The Winter Companion (Parish Orphans of Devon #4) - Mimi Matthews Page 0,1
to say. Not now.
But the young lady appeared unfazed by his inarticulateness. She extended her hand. “I’m Clara Hartwright, Mrs. Bainbridge’s companion.”
He hesitated an instant before shaking her hand, all the while conscious of how much smaller it was than his own. Every part of her was smaller. Good lord, her head scarcely reached his chest. He felt a veritable goliath looming over her. A clumsy giant who could crush her as easily as breathing. “Mrs. Hartwright.”
“Miss Hartwright,” she corrected. “Mrs. Archer said to speak to you about finding a place for Bertie in the stable. He must be kept warm, you see. And I haven’t yet received permission to keep him in the house.”
Neville reached out to brush his hand over the little dog’s head. Bertie blinked up at him with rheumy eyes. A smile tugged at Neville’s mouth. He was often shy around people, but he understood animals. He’d always had a way with them, long before his childhood accident on the cliffs and the head injury that, even now, affected his speech. It’s why he preferred to work in the stables. Being around dogs and horses settled him. Helped to put his mind at ease. It helped his speech, as well.
“He belongs to Mrs. Bainbridge?”
Miss Hartwright’s blush deepened. “Er, no. He belonged to the previous lady I worked for. She died last month, and poor Bertie isn’t a favorite with her family. They were going to have him destroyed. I couldn’t leave him behind. And I can’t permit him to catch his death out here.”
“It’s warm enough.”
“Yes, it’s much warmer than being out of doors, but Bertie is accustomed to residing inside the house. He’s spent much of his life on a velvet cushion in front of the fire, and I fear—”
“May I?” Neville reached for the little dog.
“Of course.” Miss Hartwright helped to transfer Bertie into Neville’s arms. “He’s very sweet and gentle. Not spoiled at all. Not like some pugs. He won’t be any trouble to you.”
Neville scratched Bertie under the chin. Bertie didn’t appear to notice. He was more than old. He was positively ancient, content to stare off into the distance and pant. Neville wondered if the little dog had all of his faculties.
Miss Hartwright moved closer. Close enough that he could smell the soft fragrance of orange blossoms that clung to her hair and cloak. “I understand you already have two dogs in residence. Mastiffs, Mrs. Archer said.”
“Yes.”
“Are they friendly?” She gazed up at him. “It’s only that Bertie has no way to defend himself. If a bigger dog were to—”
“I won’t let them hurt him.”
“Yes, but—”
“He’ll be safe here. I promise you.” For once, the words came out strong and sure. They seemed important somehow.
“Oh.” Her mouth trembled. “Oh, thank you. I’ve been so worried.”
Neville’s chest tightened. Were those tears glistening in her eyes? The very thought sent a jolt of alarm through him.
“I’m being ridiculous, I know,” she said. “But might I see where you mean to put him? It would set my mind at ease.”
He turned toward the feed room. Bertie’s small body was a solid, warm weight in his arms. “This way.”
She followed after him, the wide skirts of her gown rustling over the straw-covered floor. The stable boy hadn’t swept this morning. He was busy up at the house with the rest of the staff.
Neville should be there, too. Lady Helena had asked him specifically. And he’d meant to go. But it was difficult.
More than difficult.
It was a month-long Christmas celebration. His three childhood friends would be in residence, along with their respective wives. The family of one of those wives—Mrs. Laura Archer—was joining them as well. Her invalid brother, and her widowed aunt, Mrs. Bainbridge.
And now Mrs. Bainbridge’s companion.
Neville cast Miss Hartwright a sidelong glance. No one had warned him there would be an unmarried young lady in residence for the month. And they’d certainly said nothing about her being beautiful. Or about her having a dog.