“Not Simon,” Neville said. “The other one.”

Clara blinked. “Mr. Bryce-Chetwynde?”

“Is he still in Cambridge?”

“Not that I’m aware. Simon says he’s gone back to Hertfordshire. Why do you ask?”

“Because I m-mean to throttle him.”

Her mouth fell open. “You?”

He looked mildly offended. “Do you think I couldn’t?”

“I daresay you could, and with one hand tied behind your back, besides. But I’d really rather you didn’t.”

“Do you still…?”

Care for him?

The very idea made her vaguely ill.

“No. Goodness, no.” Her brows knit. “I don’t know that I ever really did.”

“Then why—”

“Because he’s hired a solicitor and has already forced my brother to pay twenty guineas in damages for the thrashing he gave him.”

“I have a solicitor, too. A better one.”

“Mr. Finchley wouldn’t thank you for making him travel all the way to Cambridge to defend you on an assault charge. Not at this time of year.” She set a hand on the front of his waistcoat. “But I am grateful for the sentiment. Truly. It means more to me that you can possibly know.”

He covered her hand with his, holding it flat against his chest. She could feel his heart beating, strong and sure, beneath her palm. “What will you do?”

“About Mr. Bryce-Chetwynde? Nothing. There’s nothing that can be done. It’s all in the past.” She exhaled an unsteady breath. “I only regret that my studies must come to nothing. I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself now. I’ve had no other dream these four years except to be Simon’s secretary.”

“Did he never mean it?”

“I think he must have in the beginning. He made such an effort to send me everything he was learning. But he’s been under the influence of his schoolmates and the masters for years now. I suppose it was only a matter of time before he adopted the usual male opinions on women and education.” Her mouth tugged into a frown. “I know it’s childish to say, but it’s not fair. It’s simply not. I’ve studied so hard.”

He looked down at her. “I’ve sometimes wondered…”

“What?”

“Do you even like classifying insects and…and plants?”

Her throat closed up. She bent her head, very much afraid she was going to start weeping again. “Not the beetles or crawling things, but the flowers and butterflies, and learning about nature. I love it so much. Being out of doors, with the animals. The way we helped Betty to deliver her foal. I felt useful. As if I was important. Could make a difference.”

He gathered her into his arms. She went into them gratefully, closing her eyes as he held her close. After a time, during which she was mortified to dampen his waistcoat with a few more of her tears, she felt his lips brush against her hair.