Clara folded the last of her petticoats and placed them inside her portmanteau. Her veins hummed with anxiety. She’d thought she had another day to get her affairs in order. To pack her clothing and belongings and to settle things with Bertie’s care. She glanced at the small gilt clock on the mantel. It was half past eleven. Only twenty more minutes until her departure.

“Are you certain there’s nothing else you require, Miss Hartwright?” Mrs. Archer stood near the wardrobe, a cashmere shawl wrapped around her shoulders. “An extra pair of woolen stockings or another bonnet? I’d be happy to lend you whatever you need.”

Outside, the rain hammered down in a relentless torrent, beating on the roof and the windows. The winter storm was fully upon them, and with it a whistling wind and an ominous gray fog that obscured the sea from view.

Clara tried not to think about how Mr. Danvers would manage to navigate the winding cliff road.

“I’m quite all right as I am.” She shut and locked her portmanteau. Her carpetbag was already packed. She stacked both on the padded bench at the foot of the bed. “I’ll be on the train mostly, not out in the elements.”

Bertie looked up from his place by the dwindling fire. Clara’s eyes found his. She swallowed against a lump in her throat.

“And you’re certain Mr. Cross is going to care for your pug? You can leave him with me if you like, or with Teddy.”

“I wouldn’t wish to put you to any trouble.” Clara’s cloak, bonnet, and gloves were laid out on the bed. She slipped them on. “Besides, Mr. Cross said he’d be happy to do it. He has a way with animals.”

“That he does.” Mrs. Archer went to the bell pull and gave it a sharp tug. “What about your wages? Have you put them somewhere safe?”

“In my reticule.” Clara tied her bonnet tight under her chin. “Except for a single pound note, which I’ve hidden inside the bottom of my half boot.”

Mrs. Archer’s mouth curved in a fleeting smile. “Very wise.”

A footman arrived moments later to collect Clara’s bags.

“Thank you, Robert,” Mrs. Archer said.

“Shall I come back for the dog, ma’am?” he asked.

“I’ll take him myself.” Clara scooped up Bertie. “I must have a word with Mr. Cross.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Archer cast a worried glance at the window. “Though do make it a brief one. The weather appears to be worsening by the minute.”

Clara promised that she would, and with Bertie in her arms, she made her way downstairs.

She hadn’t seen Neville since last night at dinner. The entire evening had been a painful ordeal, and one she’d rather have avoided. After returning from the stables, she’d been quite tempted to plead a headache and keep to her room.