“Mrs. Bainbridge. Miss Hartwright.” Mr. Thornhill came forward to greet them. He was dressed in a black evening coat and trousers, with a light-colored waistcoat and a cream silk cravat at his throat. “May I present my steward, Mr. Boothroyd?” He directed them to the gray-haired gentleman. “Boothroyd, this is Mrs. Archer’s aunt, Mrs. Bainbridge, and her companion, Miss Hartwright.”

Mr. Boothroyd bowed. “A pleasure to meet you, ma’am. And you, Miss Hartwright.” He offered Mrs. Bainbridge his arm. “Mr. Thornhill tells me that this is your first visit to Devon.”

Mrs. Bainbridge permitted Mr. Boothroyd to guide her to a vacant chair by the fire. “It is, sir.”

Clara was left standing as Mrs. Bainbridge and Mr. Boothroyd slipped easily into conversation. It wasn’t surprising. The two of them were of an age, and Clara could see no evidence of a Mrs. Boothroyd.

Mr. Thornhill looked down at her. “May I offer you a glass of sherry?”

“Please.”

“Do come and sit beside me, Miss Hartwright.” Lady Helena beckoned from her place on the sofa. Her mink-colored hair was arranged in an elaborate roll at her nape, secured with a pair of diamond combs. The softly draped fabric of her silk dinner dress shimmered in the firelight.

She looked every inch an earl’s daughter.

In other circumstances, Clara might have been intimidated, but Lady Helena’s manner was neither cold nor condescending. Her expression was warm, her invitation seemingly genuine.

Clara crossed the room to join her, exchanging murmured greetings with Mr. and Mrs. Archer as she passed.

“Cook tells me you visited the kitchens earlier with Mr. Cross,” Lady Helena said as Clara sat down.

Clara had a feeling that nothing happened at the Abbey that its mistress didn’t know about. “Mr. Cross was kind enough to bring Bertie in from the stables. I went down to the kitchens to retrieve him.”

“Bertie? Is that your pug’s name?”

“It is. He was given it by my last employer, in honor of the Prince Consort.”

Lady Helena laughed. “Goodness, that’s a great deal for a little dog to live up to. I trust he’s acclimating well?”

“Quite well.” Clara failed to suppress a smile. “I found him asleep in front of the kitchen fire with your two mastiffs, as comfortable as you please.”

“If Paul and Jonesy have accepted him, he’ll have nothing at all to fear,” Lady Helena said. “A creature couldn’t hope for a more stalwart pair of protectors.”

“They’re certainly fearsome to look at.”

“And sweet as lambs once you get to know them. Isn’t that right, my dear?”

Mr. Thornhill handed Clara a small glass of sherry. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I’ve found them to be friendly enough,” Mrs. Archer said. “Though the older one didn’t fancy me much when we first arrived here.”

“Rubbish,” Mr. Archer replied. “It was me he growled at. No doubt he recognized a villain when he saw one.”

Mr. Thornhill gave a sympathetic grimace. “Jonesy thinks everyone is a villain, until proven otherwise.”