The Winter Companion (Parish Orphans of Devon #4) - Mimi Matthews Page 0,46

to enjoy himself.”

“On the contrary,” Tom replied. “He’s enjoying himself very much—in the company of his wife.”

“What about you?” Alex looked up at Teddy. “Are you glad you came?”

Teddy gave his brother-in-law a sheepish smile. “I still think it’s too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” Alex said. “Unless you’d rather have remained back at the Abbey? Or perhaps you’d have preferred to attend church with your aunt and her companion?”

“No, no,” Teddy objected, laughing. “This is much preferable.” He gripped the seat of the cart. “Though I do wonder how Clara is managing.”

Neville shot Teddy a narrow glance. He’d gotten to know him a little better since his arrival, enough that they’d advanced to using each other’s Christian names. He seemed a confident lad, often talking or laughing with his sister.

Or with Miss Hartwright.

Clara.

Had she given Teddy permission to call her that? The very idea of it made Neville’s chest constrict with jealousy.

It was a new sensation, and one he didn’t much care for.

“Miss Hartwright will be fine,” Tom said. “She strikes me as an adaptable lady.”

Neville scowled at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Only that I suspect she’s capable of conforming herself to a variety of settings. Of doing what’s required of her. I mean it as a compliment.”

“It doesn’t sound like one.”

Alex and Tom exchanged a glance.

Neville affected not to notice. As the cart approached the back of the Abbey, it slowed to a lurching halt.

Alex was instantly at Teddy’s side, one hand on the padded seat of the cart. “Steady.”

“I’m all right,” Teddy said. “I’m not made of glass, you know.”

“Humor me. If anything happens to you, I have to answer to your sister.” Alex helped Teddy down from his seat as one of the footmen brought around his wheeled chair.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Quill, emerged from the back door of the Abbey. “Oh, this is a fine one.” She walked around the cart, giving the tree a thorough once over. “It must be rinsed off.” She directed two of the footmen, and one of the maids to the task. “I’ll have no mud in this house.”

Neville cast a look at his clothes. He had cut the tree himself, and his coat and trousers were all the worse for it. “I have to go wash.”

“As do we all.” Tom removed his spectacles and cleaned them with his handkerchief. During the felling of the tree, he’d somehow got sap on his lenses. “I’ll see you at tea?”

Neville nodded before turning toward the cliff road. He had rooms in the house but rarely used them except for sleeping and changing into dinner dress. The rest of the time he preferred his room over the stables. He had an iron bedstead there, a writing desk, and a humble wardrobe in which he kept most of his clothing. As an added enticement, there was a washstand that had been plumbed for hot and cold running water.

It was an improvement Justin had insisted on for the horses in the stable below. Routing some of it to the rooms above had been no trouble at all.

“Just don’t use it as an excuse to never come up to the house,” Justin had said at the time. “You’re not a groom, however much you may like playing at one.”

Neville didn’t care what his title was, as long as he could do what he wanted. At the convent he’d been under the head groom, and had often wished he could take the top position for himself. But the Reverend Mother would never have permitted it. It would have violated her stricture that Neville be seen and not heard.

He climbed the stairs to his room and shut the door behind him. It took no time at all to wash and change into a clean pair of trousers, a white linen shirt, and dark cloth waistcoat. He looked at himself in the mirror above the washstand as he tied his cravat.

Miss Hartwright had compared him to Sir Galahad. Neville supposed it was a compliment.