There was contentment to be found in such pursuits. More than that, there was security. And security was no small thing for a woman. Especially a woman like her.

The next day passed in a whirlwind of activity. While the storm raged outside, the guests decorated the Abbey from top to bottom.

Clara helped to hang holly and mistletoe and to twine pine branches with ribbons and secure them on the banister of the main staircase. It was time she could have better spent on her studies, but she didn’t begrudge the loss of it. Indeed, she was grateful for a momentary distraction from the worries about her future—and her past.

Teddy Hayes made no more mention of her former life as a teacher. He was too busy laughing and teasing with his aunt and sister. The three of them sat together at a low inlaid table in the drawing room, making wreathes out of crystal-encrusted pine boughs.

Nearby, Mr. Archer was up on a ladder, fixing boughs over the windows. Mr. Thornhill was similarly occupied with the arches over the doors. Lady Helena stood below him, offering direction.

“Can you not bend the branch a little further, my love?” she asked. “So it follows the outline of the arch?”

“Like this?”

“Yes, but with the bulk of the bough at the apex. It should fade to nothing as it curves on either side.”

As Clara passed up and down the stairs with her own decorations, she saw Mr. and Mrs. Finchley attaching mistletoe to the bottom of the large gasolier in the hall. She saw them using it, too.

Wary of interrupting such intimacy, she turned back the way she’d come, ducking into the library. Mr. Cross was there, along with Mrs. Bainbridge and Mr. Boothroyd. The two gentlemen were nailing pine boughs around the bank of windows, and Mrs. Bainbridge was arranging crystallized holly and ivy on the bookshelves.

Mr. Cross glanced at her as she entered.

She looked away from him, conscious of the warmth rising in her face.

“Have you finished already, Miss Hartwright?” Mrs. Bainbridge enquired. “Come, you can help me awhile.”

The dogs were in the library too. All three of them, curled up in front of the fire. Jonesy raised his head when she passed him, but he didn’t growl. She flattered herself that he was growing accustomed to her. Yesterday evening, after dinner, he’d even taken a biscuit from her hand without snapping off her fingers.

“You’ve been running up and down those stairs too much today,” Mrs. Bainbridge said. “Your cheeks are flushed.”

“Are they?” Clara helped herself to some of the crystallized holly from Mrs. Bainbridge’s basket. “I suppose I am a little overheated.”

“When the rain relents, you must take a turn in the garden. A proper airing will set you right.”

Clara busied herself on the library ladder, placing holly on the shelves that Mrs. Bainbridge couldn’t reach. It didn’t seem as if the rain would ever relent. But as the hour ticked by, the skies gradually lightened and the rain slowed to a drizzle.