Page 56 of The Winter Companion

As she crossed the floor, Neville helped himself to a golden apple. Her eyes met his again as he took it.

She gave him an uncertain smile, the blush still high in her cheeks. “I haven’t seen you since this morning.”

“I’ve been at the stables.”

“With Betty?” She handed the basket of golden fruit to Teddy.

“Is that the wild pony?” he asked. “Laura mentioned there was one in residence.”

“There is,” Clara said. “And there will be another soon. She’s expecting a foal.”

“Oh?” Teddy appeared only mildly interested. He began tucking the fruit into the branches he could reach from his wheeled chair. “Alex? Come and put some of these near the top, will you?”

Alex joined his brother-in-law. “Is the lack of symmetry bothering your artistic sensibilities?”

“As a matter of fact,” Teddy said, “it is.”

Clara drifted away from the conversation, and Neville followed. “How is Betty?”

“Restless.”

“Can you walk her yet?”

He shook his head. If Betty were a lame saddle horse, he’d lead her up and down the drive for a bit of gentle exercise. But she was only now becoming accustomed to letting him lead her out of the loose box. Anything more would likely result in her thrashing about and re-injuring her leg.

“I mean to turn her out. In the p-paddock behind the stables.”

Clara’s brows lifted. “When?”

“In the morning.” It would be quieter then. Lady Helena was giving most of the servants the early hours off with their families, and the guests would be occupied all day with feasting and opening gifts.

He wondered if Clara could be persuaded to steal away from the Christmas festivities long enough to see Betty in the paddock.

Would she even want to?

He knew now that what she felt for him was more than mere awareness. More, even, than friendship.

It gave him confidence. And yet…

At the same time, he found himself feeling more uncertain than ever. Not only of her, but of himself. He couldn’t dismiss their kiss as a Christmas tradition. There had been no mistletoe on the beach. When their lips had met, he’d known in his bones that it was significant. That it could be the beginning of something.

Which was precisely why a gentleman wasn’t supposed to kiss a lady, or meddle with her affections. Not unless his intentions were honorable.

And how could Neville have any intentions, honorable or otherwise? He was in no position to do so. He knew that.

The whole of it was a futile enterprise, which would only result in her being hurt or compromised in some way. He resolved to behave better in future. To act the gentleman with Clara, even if it killed him.

“I’d like to be there,” she said.

He gave her an alert look. “Tomorrow?”

“At the paddock. Unless I’d be intruding. I wouldn’t wish to upset Betty.”

And just like that, all of his gentlemanly resolve flew right out the window. “You wouldn’t,” he said. “I…I want you to come.”

Christmas morning dawned gray and wet. Outside, the storm was still raging, the rain falling in a continuous drumbeat against the windows and roof. Clara expected that any plans for turning out Betty would be scuttled. However, when she brought Bertie down to the kitchens for his breakfast, it was to find Mr. Cross sitting at the long wooden table.

He was garbed in a heavy wool coat and trousers, his blond hair rumpled in a most attractive fashion. His gaze was fixed at the entrance to the kitchens. When he saw her, he sprang to his feet.