She found the case on a wardrobe shelf and brought it to Mrs. Bainbridge.

Mrs. Bainbridge opened the hinged lid and sifted through the scant contents. Clara glimpsed the sparkle of garnets, the shimmer of pearls, and a twinkle of something clear and bright, which might have been either diamonds or paste. “Here.” Mrs. Bainbridge withdrew a small topaz brooch surrounded by seed pearls. “Bend your head, my dear.”

Clara obliged her.

Mrs. Bainbridge fixed the little brooch to the top of Clara’s hairnet. “There.”

Clara straightened, gazing into the mirror. The brooch was delicate but striking, the stone a lustrous golden amber that complemented her eyes and hair.

“You see how well it becomes you?” Mrs. Bainbridge gave her a satisfied smile. “You may borrow it for the evening.”

Clara fingered the hair ornament. It was the first nice thing her new employer had done for her. Evidence that her initial impression of the lady hadn’t been wrong. Mrs. Bainbridge was starchy. She was also kind. And generous, too, it seemed. “You needn’t—”

“Nonsense. Every young lady must have a bauble to wear at dinner. Especially when in such refined company as this.” Mrs. Bainbridge’s voice took on a conspiratorial note. “Lady Helena’s brother is the Earl of Castleton. He might have joined us for Christmas, but I’m told he returned to India last month. He owns a tea plantation there in the hills of Darjeeling.”

“Oh. I hadn’t any idea.”

“Indeed. Her ladyship’s pedigree rivals that of the finest ladies in the land. Of course, my niece isn’t at all intimidated. She’s known Lady Helena all of a week and already feels quite at home here. I understand her ladyship puts on no airs. Nor why should she? She’s married as humbly as my niece has.”

Clara didn’t know the history of Mrs. Archer’s husband any more than she knew that of Mr. Thornhill. She was aware that the two men had been childhood friends—a connection which had prompted the invitation for Christmas. Other than that, she was completely in the dark.

“One wonders how precedence will be handled at dinner?” Mrs. Bainbridge stood. “Where is my wrap? Ah. There on the bed. Fetch it for me, if you please, Miss Hartwright. And don’t forget your own shawl. These old houses can be chilly.”

After retrieving their shawls, Clara followed Mrs. Bainbridge down the stairs to the drawing room. Mr. Thornhill and Lady Helena were already there, along with Mr. and Mrs. Archer, Mr. Hayes, and a kindly looking elderly gentleman with gray hair and spectacles.

The gentlemen rose to their feet when Clara and Mrs. Bainbridge entered the room. Only Mr. Hayes remained seated, confined to his wheeled chair. His legs weren’t completely immobile—not as far as Clara understood. But he couldn’t stand without assistance, and he was entirely unable to walk.

She caught his gaze as the other gentlemen stood, and was certain she saw a glimmer of some deep emotion in the depths of his eyes. It might have been frustration, or perhaps even bitterness. She had no chance to grasp it. When next she looked, he’d wheeled his chair closer to his sister and was replying to something she’d said.