Page 85 of The Winter Companion

Neville’s hand stilled on the brush. His heart beat hard. Lady Helena, of all people, would comprehend what went on at university. She was the only one of their ranks to have had family who attended. Her brother and father, and every other aristocratic male relative going back for hundreds of years. “What…what did they…”

“Drinking, pranks, and the like. You know how it is with young men.” Justin didn’t appear at all concerned. “I saw those ponies of yours this morning. They’re looking well.”

Neville marshaled his thoughts. It was near impossible to do so when an image of Clara alone in Cambridge amid a pack of roving, inebriated males kept creeping into his mind. “Betty still favors her leg. But she’s…improving.”

“And the foal?”

“He’d like to run.”

Justin’s expression was thoughtful. “Tom mentioned you were contemplating returning them to Dartmoor.”

Neville resumed brushing. “I’m thinking about it.”

“You realize, of course, that that’s no guarantee someone wouldn’t catch them again, and take them back to the horse sales.”

“I know that.” It was the very reason Neville hadn’t made a decision yet.

None of the options for Betty’s future were good ones. He began to fear he’d have little choice but to break her to harness. Such a thing wasn’t unheard of. Miners often used the Dartmoor ponies for cart work. They were a strong and surefooted breed.

But Neville was reluctant to force such a life on Betty. She belonged with others of her kind, running free on the moors. Not hauling coal or pulling a child’s cart.

“I haven’t m-made a decision yet. I’m…” Neville shook his head. “It’s t-too soon.”

“And what about this one?” Justin came up behind Adventurer, laying a reassuring hand on his rump. “How’s he getting on?”

“He’s restive.”

“Aren’t we all?” Justin stepped back, allowing Neville room to continue brushing. “You should give him a good gallop on the beach. It always serves to blow the cobwebs off of Hiran.”

“I’ve b-been galloping him. He wants…” Neville’s hand tightened on the currycomb as he worked it over Adventurer’s side. “He wants more.”

“More than a gallop?”

“Just…more. A change of scene.”

“Understandable, with a name like Adventurer.”

Neville hadn’t bestowed the name upon him. It had been his racing moniker. A name that suited him well—and that didn’t suit Neville at all. “And ironic, c-considering he’s mine.”

Justin’s expression sobered. “You’ve had adventures enough for a lifetime.”

“My accident wasn’t an adventure.”

“I didn’t mean the accident. I meant that—while I comprehend why you might occasionally pine for greener pastures—the Abbey is the safest place for you. Here, you’re surrounded by people who care about you. Who have your best interests at heart.”

“What do you…” Neville struggled to verbalize his thoughts. It was always more difficult when he was upset about something. “What d-do you think would happen if…if I left?”

“I don’t know,” Justin said. “And that’s the hell of it. I wouldn’t be there to know. You’d be out of the reach of my protection.”

“You d-don’t have to protect me.”

“I don’t have to do anything. I want to do it. When we were boys…” Justin grimaced. “It rankles that Alex was the one to save you. That I couldn’t do it myself.”

“What difference does it make?”

“It makes all the difference in the world. I was the reason you were up on the cliffs that day. It was because of me and my infernal obsession with the Abbey. What had any of you to do with it?”

Neville remembered well enough why they’d used to climb down the cliffs at Abbot’s Holcombe. All those trips in the little rowboat down the coast to Greyfriar’s Abbey. All that mischief-making and digging for buried treasure.