Mrs. Archer took her aunt’s arm. “It makes me feel better to know you have someone nearby to look after you. If you should have palpitations—”

“A maid will suffice in Miss Hartwright’s absence. If her ladyship can spare one.”

Clara walked with them from the room, feeling guilty and anxious and rather infuriated with her brother. It was all she could do to keep her countenance.

She hadn’t lied. Since leaving Hertfordshire four years ago, she’d crossed most of the country by rail and coach. Long, solitary journeys to take up employment in London, in Kent, and even as far as Yorkshire. She’d become accustomed to managing on her own. To dealing with porters, coachman, and innkeepers. A companion didn’t need a companion, Mama said. And it was true enough.

Clara nevertheless quailed at the prospect of the long miles to Cambridge. It would be cold and wet, and her welcome when she reached journey’s end was uncertain.

The starkness of the situation was only beginning to sink in. With it came a depressing realization.

She would be unable to take Bertie with her.

Neville crossed the drawing room to join Clara, feeling a little out of his element. He’d seen her at dinner, seated across the table between Tom and Alex. She’d appeared oddly subdued, just as she appeared now, sitting apart from the others on a small velvet-upholstered settee near the window. Her hands were folded in her lap, her champagne-colored skirts arranged neatly about her.

He glanced to the space beside her on the settee. “May I?”

“Please,” she said.

He sat down carefully. The settee was a delicate piece, made for equally delicate ladies. It gave a creak of protest at his weight. He inwardly winced.

Across the room, Jenny played the piano. A sprightly tune in keeping with the festive feeling in the air. Tom was beside her, dutifully turning the pages of her music.

Nearby, Teddy sat at a card table with Mrs. Bainbridge, Mr. Boothroyd, and Laura. Alex stood at Laura’s shoulder. He bent and whispered in her ear.

“Unfair!” Teddy protested. “You’re not allowed to get help.”

Laura’s eyes widened with exaggerated innocence. “Not even from my husband?”

“Your husband,” Teddy replied dryly, “is a sharper.”

“Come children, enough bickering.” Mrs. Bainbridge laid down a card. “Direct your attention to the game.”

Alex and Teddy grinned at each other, and Laura stifled a laugh. “Yes, aunt,” she said.

To look at them—and at Justin and Lady Helena holding hands by the fire, the three dogs dozing at their feet—one wouldn’t think Christmas was over. They were still aglow with the spirit of the season. All of them merry and bright.

Neville supposed he should be merry as well. But Twelfth Night was fast approaching. Only eleven more days, and Clara would be gone.