“I won’t keep you,” Mrs. Archer said. “I only wanted to make certain you were comfortable, and that you have everything you require.”

“Oh yes.” Clara stood beside the dressing table, hands clasped in front of her. “The housekeeper is looking after me.”

“And my aunt? She’s not too tired from the journey, I trust.”

“Mrs. Bainbridge is having a lie-down. I offered her some of her tonic, but she refused it. I was unable to persuade her.”

“Aunt Charlotte won’t take her tonic unless it’s strictly necessary. You needn’t keep after her. She’ll ask for it if her heart begins to pain her.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Clara hesitated. “She did seem a bit weak after the journey.”

“She’s only tired, I expect. Travel overtaxes her. And with the change in the weather…” Mrs. Archer’s mouth curved into a pensive frown. “I wonder if I was selfish to encourage her to spend Christmas in such a climate? Dampness has always worsened her aches and pains.”

“It’s not damp inside the house,” Clara pointed out. Rather the opposite. She was toasty warm. Warmer than she’d been in an age. Her last employer had guarded the coals for the fire as if each one was a precious jewel. As a result, Clara’s former bedroom had been the approximate temperature of an icebox.

“No. It’s really quite modern, isn’t it? Despite the remote location. Mr. Thornhill has even had gaslight installed in some of the rooms.” Mrs. Archer’s features brightened. “I daresay my aunt will warm up soon enough, once she’s recovered from her journey. And then we can all set our minds to having a merry Christmas.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Clara managed a smile, certain it looked as brittle as it felt.

She hadn’t had a merry Christmas in a very long time. In truth, she couldn’t remember ever having had one. And it wasn’t only because they’d never had a bean to spare for gifts. Or because Mama found the fashion for Christmas trees frivolous—never mind that it was favored by the Queen.

It was hard to imagine Christmas here being any merrier.

There was an aura of gloom about the Abbey. No matter its warmth and modernizations. She supposed it was the age of the place.

“You mustn’t feel as though you can’t take part. You’re not a servant here.” Mrs. Archer paused, studying Clara’s face. “Forgive me if I’ve got the wrong end of things, but I sense that your last position may not have been entirely agreeable.”

Clara’s cheeks warmed. “I was very grateful for it.”

“Of course you were.” Mrs. Archer moved to the door. “I’ll say no more on the subject. You’re sure to get an earful on the role of ladies’ companions when you meet Mrs. Finchley. She was once Lady Helena’s companion, you know.”

Clara’s brows shot up. She hadn’t known. “And they remain on good terms?”

“Indeed. They’re the best of friends.” Mrs. Archer smiled back at Clara as she opened the door. “We’re an eccentric bunch, Miss Hartwright, even at the best of times. Consider yourself warned.”