Chapter 18

Clouds were rolling in. Benedict reined Saxon to a halt outside the Simkinses' cottage and eyed the sky warily. The storm that had brought moisture during the early-morning hours was long gone, but the light breeze suggested another one was coming. Already, the warm afternoon temperatures were lowering. He'd best make his visit short, or he'd be returning to Farwell Hall in the rain.

Dismounting quickly, he tied Saxon's reins to the gate post. There was no sign of the farm cart, but a horse and trap was parked nearby. If his father's message had reached Doctor Phillips, it was likely the physician's vehicle. Benedict hoped he was correct. He also hoped the doctor had good news to share. Walking briskly up the short path, he knocked on the door. A baby cried, and footsteps sounded within. Moments later, the door opened.

He blinked. Had his inability to fully remove Caroline from his thoughts all day reduced him to this? A vision of her standing in the Simkinses' doorway, wearing an apron, with her sleeves rolled up and her hands dripping with water? He blinked again. The vision remained unchanged. "Caroline?"

"Good day, Benedict. Have you come to see Jim Simkins?"

"I have." He rubbed the back of his neck a little too hard. There was no doubt about it. He wasn't dreaming. "May I ask what you are doing here?"

"Washing dishes," she said. His shock must have shown, because her guarded expression softened a fraction. "Hester needed the help."

"Of course."

"Would you like to come in?" she asked.

"Yes." He groaned inwardly. She must think him every kind of idiot for standing like a confounded statue on the doorstep.

She stepped aside to allow him entry.

"Thank you," he said.

She nodded stiffly. "Your men helped Jim to his bedchamber before they left. Doctor Phillips is with him still. Hester is feeding the baby in the adjacent room."

"And you are washing the dishes."

For the first time since they'd ridden to the vicarage together, there was warmth in her smile. "I am."

"May I help you?"

For a fraction of a second, she stared at him. "Have you ever washed a dish in your life?"

Brilliant. Apparently, he had yet to learn that saying the first reckless thing that popped into one's head was no better than remaining mute. What on earth was wrong with him? Other than being a first-class numbskull, that was.

"Does licking my spoon until it shone after finishing that raspberry tart you smuggled into the nursery all those years ago count?"

She covered her mouth with her damp hand, but Benedict was almost positive he'd heard a soft giggle.

"No." She cleared her throat, and when she lowered her hand, her expression was serious. "And so, my answer must also be no. I cannot risk you breaking the Simkinses' dishes."

"Fair enough." As ridiculous as it seemed, he was genuinely disappointed. "If you will excuse me, I should go upstairs to speak with Jim and the doctor." He crossed the small entry, but after he'd stepped onto the first stair, he turned back to face her. "You needn't worry about the door. I can let myself out."

He had climbed three more steps when he heard the rustle of her gown near the bottom of the stairs.

"Benedict."

He paused. Heaven help him. What was it about Caroline? All it took was one word and he was ready to go back down the stairs and attempt washing dishes regardless of how many he broke in the process. He turned again. She was standing with her hands tightly clasped, and for the first time, he noticed that they were red—not from her lingering scars but from having them in hot water for too long. "Yes?"

"When you are finished upstairs, would... would you be so good as to stop by the kitchen before you leave? I... I have something I would like to discuss with you."

He studied her curiously. Did this discussion involve her sudden change in attitude toward him? Was it about Meg? His chest tightened. If—as her recent coolness indicated—she wished to curtail their time together, he'd rather not hear it.

"I must return to Farwell Hall soon, but if time permits, I shall come," he said.

She took a step back. "Thank you."

He nodded and started up the stairs again. There was not really any question. No matter the hour, he would make time for a detour to the kitchen. He was only now realizing that it had become all but impossible for him to refuse Caroline Granger anything.

* * *

Caroline scrubbed the last of the porridge off the pot before leaning back to stretch her aching muscles. She would be sore tomorrow, but she would sleep well knowing that Hester's kitchen was put back to rights.

Coming to her feet, she pressed her hand to the small of her back and eyed the washtub grimly. Perhaps she'd best pour some of the water out before she attempted lifting it. She'd filled the tub from the kettle, and it had been unwieldy enough while empty. Attempting to carry it while filled with water was likely beyond her.

