The Winter Companion (Parish Orphans of Devon #4) - Mimi Matthews Page 0,70

dressed, and then gathered him up to carry him down to the kitchens.

Neville was waiting for her there, as promised—along with a steaming mug of tea and a thick slice of bread and butter. “I thought you m-might be hungry.”

Clara smiled her gratitude. “Oh, thank you. I haven’t had any breakfast.”

He fed the dogs while she ate, and then the pair of them made their way down to the stables. It was a familiar path by now, though no less treacherous. She clung to Neville’s arm.

She hadn’t yet told him that she was leaving. There had been no opportunity last evening. None save the few moments they’d shared in the drawing room, sitting together on the settee. And she hadn’t had the heart to ruin that.

Stupid, really. They might have already discussed the matter. But she knew, once they did, everything would change. Besides, she was too busy savoring his every word, and every gentlemanlike gesture. Storing it all away. Cataloging every minute with him so she could call it back again in future. Labeling this, and cross-referencing that. A whole file of memories to carry her through the difficult times ahead.

But she owed him the truth. And she knew better by now than to make an entire drama of it. They weren’t Romeo and Juliet for heaven’s sake. They were two sensible adults.

Even so, there was a part of her—a weak, cowardly part—that had hoped he might already have heard the news from Mr. or Mrs. Archer. But as the evening progressed, she’d realized that the Archers had been in no hurry to enlighten the other guests. Nor why would they be? The employment status of their elderly aunt’s companion was hardly food for gossip.

No. It was up to Clara to tell Neville. And she must do it today. This very morning.

And she would.

Just as soon as she could find an appropriate moment.

He helped her remove her cloak and bonnet, shaking the raindrops from them before hanging them to dry.

Clara smoothed her hair, feeling a bit self-conscious. The stable was eerily empty. Even the horses were quiet. “Where is everyone?”

“A tree fell at…at the b-bottom of the cliff road last night. They’ve gone to…to help clear it.”

“Mr. Danvers, too?”

“He fed the horses early so he c-could go.” Neville was silent for several long moments. “I d-didn’t go. I…I’d rather b-be here. With you. Is that…”

“It’s fine.” She took a step toward him. “I’m glad you didn’t go to help them. I’d have been terribly disappointed not to see you. And Betty and Firefly, of course. I’ve grown quite attached to them.”

He regarded her intently. And she knew—she simply knew—that he understood. That it was him she was attached to. Deeply attached.

Drat the entire situation!

She hadn’t come here meaning to develop an affection for anyone. There was no place for such things in her life. Nor in his, she’d wager.

She turned abruptly toward the feed room, her voice artificially bright. “Shall we make their breakfast?”

Neville followed after her without a word.

He let her take charge of Betty’s mash, mixing the bran, grain, and hot water. And he permitted her to assist him in heating the foal’s milk and wrapping the spout of the teakettle with soft toweling. But it was he who carried the bucket. He always sought to spare her a burden. To make the way smooth for her.

Yet another admirable quality to file away in her box of memories.

She walked alongside him down the aisle. As they approached Betty’s loose box, she poked her shaggy head out over the door. When she saw Neville and marked the bucket he was carrying, she gave an impatient whinny.

“Here, Betty.” He let himself inside the loose box, shutting the door behind him. “Easy.”

Clara cradled the teakettle in her hands as she watched over the door. Betty was still a little wary of Neville, but she no longer cringed away or threatened to kick him. Taking his cue from his dam, Firefly stepped forward to bump Neville’s arm with his tiny muzzle, demanding his