Chapter 13

Setting his focus on reaching Farwell Hall as quickly as possible, Benedict attempted to rein in his swirling emotions. The task would have been easier had he been alone. As it was, with Meg's wet, trembling body pressed against his chest, every step was a reminder of how close they'd come to losing her. The searing fear that had pierced him when he'd realized that she'd fallen into the river had subsided to a dull ache, but his response had been disturbingly telling. The little girl had come to mean a great deal to him. And if he were being completely honest with himself, so had Caroline.

He was grateful that the trust Caroline had placed in him included a willingness to speak of her past. It could not have been easy for her. In truth, it had not been easy for him either. Learning more about Captain Granger had caused him a discomforting twinge of envy. He could scarcely comprehend what it would be to experience the full measure of Caroline's love. And yet the gentleman had seemingly set it at naught. Although she'd said nothing ill of her late husband, it had not been difficult to fill in the gaps in her narrative. And at the thought of all Caroline had been forced to endure alone, a healthy dose of indignation had risen above his envy. His noteworthy naval rank notwithstanding, as far as Benedict was concerned, Captain Granger had been unworthy of his wife.

Exiting the north pasture, Benedict led Caroline down the lane toward Farwell Hall. There was no sign of Wesley. All being well, the footman had already reached the kitchen. The more warning Cook was given, the better. She had treated young Caroline as another child in the Farwell household, and he had no doubt she would drop whatever she was doing now to help Caroline's daughter.

"Benedict?"

As pleased as he was to hear Caroline use his given name, it was impossible to miss her accompanying breathlessness. Silently berating himself for setting so rapid a pace, he slowed his steps. His urgency to see Meg warm and comfortable had caused him to forget about Caroline's limited stamina. Knowing that she would not wish him to draw attention to her perceived weakness, he disregarded the apology on his lips and responded with a simple, "Yes?"

"Do you hear that? It sounds like a carriage."

Tuning his ears beyond the soft murmur of Meg's breathing, he caught the distinctive rattle of hooves and wheels on gravel.

"Are you expecting visitors?" she asked.

Visitors? No. His parents? That was a distinct possibility. For the first time since he'd alerted the housekeeper to his mother and father's impending return, he turned his thoughts to his mother's letter. Even though she'd not given him a specific date, she had suggested they would be back at the end of this week.

"My parents are the only people I'm expecting over the next few days."

"Your parents! Meg and I cannot possibly intrude upon their arrival home. Especially in this state." She waved her arm in a circle to encompass Meg and Benedict before pointing to the large wet patch on her gown where Meg had pressed against her.

"First," Benedict said, "you will not be intruding. You have always—and will always—be welcome at Farwell Hall. Notwithstanding that, my plan was to go directly to the kitchen through the servants' entrance. That way, even if the hall is filled with trunks and people, we shall bypass the commotion. Second, Meg's welfare is considerably more important than social niceties. I can greet my parents after she is taken care of. And third, it is my home and contains my entire wardrobe. I'd rather like to don a pair of boots that don't squelch whenever I take a step. And I'd prefer to do it sooner rather than later."

Her eyes darted to his feet, and as he continued walking, his right boot obliged him with a loud squishy sound.

She gasped. "Did you not empty them of water?"

"In all honesty, it failed to cross my mind until we were halfway across the pasture."

"We can stop. You can do it now."

He dismissed her suggestion with a shake of his head. "I'd rather wait until Meg is situated in front of the stove. The blanket is helping, but she's shivering still."

Caroline's anxious gaze moved to her daughter, and without another word, she continued toward the house.

Avoiding the main entrance, they cut across the front lawn. The drive was clear, and Benedict guessed that the noise they'd heard had come from his parents' carriage and horses returning to the carriage house and stables respectively. It was likely that the servants had gathered outside to greet the returning earl and his wife, and whatever they had brought with them had already been moved indoors.

As they rounded the corner, the lawn extended as far as some meticulously pruned shrubs, and beyond that, the tips of the trees in their newly created apple orchard were visible over the brightly colored flowerbeds.

"This way," Benedict said, although he guessed Caroline knew the entrance to the kitchen as well as he did.

They veered left, arriving at the door just as Wesley pulled it open. The footman stood aside to allow them entry. "I was watching for you, my lord. Cook was out front welcoming Lord and Lady Farwell when I got here, but I managed to speak to her right afterward. She has milk warming on the stove for the little girl."

"Thank you, Wesley."

The footman inclined his head, and after signaling Shep to remain outside, Benedict strode into the kitchen. Warmth enveloped him along with the scent of freshly baked bread.

"Over here, my lord." Cook stood with her hands on the back of a wooden rocking chair. "I 'ad Wesley bring this in from my chamber. There's nothin' better than a rockin' chair in front of a fire when one's feelin' poorly."

"Bless you, Mrs. Newson," Benedict said. He shifted to his right so Caroline could step forward. "You remember Caroline?"

"'Course, I do." The older lady greeted Caroline with a nod. "It's right good to see you again, Miss Caroline."

Like Giles, Cook would always think of Caroline as Miss Caroline.

"Thank you, Mrs. Newson." Caroline was already unwrapping the blanket around Meg. "I'm most grateful for your assistance. I must remove my daughter's wet clothing right away."

