be in the least bit fun, then it isn't allowed."

This sent everyone but Mrs. Batenhorst into gales of mirthful laughter. The other passengers in the coach had grown weary of her "lessons." They ignored her stern look, and the little boy addressed Amanda seriously,

"Miss Grady, I wish you were my teacher. Mr. Raferton is mean as a snake. He hollers at us all the time and he hits us with a switch. I bet you never hit your pupils."

"I should say not! I mean, it isn't my place to criticize a colleague, but for myself, I find I get better results with smiles than switches."

"Oh Lord save us. On top of everything else, she's a progressive," muttered Mrs. Batenhorst, rolling her eyes.

"Can you teach me something?" asked Timmy, clearly enamored.

"Of course I will," she agreed, smiling. "Let's see… How about a poem? Do you want to learn a poem?"

Half an hour later, Timmy was eagerly reciting "The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere," complete with dramatic gestures. After another half hour he was contentedly slumbering against his grandfather's broad shoulder, a soft smile playing on his childish lips. Neilson, Mrs. Batenhorst, and her son were asleep as well, looking much less angelic than the lad. The elderly Mr. Trent sat transfixed as Amanda read aloud to him from one of her thick books, her voice melodious. Golden shafts of late afternoon sunlight filtered through the coach window, picking up coppery highlights in Amanda's hair. The miles wound past as the sun sank slowly behind the distant mountains on the western horizon.

When the stagecoach pulled into the gathering dusk of Granite Hill, Curry hopped lightly down from the top of the stage, stretched his back, then opened the door. He saw that all the passengers inside were sleeping, Amanda with the large book in her lap where it had finally dropped. He hesitated for a moment, loath to disturb her. She opened her eyes, blinking her thick lashes, then she focused on his face and smiled shyly at him. There was something touchingly intimate about seeing her waken like this. "We're here," Curry said loudly, deliberately breaking the spell. The other passengers stirred and woke one by one. Sleepily they gathered their belongings and disembarked the stage, Kid assisting the two ladies and the elderly Mr. Trent, whose limbs had become stiff from lack of movement.

"What about all the - " Amanda gestured to her trunks full of books and school supplies, still strapped to the roof.

"Deke said he'd store it overnight in the stage depot, then someone'll transfer it to the Bridgerton coach in the mornin'. They'll board my horse in their stables for the night, too." He shouldered his saddlebags and took her carpet bag from her hand. "Let's get you settled in at the hotel." He waited patiently while she bid the other passengers good bye, shaking hands of everyone but the little boy, whom she hugged warmly.

The next morning, Curry met Amanda in the hotel restaurant. She was very quiet and seemed to be focusing all her concentration on eating her breakfast and daintily sipping her coffee, pinkie finger slightly extended. She took tiny bites and set her fork down frequently. She dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her cloth napkin in the most delicate fashion. Kid hid a smile as he watched her. After their meal, they walked over to the stage depot. Instead of trotting along like a puppy to keep up with him as she had done the day before, Amanda took tiny, mincing steps. She was holding her shoulders impossibly straight and her head held artificially high.

Curry stopped abruptly, spinning around to face her. Not being able to stop in time, she bumped into him, her face smashing into his chest. Her cheeks colored and she murmured, eyes downcast, "Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. Jones."

Curry placed his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes. "Miss Grady, what is wrong with you today?" he demanded.

Amanda studied the toes of her shoes, not answering.

Realization dawned on him. "Are you tryin' to be ladylike?" he demanded.

In a very small voice, she answered, "Mrs. Batenhorst said –"

"Miss Grady, I'm sure Mrs. Batenhorst meant well, but she must be at least a hundred years old. Some of her ideas about bein' a lady… well, let me put it this way: You're already a lady. A lady with spirit. You've got to be yourself."

Amanda looked up at him with a little smile on her face, "Really?" she asked hopefully.

"Well, unfortunately, you can't go ridin' on top of stagecoaches or wanderin' off alone with strange men unchaperoned, but I would bet that most of what she told you, you can forget. Just try to remember the common sense things."

"Good. I don't know how much longer I could keep up that walk! But she did provide some helpful advice. And I do need to make a favorable impression on the citizens of Bridgerton. And be a good example to my students."

They continued walking, her gait much more natural. "Just as long as you stay true to yourself," the Kid advised sagely.