along with Tom Finchley and Alex Archer. Justin had been their fearless leader. He’d taken care of Neville. Protected him.
If not for Justin…
Well.
Neville didn’t like to think of what might have become of him.
“He’s sleeping.”
Justin looked doubtful. “Are you certain he’s not…?”
Neville shot another glance at Bertie’s abdomen. It was still rising and falling, very slightly, with each softly snorting breath. “He isn’t.”
Justin turned to exit the feed room. “You haven’t introduced him to Paul and Jonesy yet, have you?”
Neville followed after him. “Not yet.”
The two mastiffs had been banished to the stables for the day. Last he’d looked, they were sleeping on a pile of straw in one of the loose boxes.
“The horses appear to be settled, each of them brushed to a high shine. And the saddles and bridles have all been cleaned and oiled, I see.” Justin gave him an amused look. “You’ve been keeping busy out here.”
Neville clamped his mouth shut. He wouldn’t make excuses for himself. Not that Justin would have believed them anyway. He knew Neville far too well.
“Helena expected you at the Abbey this morning. And then again for tea when Laura’s relations arrived.” Justin stopped beside the loose box that housed his horse, Hiran. The chestnut stallion swung his head over the door to nip at Justin’s sleeve. “You can’t hide away here the whole of the holiday.”
“I’m not hiding. Why should I?”
“No reason. Certainly not when it’s just Tom and Alex and their wives in residence. But today, two new guests have arrived. Mrs. Bainbridge and Mr. Hayes. I suppose I can’t blame you for feeling a bit reluctant.”
“Not only them.”
Justin’s brows lifted.
“Miss Hartwright,” Neville said.
“Miss Bainbridge’s companion?” Justin gave Hiran an absent scratch on the neck. “Has she done something to make you uncomfortable? I wouldn’t have thought her capable. She seems a harmless, mousy little thing.”
Mousy?
Justin was usually so astute. So canny. But mousy? Had he lost his wits? Or, more to the point, his sense of sight?
“She’s not mousy,” Neville said. “She’s…”
She was beautiful, is what she was. But he wasn’t going to admit that. Not to Justin.
It wasn’t that Neville didn’t trust his friend, only that Justin was married now. He’d inevitably tell his wife, Lady Helena. And Lady Helena would tell her best friend, Jenny Finchley, who would then confide in Tom. And then, somehow, Alex and Laura would get wind of it. All resulting in Neville being made to look—quite unintentionally—like some variety of pathetic fool.
“She’s what?” Justin prompted.
Neville’s jaw tightened. “Nothing.”
Understanding registered in Justin’s gray eyes. “Ah.”
Neville didn’t care for that look. That knowing look that seemed to see—and understand—all of his private thoughts and feelings.
“Forgive me,” Justin said. “Since I married, I find myself incapable of properly assessing the beauty of any lady, save my wife. But you’re right. I misspoke. Miss Hartwright isn’t mousy.” He paused. “What is it? Are you worried she’ll say something unfeeling about your condition? That she’ll treat you poorly?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It clearly does. But there’s a simple enough solution. Helena can have a word with her. Or, perhaps, Laura—”
“No!” Neville stifled a frustrated growl. “I wish…” The words were as thick as molasses. As slow as molasses, too. The more out of sorts he became, the harder it was for him to form them. “I w-wish I hadn’t said anything about…about her.”
Justin didn’t comment on Neville’s loss of temper. Not directly. “I’ve asked a lot of you this past year, haven’t I? First, you were obliged to accustom yourself to the Abbey having a mistress. Then Tom married Jenny. And last week Alex returned to Devon, along with his new bride. It’s been difficult for you, I fear.”
“Not d-difficult. Just…”
“Traveling into Abbot’s Holcombe wasn’t difficult? You couldn’t even manage to do so for my wedding last year. It can’t have been easy for you.”
It hadn’t been.
Located thirteen miles up