Chapter 14

Caroline leaned her head back against the wooden rocking chair and allowed the everyday sounds of the kitchen to wash over her. In the adjacent room, a scullery maid was scrubbing a large pot. Two other maids were at the large wooden table, busily chopping carrots and parsnips, while Mrs. Newson stirred something on the stove. At Caroline's feet, Meg sat decanting peas with a teaspoon, happily watching them drop from one small bowl into another.

It had taken only a change of clothing, a mug of warm milk, and twelve minutes sitting on Caroline's knee in front of the stove for Meg's trembling to ease and the stutter in her speech to disappear. The little girl's natural curiosity had soon overcome her initial discomfort at being in an unfamiliar place, and when Cook had provided her with a bowl of shelled peas, she had quickly relocated to the floor to supposedly sort them.

Even though Caroline had received some wide-eyed stares from the younger maids, Mrs. Newson's gracious reaction to her scarred face had given Caroline the courage to take off her gloves and bonnet. Grateful for the opportunity to rest unencumbered by the wide-brimmed headwear, she'd set her belongings on the drying rack beside Meg's frock and underclothing. Already, the kitchen's natural warmth had done much to shrink the wet patch on her own gown. Unfortunately, it was unlikely that Meg's clothing would fully dry before they needed to return home.

She glanced at the clock hanging on the wall above the stove. It was getting late. She'd expected Benedict to return by now. If he did not come soon, she and Meg would have to leave without seeing him—or thanking him.

"Five more minutes, Meg," she said softly, "and then you must put on your clothes so we can be on our way. Your grandpapa will be wondering what has become of us."

Meg eyed her wrinkled frock on the nearby clothing rack. "But they're wet."

Caroline could not help but feel a twinge of concern at Meg's donning damp clothing again, but even if it were warm enough outside, the child could not walk home in a shift at least ten inches too long. "They're not so wet as they were," she said. "And we shall leave them in front of the stove until the very last minute."

Meg's reluctant but accepting sigh preceded the sound of voices coming from the passage.

"Lord Benting is back." Meg scrambled to her feet, and in her attempt to untangle her legs from the excess shift fabric, she knocked over one of the bowls. The peas scattered, rolling across the tiles in every direction.

Meg froze, and then her lower lip quivered. "My peas!"

Before her daughter's tears could begin in earnest, Caroline dropped to the floor beside her. "Don't cry," she said. "We can pick them up." Benedict's voice was clearer now. They had only a matter of seconds before he entered the kitchen. "Quickly, Meg. Let's see how many we can gather before Lord Benning comes in." Mrs. Newson may have been willing to overlook some dirty water on the floor, but squashed peas were something else entirely.

Tugging at the long shift, Meg dropped onto her hands and knees and crawled under the table to retrieve a couple that had stopped against the nearest table leg. "There's lots over here, Mama," she called.

Caroline poured the ones she'd gathered into the empty bowl and then followed Meg under the table.

"Caroline?"

"Lord Benting!" Meg jumped to her feet, promptly hitting her head on the table and letting out a wail.

Benedict's rapid footsteps crossed the kitchen and stopped a few feet from the table. "What are you doing under there? Are you all right?"

"Yes, thank you." Drawing Meg into her arms, Caroline closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "It was just a small bump. We're both fine." The unequivocal falsehood rolled off her tongue before she could call it back. The truth was, she was completely mortified, and Meg would undoubtedly have a goose egg on the top of her head within the next few minutes.

She turned her head slightly, silently praying that she would not see a trail of smashed peas marking Benedict's path across the room. She did not. But what she did see was infinitely worse: a pair of feet clad in elegant slippers situated right beside Benedict's highly polished black boots.

"My mother is here to see you," Benedict said. Had she imagined the apology in his voice? "She met me in the passage outside my chambers, and when she learned why I was dripping water all over the rug, she insisted upon accompanying me to the kitchen."

"Of course I did."

Caroline would have recognized Lady Farwell's voice anywhere, and though she would have picked almost any scenario other than her current one for their reunion, she could not deny the surge of genuine happiness she felt at hearing it again.

"How could I miss an opportunity to see you and meet your precious daughter?" Lady Farwell continued.

"If... if you would just give us one moment, my lady." Hastily wiping the tears from Meg's eyes, Caroline pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "The pain will go away soon, Meggie," she whispered. "I am sure of it. And I believe we have gathered as many peas as we are able. I'm sure Cook will forgive us for missing a few."

Meg rubbed her head and sniffled. "Can I go to Lord Benting now?"

"Yes, dear. But watch that you don't become tangled again."

Crouching low, Meg shimmied out from under the table. Still on her hands and knees, Caroline followed more slowly. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of her bonnet ribbons hanging on the drying rack and inwardly sighed. It seemed that she was to be spared no mercy with this reintroduction.

The tabletop disappeared from above her head, and Benedict's extended arm appeared before her. "May I assist you up?"

Battling her overwhelming desire to keep her face hidden, she accepted his hand and raised her eyes to his. "We were gathering spilled peas," she said.

