Page 84 of The Winter Companion

North Devon, England

December 1860

Neville ran a brush and currycomb over Adventurer’s dappled neck and shoulder, loosening the hair from his thick winter coat. Rain pattered gently on the roof of the stables. The storm had passed sooner than expected, leaving the cliff road swimming in rainwater and knee-deep in mud—but passable. Only that morning, Danvers had pronounced it so.

And now, Neville could leave.

The possibility of it had been preying on his mind since the day Clara departed for Cambridge.

It was a ridiculous idea.

What need had Clara of him? She was intelligent and competent. Capable of taking care of herself. Who was he to interfere? Not her brother or any other sort of relation. He was only her friend.

Only. As if it were nothing very important.

“Friendship is a precious thing,” she’d said.

Infinitely precious. He hadn’t realized quite how much her friendship had meant until she’d gone.

“The turning isn’t as swampy as I feared.” Justin’s deep voice sounded from the entrance to the stables. He entered with Danvers at his side. The two of them had been out inspecting the road. “You don’t think the wheels will get stuck?”

“I reckon we could add more crushed stone,” Danvers said. “It would bind it up nice.”

Justin nodded once. “See to it.”

Danvers disappeared down the aisle, shouting for two of the grooms.

Justin lingered to address Neville. “The dogs aren’t with you?”

“They’re in the kitchen b-by the fire.” The Cook, Mrs. Whitlock, had given them each a bone. Earlier, when Neville had left, Bertie had looked up from his, but he hadn’t followed. Some dogs did better in a pack, and the little pug was one of them. He was beginning to take his cues from Paul and Jonesy.

“Good thing,” Justin said. “It’s vile out here.”

“Less than it was.”

“True. Miss Hartwright was wise to leave when she did. Lord knows what state the road might have been in if the storm hadn’t passed.”

Neville focused on brushing Adventurer. Tried to focus. “She’ll…have arrived by n-now.”

“I expect she has. And I’m sure she’s fine. Which is just what I’ve been telling Teddy. Ladies are remarkably efficient these days.”

Neville’s gaze shot to Justin’s. “What has Teddy to do with it?”

“I suppose he fancies her. The two of them did spend time together, drawing and painting, and such. And they’ll have more time together still when Teddy and Mrs. Bainbridge return to Surrey.”

Jealousy ignited in Neville’s veins. A smoldering bitterness, as potent as liquid poison.

Foolish.

Teddy was just a lad. Hardly a rival. Clara had scarcely mentioned him at all. And yet…

She’d seemed to enjoy his company. Who wouldn’t? He was mentally quick and agile. Always ready with a sharp retort or a wryly humorous remark. More than that, he looked intelligent. There was something in his eyes. In his expression. Something Neville knew he didn’t possess.

And now—when Teddy returned to Surrey—he’d have Clara all to himself. She’d be there to look at. To talk to. With her gentle ways, and her sweet orange-blossom scent.

“He d-didn’t want her to go?”

“He hasn’t said so. But he’s worried about her being alone in Cambridge.” Justin’s mouth curved in a brief, wry smile. “I blame Helena and Jenny. They mentioned how rowdy Giles and his friends used to get at university. Made them sound like a right pack of savages.”