Footfalls sounded softly outside in the aisle. Seconds later, Clara’s face appeared over the door, her cloak fastened at her neck. She was breathless. “I can’t find Mr. Danvers. I’ve looked everywhere.”

Neville’s stomach sank. He needed someone to hold Betty while he turned the foal. He couldn’t do it alone. “The Abbey—”

“I’ve already been there. It’s what took me so long.” Damp tendrils of flaxen hair framed her face. She pushed them back from her forehead. “Cook was up, but there was no sign of Mr. Danvers. She said he must have gone into the village last night, or up to one of the tenant cottages. She expects he’ll be back in time for feeding the horses.”

Neville muttered an oath under his breath.

“Is he the only one who can help her?” Clara asked.

“I can help her, but I n-need…I need someone to hold her head and neck.” It would have to be Justin. He knew something of horses, at least, though certainly not as much as Danvers. “You’ll have to fetch Thornhill.”

“You want Mr. Thornhill to hold her?” Clara gave him a doubtful look. “But she doesn’t even know him. If he suddenly appears and attempts to subdue her, she’s bound to find it distressing. Especially after her experiences with that dreadful horse peddler.”

It was the truth. Betty wasn’t going to appreciate the presence of a strange man at her head. It would likely cause her to thrash about. To fight. Making the entire procedure that much more difficult.

Neville gritted his teeth. “There’s no other choice. I…I have to turn the foal. She won’t like it.”

“You’re going to press on her belly?”

“No. I…” He could think of no delicate way to describe it. “I have to…to reach inside of her.”

Clara’s gaze flicked to his hands. Her face paled. “Have you done that before?”

“Once.”

“With a pony?”

“A c-carriage horse.” He knew it didn’t compare, but what else was he to do? “There’s no other way.”

Her delicate features hardened with feminine determination. She stripped off her gloves. “I’ll help you.”

He felt an unexpected rush of affection for her. And something more than that. A feeling of respect. Of deep admiration. Clara was small but mighty. She didn’t quail from anything. “I…I’m…”

Humbled.

Besotted.

Halfway to falling in love with you.

“I’m grateful,” he managed to say. “But…you’re n-not strong enough to hold her.”

“I’m stronger than I look.”

“I know that. But this—”

“And if I’m not, I’ll do the other bit.” She removed her cloak. “You can guide me through it.”

The other bit?