"So I see." He drew her to her feet. "You were supposed to be recovering. Did you forget that we have maids who can do such things?"

"But we were helping them," Meg said. She pointed at the two who had moved on from chopping vegetables to slicing meat. "See? They're very busy."

"Good heavens!" Lady Farwell spoke for the first time since Caroline and Meg had emerged from beneath the table. "The child is just as charming as her mother was at that age."

At his mother's exclamation, Benedict released Caroline's hand and drew Meg forward. "Mother," he said, "may I present Caroline's daughter, Margaret Jane Granger. Meg, this is my mother, Lady Farwell."

Meg gazed upward, no doubt taking in the elaborately embroidered pale-green gown and crisp lace, the perfectly curled, dark hair peppered with gray, and the kind brown eyes so like Benedict's. "You are pretty," she said.

Lady Farwell's eyes twinkled. "As are you, my dear."

Benedict leaned over to whisper in Meg's ear. "You may curtsy if you'd like."

Meg immediately wadded up the excess shift fabric in her small fist and executed a stilted bob.

"That was lovely, Margaret," Lady Farwell said. "Or should I call you Meg, as Benedict does?"

"Everyone calls me Meg, except my Mama when—"

"You may call her Meg, my lady," Caroline said, cutting Meg off before she could finish. Caroline knew what her daughter was about to say, and it was one embarrassment too many.

Lady Farwell nodded and then turned her full attention to Caroline. For one long moment, she simply gazed at her. Caroline's heart pounded, silently pleading that the elegant woman would accept her as she'd always done—despite her vastly changed appearance.

"Oh, Caroline, how I have missed you!" Lady Farwell opened her arms, and Caroline stepped into them, tears threatening as the woman who'd been so vital a part of her childhood embraced her. "Benedict told me of the smallpox and your husband's passing. How courageous you have been these past months!" She leaned back, gently setting her hands on either side of Caroline's pocked face. "I should not marvel so." Her eyes held Caroline's. "You were just the same as a child. But it brings me such joy to know that you are healing and have retained the strength of spirit we always admired in you."

A tear escaped, and Caroline did nothing to prevent it from rolling down her cheek. "I have missed you, my lady."

Lady Farwell took a deep breath. "Well, fate has been kind to us. You are returned to Leyfield, and so am I. We shall make up for lost time by seeing much of each other. You and Meg must come to Farwell whenever you please."

"Thank you, Mother," Benedict said. "I have told Caroline the same, but hearing it from you will likely have a greater effect."

Caroline managed a watery smile. "I am twice amazed that either of you wish us anywhere near the house after the unfortunate and indecorous events of today."

"Ah, but you managed to pull my son from his work on the farm long enough to play boats on the river," Lady Farwell said. "I have been trying to do that since he was ten years old, with no success whatsoever."

"I rather think it was Meg who was the catalyst for that pursuit," Caroline said.

Turning her back on Benedict, Lady Farwell lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level. "No matter who it was, if either of you can persuade him to leave the cowshed long enough to join me for tea occasionally, I would be most appreciative."

With a slight shake of his head, Benedict raised his eyes to the ceiling. "You will have to lower your voice far more than that if you wish your communications to be a secret, Mother. And you will also have to stop scheduling your teas at four o'clock if you wish me to be present. That is precisely when the afternoon milking begins."

"Given how reliable Giles is, I am sure the afternoon milking would carry on quite nicely without you," she said.

Benedict was honest enough to concede the point. "True. But I have discovered that my being there is the best way to learn of unforeseen problems on the farm."

"Have there been unforeseen problems recently?"Lady Farwell asked.

"A broken stanchion and a cowpox outbreak," he said.

"Oh dear. Did the pox affect the milkmaids?"

"The ones who had not suffered from it before this outbreak became ill," Benedict admitted. "Thankfully, none of them severely."

"I am glad to hear it." She appeared thoughtful. "Now that we are in the country and not so tied to the dictates of Society, I believe I could occasionally order tea to be served at three o'clock."

"What a novel idea." Humor lit Benedict's eyes. "I daresay it is possible that on those same days, I could arrive a little late to the afternoon milking."

"Splendid." Lady Farwell gave a triumphant smile. "And we shall have Caroline join us too."

Startled by her sudden inclusion in the conversation and the invitation, Caroline stammered the expected response. "I... I would be honored, my lady." And she would, as long as Benedict and Lady Farwell were the only other attendees. Unfortunately, Lady Farwell was known for having a wide circle of acquaintances and for entertaining them regularly. Sarah, Molly, Hester, and members of the Farwell household had all been remarkably accepting of her appearance, but Caroline had experienced the opposite in Portsmouth. More times than she wished to count. The awful blend of horror, pity, and shunning had been crushing, and even though her confidence had improved since coming home, she was not yet prepared to put it to the test with others in High Society.

"It is settled, then." Lady Farwell beamed. "I shall send out invitations for next week."