"There's a towel warmin' in front of the stove," Cook said, "and I've sent one of the maids for a shift."

"I 'ave it, Mrs. Newson." A young girl ran into the kitchen from the stairs leading to the servants' quarters. She crossed the red-tiled floor on hurried feet and offered Cook a simple linen garment. "I looked through all them that were clean. It's the smallest I could find."

"Thank you, Evelyn," Cook said. "This will do nicely."

"I'm most grateful to you, Evelyn," Caroline said. "I shall return it as soon as it's been laundered."

The maid smiled and bobbed a curtsy. "Thank you, ma'am."

Caroline tugged at the final corner of the blanket covering Meg, rousing her from her uneasy doze. The little girl's eyes fluttered opened, and she stared up at Benedict. One of the maids set a pan on the stove, and the clatter filled the room. Instantly, fear filled Meg's eyes. She blinked, and then strained to look over Benedict's arm.

"M... mama?" her voice trembled.

"I'm here, darling." Caroline took Meg's hand. "Lord Benning is going to set you down. Do you think you can stand?"

Meg's head moved, but Benedict could not tell if she was responding affirmatively or negatively. He didn't ask for clarification. If she needed his assistance, he would be there. Lowering himself to a crouching position, he relaxed the arm holding Meg. She squirmed forward until her feet touched the ground. Setting her cold hands on his wrist, she pushed herself upright. Her legs trembled.

"It's w-w-wobbly," she said.

"It will be better soon," Caroline said, kneeling before her. "Keep your hand on Lord Benning's arm. He will help you." Meg's small fingers clutched Benedict's sleeve, and Caroline turned to speak over her shoulder. "Can I trouble you for the towel, Mrs. Newson?"

A large, white towel appeared in Cook's hands. "I'll 'old it around 'er, Miss Caroline," she said. "It'll give 'er some privacy whilst you get those wet things off. As soon as she's ready, we'll wrap 'er in it."

Benedict leaned back to allow Cook to encircle Meg with the towel. Meg still trembled, but it wasn't long before Caroline had successfully removed the child's wet clothing. Someone handed Caroline the clean shift. Meg released her hold on his wrist long enough to have her mother guide her arms through the dry garment's sleeves, and moments later, Cook was cocooning Meg in the warm towel.

"My word, but you're as brave and uncomplainin' as your mother," Cook said. "And the spittin' image as well."

"M-mama is v-very brave," Meg said. "Sh-she t-tells me th-that every t-time sh-she k-kills a s-spider."

Benedict thought the older lady might chuckle at Meg's childlike pronouncement, but her expression remained solemn.

"Oh, that takes all sorts of courage," Cook said. "Sweepin' mice out of the kitchen is just the same. And so's facin' the world again after you've been very ill."

Meg nodded earnestly, and suddenly, Benedict understood Cook's subtle message. Caroline was without her veil. No one had warned Cook of Caroline's scarred appearance, but Cook had taken it upon herself to offer a word of praise and understanding nonetheless. Appreciation for the older woman's consideration filled him.

Caroline accepted Cook's compassionate appraisal with a tremulous smile. "That is very kind of you, Mrs. Newson."

"Nonsense." Cook straightened, and Benedict could almost hear her old joints creak. "It's the truth. I still can't get over some of the ridiculous antics you and Master 'Enry conjured up when you were young, but I think one of the bravest was when you came marchin' into the kitchen to ask for some raspberry tart for Lord Benning after 'e'd been sent to 'is room for slidin' down the banister."

Caroline wrapped her arms around Meg and smiled. "I'd forgotten all about that escapade. I'm not sure which scared me most, the impertinence of asking you for the tart or the fear of running into Lord or Lady Farwell before I delivered it to the nursery door."

This time, Cook did chuckle. "That was the 'eight of bravery, even if Master 'Enry was standin' at the end of the passage as watchman."

"I'm not quite sure why you had to pay so high a price to ease Henry's guilty conscience," Benedict said. Now that she was out of her wet clothes, Meg's shivering had subsided. She appeared steady on her feet and was safely in her mother's embrace, so he rose from his crouched position and offered Caroline a teasing look. "Not that I have any complaints, mind you. I was most grateful for the smuggled offering."

"I am very glad to hear it," Caroline said. "It was hard earned."

"It most certainly was. I was black-and-blue for days after that inauspicious landing in the hall."

Taking his twisting of her meaning in stride, Caroline laughed. "That was all Henry's doing."

"Agreed. And since he is not here to defend himself, we shall leave it at that."

"Good," Cook said, "because it's 'igh time we set this little girl in front of the stove with a cup of 'ot milk."

"An excellent suggestion, Mrs. Newson," Benedict said. "And whilst you and Caroline see to that, I shall excuse myself so that I might change out of my own wet clothing and boots."

"An equally good suggestion, if I might say so, my lord. Especially since you brought a muddy, wet trail in with you." She grimaced. "It always 'appens when my floor is newly washed."

Benedict fought back a grin. The house may belong to the Farwell family, but the kitchen was most certainly hers. "You have my sincere apologies, Mrs. Newson."

"Hm." She did not seem to believe him, but he wasn't overly worried. He'd caught her expression immediately before she'd turned toward the stove, and he was quite sure a small smile had taken the place of her grimace.