Page 73 of The Winter Companion

“Stay there,” he said as he led Betty past her.

Clara didn’t argue. Her teeth were chattering too much to speak.

He put Betty and Firefly away in their loose box, leaving them with some fresh hay to tide them over until his return. And then he went to collect Clara. “Come with me.”

She stood. “Where?”

“I have rooms upstairs.”

“Oh…I couldn’t.” She hung back. “It wouldn’t be proper.”

“It’s all right.” He put a hand on her back to coax her forward. She was trembling beneath his touch. He couldn’t tell if it was because of the cold or because of him. “I’ll light a fire. We can k-keep the…the door open.”

Clara didn’t look entirely convinced at the wisdom of such a thing. She nevertheless permitted him to escort her up the single flight of creaking wooden stairs behind the feed room. It led to a small landing in front of a closed door.

He opened it and ushered her inside.

Hugging herself with her arms, she looked about the room, examining the worn wingback chairs, old mahogany wardrobe, and metal bedstead. Her gaze lingered on the mattress with its heavy quilt and pillows. She bit her lip. “This isn’t at all—”

“Here.” He guided her to one of the chairs near the cold hearth. “Sit down.”

Again, she did as he bid her, albeit reluctantly, perching on the very edge of the seat, as if she might spring up at any moment and bolt from the room. She was silent as he made up the fire and stoked it to a roaring flame. When he turned again to look at her, some of the color was back in her cheeks.

“Will you stay here?” he asked. “While I t-tend to Betty?”

“Are you going to bathe her?”

He shook his head. “I’ll sponge her d-down. And…I n-need to wrap her leg.”

“I can’t wait long. I’ve already been gone over an hour. Mrs. Bainbridge—”

“It won’t t-take long. Just…” Words eluded him. All the things he wished he could say to her. All the emotion he wanted to convey. It was tangled up in his head and his heart. There was no way to express it. Only a simple request. A husky plea. “Just…wait for me.”

Her chocolate brown eyes glistened. He was reminded of the day they’d met. Of how she’d looked at him. How she’d offered him her hand.

She’d only just come into his life, and now she was leaving just as quickly. And he wasn’t ready for it, lord help him. He wanted—needed—a little more time.

She nodded slowly. “Very well, I’ll wait.”

Clara was true to her word. She waited for Neville, for goodness knew how many minutes. It was long enough for the fire to dry her dress and take the shivering chill from her bones. Long enough for her teeth to cease chattering.

All the while the rain pelted the curtained window of his room, and storm clouds moved across the sun, casting dark shadows across the furnishings and floor. She rose from her chair to light a lamp. There was one located on a wooden table near the bed. A slim book bound in red morocco leather lay closed beside it.

She didn’t like to pry. What Neville chose to read of an evening was none of her business. But as she removed the globe from the oil lamp and lit the wick, she couldn’t keep her gaze from drifting over the gilt-stamped title on the ridged spine.

Poems

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First Edition

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Tennyson

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Vol. II