Clara glanced at Neville. Their eyes met for a moment. She swiftly looked away, the faintest of blushes darkening her cheeks.
He was viscerally reminded of their kiss. How she’d cradled his face so gently between her palms. How her lips had clung to his so sweetly. It had sent a rush of heat through him. Had prompted him to put his arm around her waist and to kiss her back.
It had been only a brief moment. A few seconds of soul-stirring tenderness while the raging sea crashed on the shore and the wind whistled all about them.
But it had changed everything.
Not only for him, but for her. He’d seen it clear as day in her face. A notch had worked itself between her brows as she gazed up at him. As if she were seeing him with new eyes.
He hoped that she was.
Though for what purpose, he didn’t know. Their time together was rapidly coming to an end. Tomorrow was Christmas. And then, in twelve more days, she’d be gone. They had no future together.
A fact that hadn’t stopped him from replaying their kiss over and over again in his mind as he’d gone about his work.
The warmth of it still hadn’t dissipated.
He felt, rather fancifully, as if it never would.
“Who will put the star on top?” Laura asked, approaching the tree.
Alex caught her hand as she passed, and pressed a discreet kiss to her palm. Her fingers curled to brush against his cheek in an affectionate caress.
Neville looked away. With all three couples in residence, it was impossible to avoid such displays. Justin and Lady Helena could scarcely be out of each other’s sight, and Tom and Jenny were forever making excuses to touch each other.
Alex and Laura were the worst offenders. Though the two newlyweds tried for discretion, one would have had to be blind not to observe their stolen kisses, clasped hands, and molten glances.
Neville didn’t begrudge any of his friends the affection they shared with their wives. All the same, it was dashed awkward at times.
Was it any wonder Mr. Boothroyd was making such an effort with Mrs. Bainbridge? He was probably tired of being one of only two unattached people in residence, and sought to strike up a romance of his own. Either that or he’d developed a genuine affection for Laura’s aunt.
“Tom’s already on the ladder,” Jenny said. “Shall he do it?”
“Justin must do it.” Lady Helena handed the large tinsel star to her husband. “It’s our tradition.”
Tom climbed down from the ladder. “I won’t argue with tradition.”
“I’ve done it all of one time.” Justin took Tom’s place. The ladder creaked beneath his weight. “I’m hardly an expert of longstanding.”
“Expertise is not required,” Lady Helena said. “Only that you be the master of the house.”
Justin set the star atop the tree. It tilted precariously to one side. He leaned against the branches, stretching out a hand to straighten it. The ladder swayed.
“Have a care, sir!” Mr. Boothroyd exclaimed.
Neville came forward to brace the ladder. Lady Helena stepped back, permitting him to take charge.
“It’s perfect as it is, Justin,” she said. “Do come down now.”
Justin descended with ease. He drew Lady Helena to him. “What do you think?”
She leaned into his side. “I think it’s beautiful. But…”
“But?”
“The tree needs a bit more tinsel.”
Jenny laughed. “There’s plenty of that.”
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.