Chapter 22

Benedict stood in his father's office, still wearing his working clothes. "I came here first," he said, "to tell you of Rowe's condition and to give you the books I found. But I must inform the men at the farm of the situation right away. It's been over two days since Rowe dropped off his mount. If any of the stablehands are feeling unwell, we must isolate them immediately."

Benedict's father ran a hand across his face, his expression haggard. "I had concocted numerous ill-fated reasons for why Rowe had yet to appear in my office, but this—this disaster—trumps them all."

"Agreed," Benedict said. "But now that we know what we are dealing with, we must do all in our power to prevent the current scenario from becoming far worse."

His father turned his back on the books Benedict had set on his desk. "You are sure this maid, Rachel, can manage?"

"Not at all," Benedict said. "But I do believe she will use our prearranged signal to let us know if she needs assistance."

"She's a godsend."

"Without a doubt," Benedict agreed. "Unfortunately, she is convinced that she will not become ill simply because she's been a milkmaid."

"I see."

Benedict paused. He'd expected far more reaction to Rachel's ridiculous suggestion. "Father?"

"I've heard the claim before," his father said.

"From milkmaids?"

"About milkmaids but from farmers."

Benedict stared at him. "You believe there's some truth to it?"

"I'm not sure what to believe," his father said. "When your mother and I were in London, we attended a party at Lord Chesterville's house. The subject of Lady Mary Wortley Montague's campaign to have members of the royal family and nobility variolated against smallpox arose."

"Her ladyship fought that battle years ago," Benedict said. "And though variolation may have benefitted some, the practice does not promise full protection from smallpox. When those who are variolated become ill—no matter how mildly—they spread the disease to others. Not only that, but a significant number of variolated patients also die from the procedure."

"True," his father said. "But the issue of variolation is more complex than a debate between risk and benefit. What too many members of the nobility forget is that smallpox is no respecter of status. Variolation has experienced some popularity amongst the upper classes, but it has never been offered to those of the working class. Until a cure is available to all, we have no cure."

"I concur," Benedict said. "But as much as we all wish it were different, I fail to see how Rachel's belief in a special protection offered to milkmaids will help. Even if there is any truth to it, there are even fewer milkmaids in the country than there are members of the nobility."

For a moment, it seemed that his father might say more, but then he shook his head. "I daresay you are right. Regardless of how much I wish it were a real phenomenon, in the cold light of day, milkmaid immunity does seem a farfetched notion."

"Would that it were true."

"Wishing, hoping, praying. I have come to learn that those things have a great deal of power when one is confronted with supposedly farfetched notions."

Benedict did not have to think hard to recognize the truth of his father's words. He'd experienced it firsthand when he'd set out to turn Farwell Farm's half dozen cows into a viable dairy. More recently, he had begun applying fervent wishing, hoping, and praying to his dream of having Caroline see him as someone more than her childhood friend's older brother. "We may need to rely rather heavily on those principles for a while," he said.

"Indeed. Along with sincere vigilance." His father walked around the desk and dropped onto the chair. "Go now to let Giles and the stablehands know what we are facing. If there is any hint of smallpox anywhere on our property, I wish to be informed of it immediately." He studied the books and papers before him grimly. "In the meantime, I shall make a start on these."

* * *

"One minute more, Meg," Caroline warned.

Meg looked up from the bucket of grain she and Giles were holding. "He's almost finished." The calf's tail swished even as its head lowered farther into the pail. "You see? We cannot leave until he eats the very last bit."

"Very well, but the moment the bucket is empty, we must go. We have taken up far too much of Mr. Giles's day already."

Caroline did not know exactly what time it was. She only knew that drawing Meg out of the cow barn was proving as difficult as removing her from the stables had been. Thankfully, John had seemed genuinely pleased to see Meg, and he'd been more than happy to saddle Ginger so Meg could ride the pony around and around the yard. It was likely that Ginger had had a far longer turn outside than normal, but it had been heartwarming to see Meg's confidence increase with each circuit they'd made. Benedict would have been proud of her. The thought startled Caroline. And yet she knew it was accurate. Benedict genuinely cared about Meg. But was that enough? Caroline's grip on the stall tightened. No matter what Benedict had told her in the closet, to believe that he would choose Caroline over all the elegant young ladies vying for his hand was senseless. Quite apart from her own failings and scarred appearance, she came with a four-year-old companion.

On the other side of the stall, the calf licked Meg's hand, and she giggled. It was a light, happy sound that drew a chuckle from Giles. Caroline released the latch on the stall gate. "Come along, Meg. It's past time for us to go. What do you say to Mr. Giles?"

"Thank you for helping me feed the calves, Mr. Giles," Meg said.

"Yer welcome, Miss Meg." Giles picked up the empty pail and walked out of the stall. "I 'ope ya'll come back again soon."

With a few extra hops in her step, Meg followed. "I will," she promised.

"You've been very good to her, Giles," Caroline said, reaching for Meg's hand.

"Not at all, Miss Caroline. I reckon the world would be a better place if we 'ad more Megs in it."

