“A wise dog,” Mr. Archer said. “One can never be too careful.”

Mrs. Bainbridge gave Mr. Archer a stern look. “You’re very cynical, sir.”

Mr. Archer only grinned. “I won’t deny it.”

It wasn’t the first occasion on which Clara had observed a hint of tension between Mrs. Bainbridge and Mr. Archer. She couldn’t discern why. Perhaps Mrs. Bainbridge disapproved of her niece’s marriage? But if that was the case, then why had she agreed to join Mr. and Mrs. Archer for Christmas in Devon?

“You must heed my warning about those dogs, ma’am,” Mr. Boothroyd said gravely. “They are accustomed to run on the beach in the morning, no matter the weather, and haven’t the slightest scruple about jumping up on one’s clothing the minute they gallop through the door.”

Mrs. Bainbridge responded with a look of horror. “Dogs of that size? My word. They could do one an injury.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” Lady Helena assured her. “Mr. Cross will be taking the dogs out for their run early during your stay. Any jumping they have to do will be well out of their systems before they return to the house.”

“Speaking of Mr. Cross.” Mr. Archer stood, along with Mr. Boothroyd as Mr. Cross entered the room. He was in company with a slim gentleman in silver-rimmed spectacles and a lady with magnificent auburn hair.

“We haven’t kept you waiting, have we?” she asked.

“Not at all.” Mr. Thornhill swiftly dispensed with the introductions. “Mrs. Bainbridge, Miss Hartwright, this is Mr. and Mrs. Finchley. And you’ve all met Mr. Cross, I trust?”

Clara’s gaze drifted to Mr. Cross quite against her will.

Like the other gentlemen, he was dressed in evening black with a cream-colored waistcoat and matching silk cravat. He didn’t look at all like a groom or a stable hand. Indeed, he looked every inch a gentleman. Tall, lean, and golden-haired, with the broadest set of shoulders Clara had ever seen. A Galahad of sorts, just as she’d thought in the stables.

But there was nothing of the sophisticate about him. Nothing particularly suave or debonair. He seemed almost shy. If a gentleman so fine-looking could be shy.

It was a puzzle. One Clara had little hope of solving. She’d only be in residence through Twelfth Night. How much about a man could a lady learn in so short a time?

Only that he was handsome. That he was kind to dogs and horses. And that he had some form of speech impediment that caused him to turn red about the collar whenever he attempted to speak to her.

And yet he was speaking now, with apparent ease. Saying something to Mr. Archer. The two of them went to the drinks table with Mr. Thornhill, Mr. Finchley, and Mr. Hayes, looking perfectly content in each other’s company.

Mrs. Bainbridge and Mr. Boothroyd were equally content, settled at the opposite end of the room, engaged in low conversation.

“Isn’t this an unexpected pleasure.” Mrs. Finchley sat down in a chair across from Clara and Lady Helena. “I was warned we’d have a lady’s companion in our midst. I’d anticipated an aged spinster with a long face and dour disposition. But you’re rather lovely, Miss Hartwright.”