Page 101 of The Winter Companion

She drew back to look at him. “Have you come to any conclusions?”

“I’m no good at ledgers. I’d like a…a horse farm. The one I t-told you about.”

A smile touched her lips, remembering the evening they’d sat together on the settee in the drawing room. “With paddocks, and a barn, and rolling fields of clover?”

He nodded. “Somewhere near to m-my friends.”

“And you’d live there? All alone?”

“Not alone,” he said. “With someone like you.”

Her mouth trembled. She didn’t know quite how to respond.

“I said that wrong,” he amended before she could speak. “I d-didn’t mean someone like you.”

Her heart sank. “No?” She affected a bright tone. “What did you—”

“I meant you,” he said. “Just…you. Clara Hartwright. No one else would do.”

She set her forehead against his chest. “Oh, Neville.”

“I’m n-not asking anything from you.” He stopped again. “That’s n-not true either. I do have something to…to ask you.” His fingers came beneath her chin, gently tipping her face up, compelling her to meet his eyes. “Will you go somewhere with me?”

Anywhere, she wanted to say. To the ends of the earth.

But she hadn’t abandoned all of her good sense. Not yet, anyway.

“Where?” she asked. “Back to Devon?”

“Yes. To the Abbey. But first, I…I want you to c-come with me to Tavistock. To see Mrs. Atkyns.”

She couldn’t conceal her surprise. “You’re going to talk to her about the ponies? But I thought you’d decided to have Mr. Finchley do it in your stead?”

“It has to be me. They’re my responsibility.” He looked steadily at her. “Will you c-come?”

Her heart swelled at the gruff request. She realized then that he needed her, just as she’d needed him. Someone to be there. To lean on during the difficult moments. He’d been that person for her almost from the day they’d met. She could be that person for him now. An unfailing support. A true friend.

Her spirits lifted a little. “Yes,” she said. “I will.”

They left Cambridge almost immediately and within an hour and a half were settled in a wood-paneled first-class railway carriage on the train back to Devon. Clara didn’t like to ask how Neville had afforded the fare. Her single attempt at reimbursing him for her ticket had been met with a very stern glare. Gentlemen could be prickly when it came to matters of money.

She smoothed her skirts as the train left the station, chugging down the tracks in a shriek of grinding metal and a cloud of steam. Her small curtained window looked out on austere buildings of Ketton stone and brown fields dusted in winter snow. Her last glimpse of Cambridge. It was bittersweet.

“I brought something for you,” Neville said.

She turned her head from the window.

He sat beside her, unbearably handsome in his hat, coat, and neatly tied black cravat. He’d shaved and changed before they’d left, availing himself of the washstand in her room while she busied herself at the front desk, arranging for a hansom cab to take them to the station.

“Have you?” she asked politely. They weren’t alone in the carriage. Two gentlemen travelers were established in the upholstered seats across from them, one reading a newspaper, and the other already dozing. Clara was determined to do nothing that would draw their attention.

Neville reached into an inner pocket of his greatcoat and withdrew a slim leather-bound book. He offered it to her. “I thought you m-might like something to…to read.”

She took it from him, her gaze drifting over the familiar gold-stamped spine.

Poems

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