* * *

Benedict's parents had been in residence for less than an hour, and already his well-meaning mother had gone too far. One look at Caroline's stricken expression confirmed what he'd already known: she had no wish to face a parlor full of ladies. Particularly if those ladies were virtual strangers. In truth, neither did he. Experience had taught him to studiously avoid being outnumbered by his mother's friends in a social setting.

He glanced around the room. A maid entered from the scullery. She met his eyes before quickly lowering her head to resume her work. He stifled a sigh. Given the choice, he would rather not conduct this conversation within the hearing of the kitchen staff or Caroline and Meg, but clearing the room would only promote unfounded gossip, and he knew full well that if he did not curtail his mother's plans, they would immediately mushroom out of control.

"If you intend to organize one of your grand tea parties, Mother, I would suggest that you not include me or Caroline on the guest list. I agreed to have tea with you, not a small army of senior ladies intent on promoting their eligible daughters and granddaughters. And unless I've fully missed the mark, I believe Caroline would far rather spend time conversing privately with you over a cup of tea than listening to said ladies discuss their bridge game, the weather, or me."

"Really, Benedict!"

Ignoring his mother's chastising tone, Benedict maintained a grim expression. "Yes. Really." As much as he hated drawing attention to his marital status, he'd rather do that than add to Caroline's discomfort. He set his hands on Meg's shoulders, wishing he could place them over her ears instead. "I have repeatedly told you that I despise being the subject of matchmaking discussions, but since you claim that such conversations are inevitable when one is the mother of an unmarried heir to an earldom, I will remind you that I make a point of being absent at any events that involve your friends plotting ways in which young ladies of their choosing might finagle an invitation to Farwell Hall or an introduction to me."

Meg's shoulders shifted, and he glanced down to see her looking at him.

"Why do the ladies want to visit you, Lord Benting?" she asked. "Do they want to sail boats and visit the baby cows too?"

"I'm afraid not."

She scrunched her face in thought. "Ride the pony?"

Despite his underlying frustration, Benedict could not prevent a smile from forming. Lud. Everyone deserved a Meg in their lives. "Unfortunately," he said, "I do not think they would be satisfied with a pony ride either." Having made his objections to his mother's grand plans perfectly clear, and anxious to put the awkward subject aside, he crouched before Meg. "You, on the other hand, need to be taken home, and if your mother is willing, perhaps we might ride there together."

She gasped, her eyes widening. "On the pony?"

"If the carriage horses were rested, I would suggest a ride in the barouche, but since they were stabled so recently, I had thought that your mother could ride one of our mares and you might join me on Saxon."

"Oh, no," Caroline said. "I would not have you go to such trouble on our account. It will not take us long to walk home."

"Walking home is out of the question." Benedict rose. She had pushed herself hard to reach Farwell Hall quickly after Meg's accident. The short time she'd spent in the rocking chair had hardly been enough to replenish her strength. "Neither of you is in any condition to make that journey on foot."

"There is no point in arguing, Caroline." His mother spoke for the first time since his mutinous declaration. "In this instance, Benedict is right. And as you just witnessed, he can be infuriatingly stubborn."

Torn between building on his mother's words of support and defending his supposed stubborn streak, he opted for persuasion instead. "I have yet to take Saxon out today. He will be thrilled to have an outing."

Meg quickly followed his lead. "Please, Mama."

"Can you manage Meg if she's wrapped in a blanket?" Caroline asked.

"Absolutely." He reached for the covering lying on the rocking chair, glad that this battle, at least, appeared to be over before it had truly begun. "One of the maids can bundle up Meg's damp clothing." He hesitated. "Forgive me. I should have asked if you are comfortable on horseback."

She nodded. "It's been some time since I was last in a saddle, but I do enjoy riding."

"Have her take Poppy, Benedict," his mother said. "I believe she will suit Caroline very well."

"Agreed."

Benedict could not help but feel a pang of regret at his mother's look of surprise at his positive response to her suggestion. In truth, the amount of time he spent working on the farm and his lack of interest in having young ladies thrust upon him notwithstanding, they thought alike on most things.

His mother reached for Caroline's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I shall leave you now, my dear, so that I may seek out Wesley and send him to the stables with instructions to saddle Saxon and Poppy. Benedict and I shall talk again after he returns from the vicarage to determine the best day for a tea party for three."

The relief in Caroline's smile swept away any remaining doubts Benedict harbored over her feelings about a large gathering.

"Thank you, Lady Farwell," she said. "That would be lovely."

"Farewell, Meg," his mother said. "Please give my regards to your grandfather."

Meg nodded furiously. "And I shall tell him about falling in the water and riding Saxon."

Benedict's mother chuckled. She might be ill-pleased with him for speaking so bluntly in front of others, but she had quite obviously fallen under Meg's spell. "I have no doubt he will love hearing all about your adventures, my dear. I hope you will come back to visit me very soon."

"I will," Meg said, attempting to hop but becoming tangled instead. "When I have my clothes on."

Caroline's soft moan was as good a cue as any to wrap the blanket in his hands around the child.

"Come along, then," Benedict said, lifting Meg off the ground. "After we've thanked Cook for the warm milk, we shall race Wesley to the stables."