She lowered a pot into the tub, filled it half full of water, and then carried it out through the back door. A gust of wind tugged at her gown. She dumped the water at the base of a nearby bush and looked at the sky. A single drop of rain landed on her face. And then another. Her heart sank. It appeared that she would have a wet walk home.

Hurrying back into the kitchen, she scooped up another panful of water and started for the door again.

"Is this a new method of washing dishes that I have yet to learn about?"

At the sound of Benedict's voice, Caroline started. The water in the pot sloshed upward, splashing onto her apron and the tile floor.

"Forgive me," he said, crossing the small room in a few strides and taking the pot from her hands. "I did not mean to startle you."

"I did not hear you come in," she said, placing her hand over her racing heart.

"I should have announced myself better. Doctor Phillips just left, and I erroneously assumed you would have heard the door close." He raised the pot. "Where is this to go?"

"Outside."

He raised an eyebrow. "Where exactly outside?"

"Anywhere that can manage a little extra water," Caroline said. "I poured the first load onto the bush to the left of the door."

"And is there a reason for this ceremonial dumping?"

This time, Caroline did not bother to hide her laughter. It was too much work. Benedict made her smile, and after the worries of the day, it felt good to experience a measure of happiness. "It is known as the lower-the-water-in-the-tub-sufficiently-that-you-can-lift-it ceremony," she said. "And when one is unused to hauling heavy weights, it is an essential part of dispensing of the washtub water."

"Ah. I imagine the young maids in the Farwell Hall kitchen perform the ceremony on a regular basis. I am sorry that I have missed witnessing the event myself."

"Well, now you know the secret to why the bushes growing near the kitchen door are so much more vibrant than those at the front of the house," she said.

He chuckled. "I shall never look at them the same again."

"It might be best to keep that information from your gardeners."

"A valid point," he said, making for the back door. "It will take me only a moment to empty the pot, and I believe I can take out the tub without further decanting."

Caroline waited while Benedict took care of the dishwater with remarkable ease.

And then, after she had directed him in returning the pot and the tub to their proper places, he gave her a cautious look. "You wished to speak with me?"

"Yes." No. Yes. Sorting through her jumbled emotions was impossible. She had to focus on how best to meet Hester and Jim's needs. "But first, are you able to update me on Jim's condition?"

He nodded. "Hester managed to clean most of the blood off his face, and despite the pain he is in, she was able to help him change from his soiled clothes into something fresh." He offered her a small smile. "I understand your assistance with their infant made that possible."

"It was a joy to hold him for a while."

"So I imagine." He sighed. "Jim has lost two teeth and chipped two more. The cut on his arm is long but not overly deep, so Doctor Phillips is hopeful that it will heal without incurring an infection. His leg is more problematic. The doctor concurred with Giles: it is too early to tell if a bone is broken, but he has advised Jim to stay off it as much as possible. Once the swelling has gone down, it may be easier for the doctor to determine what he is dealing with."

"How will they manage?" Caroline asked.

"Besides relying upon Hester's rather remarkable friend?"

Warmth filled Caroline's cheeks. "I am very unremarkable, and as much as I would wish it otherwise, I am not capable of helping them with what they need most."

"I shall beg to wholeheartedly differ with you on the first item," Benedict said. "But that discussion can be left for another time. As far as the second is concerned, it is obvious that the Simkinses are in need of significant assistance, but I am curious as to which of the things they lack that you consider to be of most importance."

"Food," Caroline said.

Benedict's jaw tightened. "How bad is it?"

All the reluctance she'd felt at confiding in him melted away at his unreserved acceptance of her observation. "I have cleaned the entire kitchen, and all I have found is a head of cabbage, a few fistfuls of dried beans, and enough oats to last them for three or four more breakfasts." She met his eyes, battling to hold back her tears. "Regardless of how long Jim and Hester can survive on so little, their baby will not. Without more food, Hester will be unable to feed him."

Shock, raw and painful, flitted across his face. "Dear heaven, this is my fault."

"No." Caroline shook her head emphatically. "How could you possibly have known the empty state of their cupboards?"

"That's just it. I should have known." He paced across the small room and back. "Up until this morning, I believed the Farwell Farm wheat had gone directly to the local gristmill after harvest. That had always been the plan. To ease the burden of the previous year's failed crop and provide our tenants and the people of Leyfield with enough wheat to make it through the winter." He ran his hand across his face, but it did little to erase the anguish there. "Today, I visited Mr. Abney and learned that in actuality, he received only a small fraction of our grain and has had no wheat to grind for months."