"Lord Benting!" Meg withdrew her hand from Caroline's and darted for the door.

Caroline swung around. Benedict was standing at the entrance, and at Meg's exuberant cry, he crouched and extended his arms to her. Meg ran into his embrace. He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the floor as he rose to his full height.

Meg set her small hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eyes. "I rode Ginger. You were supposed to be here, but you weren't."

"Forgive me," he said. "I had something very important I had to attend to."

"Will you be here next time?"

"I certainly want to be," he said. "When is next time?"

"Soon. Mr. Giles said to come soon."

Caroline expected him to chuckle at Meg's naive response, but even his smile was missing. Her heart, which had lifted at the sight of him, instantly sank.

"Benedict?" She moved toward him. "Is something wrong?"

The softening in his eyes told her that he was glad to see her, but he did not answer her question. Instead, he lowered Meg to the ground. "Shep is in the yard, Meg. I'm sure he would be happy to see you."

Meg turned to her. "May I go, Mama?"

Caroline's gaze had yet to leave Benedict's face, but she nodded. "Yes, you may. But stay close by, if you please."

With a happy skip, Meg hurried outside. Caroline waited, her heart pounding uncomfortably in her chest. Benedict reached for her hand. Surprised by the gesture, she curled her fingers around his and glanced at Giles. If the cowman had noticed, he showed no sign of it.

"I'm sensin' trouble, m'lord."

"Then you would be right, Giles." Benedict's grip on her hand increased. "I've just come from speaking with Mr. Rowe's maid, Rachel, at the steward's cottage. It appears that Mr. Rowe has contracted smallpox."

The ground seemed to tilt beneath Caroline's feet.

As if from a distance, she heard Giles's voice. "Devil take it! Is it certain?"

"As certain as we can be without a physician seeing him," Benedict replied.

Caroline forced herself to take a breath. And then another one. Please, God, her heart screamed. Please let it not have followed me to Leyfield. Giles was speaking again. Caroline shook her head, attempting to clear it of its stupor.

"Did 'e pick it up in Gloucester?"

"He must have," Benedict said. "I've just come from the stables. As far as I can ascertain, it was the only stop he made between the road and the cottage. According to John, Rowe led his mare into the stable and left immediately afterward."

"John was the one who assisted Mr. Rowe?" Caroline battled to keep her mounting panic under control.

"He was. Apparently, the younger stableboys were already abed."

John had spent the best part of the morning with Meg. Caroline took another breath. "And you? Did you have contact with him?"

Benedict shook his head. "I spoke to his maid at the front door to the cottage. When I learned that Rowe was ill, I retrieved the books I needed from his study and left immediately."

Focusing on her breathing was not helping. "You went into his house? Even though you knew there was smallpox within its walls?" She pulled her hand free of Benedict's. "What were you thinking?" Fear, anger, and desperation crashed over her until she could not separate one emotion from the next. "Do you not care that you have now placed yourself—and everyone else with whom you come in contact—in mortal danger?"

A muscle in Benedict's jaw twitched. "I would never intentionally put myself or others in peril. I would have thought you knew that of me. Entering the cottage was something I had to do. It was vital that I retrieve the ledgers."

"Vital?" Caroline cried. "You would place the value of a handful of books over your own life or Giles's life or Meg's life? Are your estate's finances truly so much more important to you than its people?"

"Of course not." A flash of anger lit his eyes. "And before you so brazenly question where my priorities lie, it might serve you well to remember that you have limited understanding of this situation."

She balled her fists. "I believe the same can be said of you, my lord. It is obvious that you have never personally experienced the devastation smallpox leaves in its wake when it infiltrates a home. And neither have you watched someone dear to your heart succumb to the ravages of the disease. It is—" A sob escaped her, and she shook her head, unwilling to reflect any further on those harrowing memories. "It is too awful to recount." The specter of the disease that had haunted her nightmares for weeks had now entered her real world. Benedict had purposely put himself at risk. John was already at risk. And through him, Meg was also.

Vaguely aware that tears were streaming down her cheeks, she stumbled toward the daylight. She must find Meg.

"Caroline, wait!" Benedict reached for her arm, but she brushed him away.

"No, Benedict!" Her voice broke. "I cannot lose another person I love to that terrible disease. I... I will not survive it. I thought you understood—that you cared—how much I have already lost to smallpox, but you clearly do not."

"Mama?" Meg appeared at her elbow, her expression fearful. "What is it, Mama?"

Caroline clasped Meg's hand, desperately needing the physical contact. "Come. We must leave right away."

"But Shep has my stick."

"We shall find you another one. A better one." Caroline swiped at the tears on her cheeks. "Quickly, Meg. I beg of you."

Meg did not hop or skip, but she came willingly, and Caroline did not turn back. She must leave this place and the insidious disease that had found its way here, but she knew that if she looked upon Benedict's face, there would be no hope of ever stemming her tears. After all they had done together, all he had shared with her, it had come to this. Her ability to discern a gentleman's heart was flawed. Like Fred, Benedict had placed something else above her well-being and Meg's.