The Winter Companion (Parish Orphans of Devon #4) - Mimi Matthews Page 0,107

asked.

Amusement flickered in his gaze. “Do you think I’ve b-been a slave to Justin? Or a slave to the sisters at…at the c-convent? They paid me, Clara. And Justin has invested it all for me.”

Her mouth went dry. All at once, she recalled the elegant dinner clothes he’d worn at the Abbey, cut to his figure as if by an expert tailor. The first-class railway tickets he’d purchased for their journey from Cambridge. And his fine horse, Adventurer. A gentleman’s horse, to be sure, and an expensive one, at that.

She moistened her lips. “You have investments.”

“In the railway, m-mainly. Enough to lease this place, if…if it’s what you want.”

“Oh.” Tears started in her eyes. She had a vague thought that she was rapidly becoming a watering pot. Indeed, she’d wept more in these three days than she had in the past three years combined. “I’m sorry.”

Neville’s expression darkened with concern. “We d-don’t have to live here. We can—”

“It’s not that. It’s just all too much. Your coming to Cambridge, and your proposal. And the very idea that we could live here together. You and I, and the ponies, and Bertie.” She gazed up at him, her heart full to bursting. “I never dared dream in all my life that I would get a happy ending of my very own.”

Understanding registered in his face. With it came a look of such love, such tender affection. He drew her back into his arms. “My dear love…” His words were slow but sure. “This is only the beginning.”

Tavistock, England

June 1861

Neville found his wife in her butterfly garden, her head bent over a sketch pad. She was garbed in a loose-fitting skirt and fitted caraco jacket, a flat-brimmed straw hat pinned to her flaxen hair. Bertie dozed at her feet, snoring as only an aged pug could snore. “The post came.”

Clara looked up. A smile brightened her face. After several months of marriage, that smile still had the power to stop Neville’s heart. “Did we receive anything interesting?”

“A letter for you from…from Jenny.” He sank down beside her on the wrought-iron garden bench. “Here you are.”

Setting aside her sketch pad, Clara took the letter. She paused before opening it to tilt her face up for his kiss.

He bent his head, his lips meeting hers halfway. He loved her to distraction. It took all of his strength of will not to gather her in his arms.

She broke the wax seal on the envelope. Her chocolate-brown eyes skimmed its contents. “She and Tom are staying at the Abbey for a fortnight before they leave for Spain.”

“Oh?” Neville stretched his legs out in front of him. His trousers were all over mud.

He’d been out with the ponies most of the morning. Betty and Firefly were enjoying their newfound freedom in the pasture near the moor. Almost too much. It made the pair of them difficult to catch.

Clara read on. “Justin and Helena are well, and so is little Honoria. Oh! Jenny says she’s grown bigger. Thank heavens for that. She was so small to begin with. I did worry for her.”

Lady Helena had given birth to a slightly underweight baby girl in January. Honoria Alice Thornhill had her mother’s delicacy, and her father’s black hair and gray eyes.

Justin had wept when first he’d held her. An event that had left Tom and Neville speechless and had Alex clearing his throat repeatedly, as if he were in danger of weeping, too.

“Blast the lot of you,” Justin had said, as he’d cradled his daughter. “We’ll see how you behave when your first child is born.”

“Jenny hints at an impending announcement from Laura.” Clara glanced up at him. “Do you suppose she’s expecting?”

“I don’t know.” Neville wouldn’t be surprised. Alex was mad over his wife. It was only a matter of time before the two of them started welcoming children. Though how babies would fit in with the Archers’ thriving perfume business in Grasse, Neville had no idea. “Perhaps it’s m-merely a new variety of…of lavender water.”

“Perhaps so.” Clara resumed reading. “Mr. and Mrs. Boothroyd are in fine