Well.

They had seemed kindly enough. Though how much could one tell about people during the course of a single railway journey and a cramped carriage drive?

It behooved her to remain on her guard, no matter how kind Mrs. Bainbridge and her relations might be. That was doubly true for the residents of Greyfriar’s Abbey. Even that blond Sir Galahad of a groom in the stable. Yes, even him.

Especially him.

She wasn’t about to have another position derailed by a handsome man.

Stiffening her spine, she once again raised her hand to the knocker. However, before she could apply it, the door swung open, revealing an elderly butler garbed in impeccable livery. He peered down at her from beneath a pair of bushy white brows.

“Miss Hartwright?”

Heat drifted out from inside the house, enveloping Clara in a warm embrace. She took an unconscious step toward it. “I am Miss Hartwright.”

“Indeed, ma’am. Mrs. Bainbridge is expecting you.” He drew back to admit her. “Welcome to Greyfriar’s Abbey.”

She stepped into the spacious hall. The interior of the Abbey appeared as luxurious as the outside was stark and grim. Daylight filtered in through the high, stone-framed windows, illuminating walls papered in softly shaded silk, and a floor covered in rich Aubusson carpet, spun with threads of crimson and gold.

There was no one waiting to issue a formal welcome, and no sign of Mrs. Bainbridge, or any of the others who Clara had traveled up with in the carriage.

“Allow me to take your wet things,” the butler said.

She divested herself of her cloak and gloves, grateful to be rid of them. Her woolen dress underneath was nothing very special, but at least it was neat and dry. As she smoothed her hair and skirts, another servant appeared. An older woman in a plain black dress and starched cap. The housekeeper, Clara presumed.

“Miss Hartwright? You’ll wish to freshen your appearance before tea is served. Permit me to show you to your room.”

Clara followed after her up a single flight of oak stairs. The steps rose to a landing, after which they divided into two separate branches leading to opposite wings of the floors above.

“I’ve put you in a room next to Mrs. Bainbridge.” The housekeeper stopped outside a wood-paneled door at the end of a narrow corridor, and opened it for Clara to enter. “She asks that you go to her after you’ve repaired your hair and dress.”

“Yes, of course.” Clara advanced into the room. It was as richly papered and carpeted as the hall had been, and equally as warm. At its center was a four-poster bed, curtained in dark green fabric. A wardrobe stood to the left of it, between two velvet-draped windows. At its right was a wooden washstand with a porcelain pitcher and bowl.

“There’s hot water to wash with, and Robert has brought your cases in from the carriage.”

Clara went to the foot of the bed, where her carpetbag and portmanteau had been neatly stacked atop a padded bench. “When will tea be served?”