Page 6 of The Winter Companion

“Neville prefers being with the animals,” Mr. Thornhill said. “He’ll withdraw to the stables the whole of the holiday if we allow it.”

Lady Helena took a delicate sip of her tea. “Quite. Which is precisely why we must keep him occupied here at the house.”

Mrs. Bainbridge’s gaze flicked to Clara. “I pray he won’t be overburdened with looking after your dog.”

Five additional sets of eyes immediately fixed on Clara. Heat flooded her cheeks. If a hole had opened in the ground, she’d have gladly leapt into it.

“You’ve brought a dog with you?” Lady Helena asked.

“Yes.” Clara moistened her lips. “A very small one.”

Mr. Thornhill gave her an interested look. “What kind of dog?”

“An antique pug,” Mr. Archer replied with a laugh. “The oldest one I’ve ever seen.”

“Too old to be any trouble,” Mr. Hayes said.

“No, indeed.” Mrs. Archer turned to Lady Helena. “But we didn’t like to presume on your hospitality. Miss Hartwright has left him in the stable for the time being.”

Lady Helena smiled. “You must bring him up to the house, Miss Hartwright. He can stay in your room with you if you like, or in the kitchens.”

Clara couldn’t hide her relief. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Not at all. We’ll be so busy until Twelfth Night. You won’t wish to be always walking down to the stables.”

Mr. Thornhill rested his hand on Lady Helena’s shoulder. “My wife intends to keep us well entertained this month.”

“Do you have many festivities planned, my lady?” Mrs. Bainbridge asked.

“Oh yes.” Lady Helena beamed. “We shall be trimming a tree, gilding walnuts and acorns, and hanging holly and mistletoe. The gentlemen have promised to find a yule log for us, and Cook is making a Christmas feast. I’m determined it will be the happiest Christmas in memory.”

Mr. Thornhill gazed down at his wife. His harsh features softened. “And it will be.”

Lady Helena covered his hand with hers, giving it a discreet squeeze. “I must delegate many of my duties of course, but with a little help—”

“You have mine,” Mrs. Archer said. “I’m completely at your service.”

Mrs. Bainbridge set her teacup down on the marble-topped table beside her chair. “If you’re in need of an extra pair of hands, you must make free to utilize Miss Hartwright.”

“Aunt Charlotte,” Mrs. Archer objected under her breath.

“I won’t need a companion with me every moment of the day,” Mrs. Bainbridge went on. “Miss Hartwright will have plenty of time to spare. I see no reason she shouldn’t help if she’s able. And participate in the festivities, too. Young people must have their fun.”

Lady Helena’s gaze settled back on Clara’s face.

Clara already had plans for her free time. An entire stack of them waiting in her carpetbag. All she could think about was getting back to her room, opening her latest parcel, and setting to work. She had no wish to spend any of her free time on trimming trees, or other holiday nonsense.

But this was Christmas. And her ladyship had kindly permitted Bertie to remove from the stable to the warmth and safety of the house.

Would it be so terrible to join in with the spirit of things? To, for once, endeavor to be something more than invisible?

It seemed a revolutionary idea. A dangerous one, too, based on past experience. But with all eyes in the room upon her, Clara could do nothing but acquiesce. “Thank you, ma’am. I would be glad to be of use.”

Neville loomed over Bertie’s sleeping form, regarding him with a troubled frown. The pug was still curled up tightly on his pile of empty feed sacks. He hadn’t moved so much as an inch since Miss Hartwright had left the stables. And that was more than an hour ago. If not for the muted snuffle of his intermittent snores, Neville might have believed that the elderly canine had expired.

An unsettling thought.

The last thing Neville wanted was to have to tell Miss Hartwright that her pug had died while in his care.