He didn’t deny it. “Alex says there are painters in France who are experimenting with light the way I am. He means to find one who’ll teach me.” He laid down another brushstroke. “You were a teacher, weren’t you?”

She went still. “Excuse me?”

“You said so the evening we arrived. When you were talking with Tom Finchley.” He glanced up at her. “You never said so before.”

“It hardly seemed relevant. Besides, I wasn’t an art teacher.”

“Even so, I’m surprised you abandoned the profession to be a companion to elderly ladies like my aunt. You don’t seem suited for it.”

“You speak with some authority.” Clara made her voice light. As if the subject hadn’t rattled her. Hadn’t caused her pain. “Have you met many ladies’ companions?”

“No, but—”

“We’re not all alike, you know. Only consider Mrs. Finchley.”

“Yes, I daresay you’re right. Still, I think you’d have done better to remain a teacher. Who wants to be trailing after old women all day, catering to their megrims? And what’s that in your hand? Waverley? Good lord. I suppose Aunt Charlotte asked you to read it to her?”

“I don’t mind.”

“So you claim. And yet…I have the funniest suspicion that you do mind.”

Clara felt as if he’d shone a harsh light on her. As if he’d exposed her secrets to the world. Ridiculous, really. Teddy Hayes didn’t know the first thing about her. “If I’ve done something to indicate I’m displeased with my position—”

“Nothing significant. But I told you”—he added a dab of sea-green paint to his canvas—“I notice things.”

The woods that bordered the Abbey were nothing much to speak of. Only a few clusters of hearty pine trees, willows, and oaks, growing as wild as the rest of the landscape. They were set back from the cliffs, further inland. A natural woodland that had never yet been bent to the will of man.

Neville tramped through the trees with the rest of the guests, the rain-sodden ground squelching beneath his boots. In his early days in residence, he’d often ventured into the woods to cut firewood. Now, however, it was the servants who were responsible for gathering fuel for the fire. Neville rarely had cause to go into the woods anymore, but he was still as familiar with them as he was with the rest of Greyfriar’s Abbey.

“We’re relying on you to guide us,” Tom said. “No one knows the property better than you.”

No one save Justin. But he’d stayed behind with Lady Helena. He was loath to leave her for any length of time in her present condition. Jenny had stayed behind as well, fussing over Lady Helena with near as much concern. With them were Mrs. Bainbridge, Mr. Boothroyd, and Mr. Hayes, none of whom had any interest in venturing out into the rain and mud.

Only Alex, Tom, Laura, and Miss Hartwright had come. Along with a party of housemaids and footmen, they traipsed through the woods. The servants were in far better spirits about it than the houseguests. Some of them sang carols. Others talked and laughed.