The Winter Companion (Parish Orphans of Devon #4) - Mimi Matthews Page 0,86
word with disgust. “We both know it wasn’t enough for any sort of life for you.”
Neville’s fingers slowly loosened on the brush. Some of the emotion dissipated. He regarded Justin from over Adventurer’s withers. “I had a life.”
“In a convent? Little better than a servant in their stable?”
“It was better than the orphanage. I…I didn’t mind it. Not once I…adjusted. I liked b-being with the horses. Outdoors. I n-never wanted anything else.”
“You didn’t know anything else.”
Neville didn’t argue the point. It was the truth. He had no experience of the world.
But he wasn’t a recluse.
He regularly went into the village, stopping in at the King’s Arms, the telegraph office, or the new bookshop. When strictly necessary, he could even deal with strangers.
He’d dealt with that horse trader who had been abusing Betty.
The memory of it brought a certain satisfaction to him.
“I know that.” Justin ran his hand over Adventurer’s back. “You’re only like this horse of yours.”
Neville gave him a questioning look.
Justin smiled slightly. Wearily. “You want more.”
It was a blunt statement. A true one as well. The truth was often simple. Neville let it sink into his soul He did want more. He wanted a life of his own choosing.
He wanted her.
“Perhaps,” Justin said, “you might like to spend a few weeks in London with Tom and Jenny?”
Neville dropped the brush and currycomb into a wooden grooming box nearby. “Why London?”
“If you’re getting the urge to see the world, it seems the likeliest place to start.” Justin paused. “I take it you aren’t interested?”
Neville shook his head. He didn’t have the urge to see the world. He wasn’t an explorer, and he didn’t crave the excitement of London, or the teeming industry of Manchester or Liverpool. If he ever left the Abbey, it wouldn’t be for a place. It would be because he was required elsewhere. By a needful creature.
Or by a woman.
His woman.
But Clara didn’t need him. That much he’d already established. He was of no use to her in Cambridge. No use to her anywhere.
A part of him rose up in protest at the thought.
He was of no use?
It was a dashed lie. A lie he would no longer permit himself to believe. No matter his own insecurities over the years, he’d always had value. He was useful to those around him, to people and animals alike.
And he could be useful to her, too.
But not here. Not by being safe.
In order to help Clara—to win Clara—he would have to face his fears. To summon his courage, and strike out on his own. Like one of those Arthurian knights she spoke of, embarking on a quest.
“Not in London,” he said abruptly.
Justin’s mouth tilted up at one corner. “You have somewhere else in mind?”
Neville met Justin’s eyes over the back of his horse. “As a m-matter of fact…I do.”
Cambridge, England
December 1860
Andrew Bryce-Chetwynde.
The name reverberated in Clara’s head. With it came every memory—every emotion—of that summer four years ago. It was all she could do to focus on Mr. Trent’s face, and to attend to the remainder of his unfortunate tale.
She doubted he realized just how unfortunate it was.
Indeed, Simon hadn’t appeared to have confessed anything to Mr. Trent aside from the barest minimum.
“I understand he and his tutor parted years ago on not very good terms,” Mr. Trent said. “Apparently, Simon was holding a grudge against the fellow. I couldn’t comprehend why. Your brother was extraordinarily tight-lipped about the matter.”
“Is…is Mr. Bryce-Chetwynde still here? In Cambridge?”
“No, ma’am. He’d only come up for the week to meet with one of his old masters. After Simon thrashed him, he returned to Hertfordshire.”