A footman carried out the wassail bowl, and another the bowl of cider. Two maidservants brought trays of spiced ale and cake. The tree trimming continued in earnest as the guests drank, and ate, and laughed.

“Clara,” Teddy said. “What happened to all of that fruit we wrapped in gold foil?”

“It’s here.” Clara fetched one of the baskets and brought it to him.

As she crossed the floor, Neville helped himself to a golden apple. Her eyes met his again as he took it.

She gave him an uncertain smile, the blush still high in her cheeks. “I haven’t seen you since this morning.”

“I’ve been at the stables.”

“With Betty?” She handed the basket of golden fruit to Teddy.

“Is that the wild pony?” he asked. “Laura mentioned there was one in residence.”

“There is,” Clara said. “And there will be another soon. She’s expecting a foal.”

“Oh?” Teddy appeared only mildly interested. He began tucking the fruit into the branches he could reach from his wheeled chair. “Alex? Come and put some of these near the top, will you?”

Alex joined his brother-in-law. “Is the lack of symmetry bothering your artistic sensibilities?”

“As a matter of fact,” Teddy said, “it is.”

Clara drifted away from the conversation, and Neville followed. “How is Betty?”

“Restless.”

“Can you walk her yet?”

He shook his head. If Betty were a lame saddle horse, he’d lead her up and down the drive for a bit of gentle exercise. But she was only now becoming accustomed to letting him lead her out of the loose box. Anything more would likely result in her thrashing about and re-injuring her leg.

“I mean to turn her out. In the p-paddock behind the stables.”

Clara’s brows lifted. “When?”

“In the morning.” It would be quieter then. Lady Helena was giving most of the servants the early hours off with their families, and the guests would be occupied all day with feasting and opening gifts.

He wondered if Clara could be persuaded to steal away from the Christmas festivities long enough to see Betty in the paddock.

Would she even want to?

He knew now that what she felt for him was more than mere awareness. More, even, than friendship.

It gave him confidence. And yet…

At the same time, he found himself feeling more uncertain than ever. Not only of her, but of himself. He couldn’t dismiss their kiss as a Christmas tradition. There had been no mistletoe on the beach. When their lips had met, he’d known in his bones that it was significant. That it could be the beginning of something.

Which was precisely why a gentleman wasn’t supposed to kiss a lady, or meddle with her affections. Not unless his intentions were honorable.

And how could Neville have any intentions, honorable or otherwise? He was in no position to do so. He knew that.