“I expect she has. And I’m sure she’s fine. Which is just what I’ve been telling Teddy. Ladies are remarkably efficient these days.”

Neville’s gaze shot to Justin’s. “What has Teddy to do with it?”

“I suppose he fancies her. The two of them did spend time together, drawing and painting, and such. And they’ll have more time together still when Teddy and Mrs. Bainbridge return to Surrey.”

Jealousy ignited in Neville’s veins. A smoldering bitterness, as potent as liquid poison.

Foolish.

Teddy was just a lad. Hardly a rival. Clara had scarcely mentioned him at all. And yet…

She’d seemed to enjoy his company. Who wouldn’t? He was mentally quick and agile. Always ready with a sharp retort or a wryly humorous remark. More than that, he looked intelligent. There was something in his eyes. In his expression. Something Neville knew he didn’t possess.

And now—when Teddy returned to Surrey—he’d have Clara all to himself. She’d be there to look at. To talk to. With her gentle ways, and her sweet orange-blossom scent.

“He d-didn’t want her to go?”

“He hasn’t said so. But he’s worried about her being alone in Cambridge.” Justin’s mouth curved in a brief, wry smile. “I blame Helena and Jenny. They mentioned how rowdy Giles and his friends used to get at university. Made them sound like a right pack of savages.”

Neville’s hand stilled on the brush. His heart beat hard. Lady Helena, of all people, would comprehend what went on at university. She was the only one of their ranks to have had family who attended. Her brother and father, and every other aristocratic male relative going back for hundreds of years. “What…what did they…”

“Drinking, pranks, and the like. You know how it is with young men.” Justin didn’t appear at all concerned. “I saw those ponies of yours this morning. They’re looking well.”

Neville marshaled his thoughts. It was near impossible to do so when an image of Clara alone in Cambridge amid a pack of roving, inebriated males kept creeping into his mind. “Betty still favors her leg. But she’s…improving.”

“And the foal?”

“He’d like to run.”

Justin’s expression was thoughtful. “Tom mentioned you were contemplating returning them to Dartmoor.”

Neville resumed brushing. “I’m thinking about it.”

“You realize, of course, that that’s no guarantee someone wouldn’t catch them again, and take them back to the horse sales.”

“I know that.” It was the very reason Neville hadn’t made a decision yet.

None of the options for Betty’s future were good ones. He began to fear he’d have little choice but to break her to harness. Such a thing wasn’t unheard of. Miners often used the Dartmoor ponies for cart work. They were a strong and surefooted breed.