“He were a vicar, ma’am,” Mr. Rigby said. “He didn’t know aught about farming and livestock. Got in a mite over his head. But he knew those wild ponies, sure enough. They was his life’s work.” He turned his head, squinting in the direction of the farmhouse. “Best get back. Mrs. Atkyns will be wanting to hear your thoughts on the place.”

“We know the way,” Neville said.

“As you please, sir.” Mr. Rigby inclined his head to them. “Careful how you go, ma’am.”

Clara tucked her hand in Neville’s arm as they walked back to the house, retracing their steps along the muddy path that led through the orchard—the trees bare of their leaves—and down past one of the paddocks that abutted the moor.

It was no longer raining, nor even drizzling. But it was cold and quiet. Rather eerily so. A white mist had rolled in, as delicate as gossamer, settling over the moorland and brushing at the edges of the outbuildings. Like something from a fairy story. A subtle enchantment.

“What do you think of…of the farm?” Neville asked at last.

“It’s idyllic. And it would be perfect for Betty and Firefly. Close to Dartmoor yet safe enough for her to recover her health.”

“But?”

“There seems little point in admiring the place when Mrs. Atkyns is on the verge of leaving it.”

Neville stopped at the fence to face her. There was no one else about. No human beings, anyway. Only a few shaggy Dartmoor ponies far off in the paddock, standing in the mist, munching on what was left of the grass. “That’s… It’s exactly the point.”

“How so? Do you believe the new tenants will have as much care for the wild ponies? I daresay they might, but there’s no guarantee. And even if they do, they’d be strangers. How could we trust them with Betty and the baby?” She stopped herself, feeling her cheeks warm. “I meant you, of course. Not we. I have no say in the matter.”

“You do.”

“You’re very kind, but Betty isn’t my pony. It was you who rescued her. You who have developed a bond with her and Firefly. I’m merely an admirer of what you’ve done.” She leaned against the paddock fence. “Who is caring for her in your absence?”

“Danvers, and…and Justin.”

She inwardly winced. “They all know you came for me.”

“Of course.”

“What they must have thought…”

Neville’s mouth hitched in a wry smile. “They weren’t surprised. Tom and Alex suspected. And Justin… He understood.”

A blush crept up her throat and into her face. “Was Mrs. Bainbridge as understanding?”

“Does her opinion m-matter?”

“Well…yes. She’s my employer. And she…” Her words trailed away as Neville reached to brush a stray lock of hair from her temple. He tucked it behind her ear with gentle fingers.

“Clara…”