“I’m being ridiculous, I know,” she said. “But might I see where you mean to put him? It would set my mind at ease.”

He turned toward the feed room. Bertie’s small body was a solid, warm weight in his arms. “This way.”

She followed after him, the wide skirts of her gown rustling over the straw-covered floor. The stable boy hadn’t swept this morning. He was busy up at the house with the rest of the staff.

Neville should be there, too. Lady Helena had asked him specifically. And he’d meant to go. But it was difficult.

More than difficult.

It was a month-long Christmas celebration. His three childhood friends would be in residence, along with their respective wives. One of those wives—Mrs. Laura Archer—was expecting her family to join them as well. Her invalid brother, and her widowed aunt, Mrs. Bainbridge.

And now Mrs. Bainbridge’s companion.

Neville cast Miss Hartwright a sidelong glance. No one had warned him there would be an unmarried young lady in residence for the month. And they’d certainly said nothing about her being beautiful. Or about her having a dog.

She looked about the feed room. “Where will you put him?”

“Here.” He carried Bertie to a stack of empty feed sacks in the corner. They were nothing like a velvet cushion, but when Neville lowered the pug down onto them, the little dog seemed content enough. He hobbled around in a half-hearted circle before plumping down with a grunt. “See? He likes it here.”

“Do you think so?” Miss Hartwright sounded hopeful. She crouched down beside the feed sacks, her skirts and cloak pooling all about her. “You’re all right now, Bertie.” She stroked a hand over his back, her voice sinking to a whisper. “I’m not abandoning you. I’ll return as soon as I’m able.”

Neville clasped his hands at his back, uncertain what to say or do.

“Would you please give him a dish of water?” she asked. “And I shall try and beg some meat from the cook, but if—”

“I’ll get meat for him.”

She looked up at him, her eyes very bright. “Will you?”

He nodded.

Her face lit with gratitude. “Thank you, Mr. Cross. You’re very kind.” She rose and dusted off her skirts. “I must make my way up to the Abbey now.”

He stopped himself from nodding again. It was easier than speaking. It also made him appear some manner of head-bobbing simpleton, or so he feared. But as he struggled over what to say to her, the silence stretched taut between them, on and on, until heat rose in his face. The words simply wouldn’t come. Not the ones he wanted.

Outside, a clap of thunder rent the air. The rain began again, a light fall of it, pattering on the roof.