"How could that be? You run Farwell Farm—and not just from a chair behind a desk at the house. You were there for the harvest."

"I was," he said. "I saw the sacks of grain loaded onto the cart. I've also seen the ledger itemizing payment for all that wheat. So, unless those numbers are fabricated, someone received it and paid for it. But that person was not Mr. Abney."

"Can your steward shed light on what happened?" she asked.

"I sincerely hope so," he said grimly. "And in the meantime, I intend to do all that I can to set things right."

"Benedict." Without forethought, she reached for his hand. "Your desire to ease the discomfort of your neighbors is honorable and good, but you cannot blame yourself for the general lack of food in all of Leyfield. That is not your weight to bear. Other commodities are available. We have made it through the most trying time of year. Vegetables are growing in gardens, and it will not be long before fresh produce is ready to be picked."

As though it were the most natural thing in the world, he threaded his fingers through hers. Her heart tripped.

"I thank you for your kind words, but I must own a good portion of this, Caroline. I should have uncovered the problem long ago. Bread is a staple food. Without it, people are forced to look elsewhere for the means to survive. That demand raises the prices on all products. My neglect in personally following through with the wheat delivery to the local gristmill has cost others dearly."

"What can be done at this point?"

"I shall make that determination after I have spoken to my father and our steward, Mr. Rowe, but until then..." He looked around the newly tidied kitchen, his gaze settling on the empty shelf above the stove. "We shall focus on helping the Simkinses."

"We?" Her head cried out a warning even as her heart thudded at the notion of joining Benedict in his efforts.

He nodded. "I think a group effort may produce the best results, don't you?"

"I... I'm not sure what you mean."

"I would like to bring my mother in on this," he said. "Amongst the ton, she is known for her love of hosting all manner of social functions, but family members have long since realized that those events are simply an outward manifestation of her talent for organization and the joy she derives from sharing her table with others. She will know exactly how to go about filling the Simkinses' pantry, and she may have suggestions for how we can best overcome the challenges brought on by Jim's and Hester's present physical limitations.

"If you are willing to assist us, you would be an invaluable resource in helping my mother understand Hester's and the baby's most pressing needs."

"And you?" Caroline asked. "What is your role in this project?"

"I shall ensure that whatever plans you and my mother contrive are executed properly and promptly."

The memory of Robbie's growling stomach and Hester's gaunt face flooded her mind. "How promptly is promptly?"

He glanced at the clock on the wall. "They will have started the milking by now. If we leave right away, I can send word to Giles, asking him to drop off two pints of milk at the cottage within the hour."

Fresh milk would be a welcome addition to the Simkinses' pantry, but solid food might be even more valuable.

"Do you think Cook would be willing to join our efforts too?" she asked.

"Without question. Cook was baking bread this morning. I believe I can commandeer at least one loaf if I tell her why we need it."

His choice of words brought a smile to her face. "It will likely remind her of our childhood exploits."

His grip on her hand tightened. "Then, you are willing to help?"

"How could I not?"

His smile set loose a thousand butterflies in her stomach, but before she could gather her wits and attempt to calm her rogue emotions, Hester appeared in the doorway. Softly and silently, Benedict's hand slipped free of hers.

"Robbie's asleep," Hester said. "And so's Jim. They—" A gasp cut off whatever she'd intended to say, and she gazed around the tidy room in wonder. "Caroline! What have you done?"

Caroline crossed the room, placed her hands upon her friend's shoulders, and gently turned her back toward the stairs. "Go to bed, Hester. Robbie will be awake again before you know it, and there is nothing more you can do here."

"How can I ever thank you?" Hester asked brokenly.

"If you would allow me to hold Robbie every once in a while, that is payment enough for me," she said.

Nodding, Hester took a few faltering steps toward the staircase. "Anytime at all."

Caroline recognized pure exhaustion when she saw it. So, too, it seemed, did Benedict.

"We shall leave you now, Mrs. Simkins," he said. "But rest easy. Your family will be well cared for."

Hester reached for the banister rail. "Thank you, m'lord. We're most grateful."