“Then it is fortunate she is in Paris with Mother.” It never failed to amaze either Camille or Beryl that their younger sister had a distinct lack of imagination and an overdeveloped sense of propriety. Where did she get it? “And don’t forget, aside from the primary players, there’s the supporting cast.” Camille ticked the roles off on her fingers. “I needed a butler, of course, as well as a housekeeper, a cook and an assortment of maids and footmen. I am bringing my lady’s maid, however.”

“What did you do with Mother’s servants?” Beryl stared. “What have you done with Clement?”

“You needn’t look at me as if I’ve done away with him and buried him in the garden.” Camille rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. “As even Mother is rarely at the manor for Christmas, in recent years, Clement has spent Christmas with his niece in Wales, I believe. It’s silly to have a butler on the premises if there is no one there. I sent the rest off on holiday—paid, of course.”

“Of course,” Beryl murmured.

“Yet, another expense. However, I have been assured most of the troupe is better at keeping a house than they are on stage, which is fortunate, as I do expect them to do so.” Camille lowered her voice in a confidential manner. “From what I understand, most of the players have been in service fairly recently. So that part of it should work out nicely.”

“Oh, well, as long as they can tend to the house.”

“They are not the least bit famous as actors, that is, which, on one hand, is convenient, and on the other, something of a concern.” Camille drummed her fingers absently on the table. “I do need them to be believable, but I should hate to have any of them recognized, so their lack of theatrical success is a benefit.”

Beryl stared as if she couldn’t quite believe her ears. “It is so hard to get good help.”

“Indeed, it is. However, as they are not in particular demand, they are more than willing to take on this . . . production as it were. And as costly as they are, they would have charged so much more if they were well known.” Camille smiled smugly.

“It’s fortunate you can afford them.”

“Thank goodness Harold left me with a tidy fortune.”

Harold, Viscount Lydingham, had been substantially older than Camille when they had wed. But then, older men with wealth and position were precisely the type of gentlemen their mother had trained her three daughters to wed. And Beryl, Camille and Delilah had obediently done so. Their reward was to be widowed and financially independent at an age young enough to enjoy life and pursue love, should they be so inclined.