Chapter 29

Caroline stood at the window of her bedchamber, watching the sun rise over the Farwell Farm orchard. It had been four days since she had heard from Benedict, but it felt like four weeks. When she'd given Giles her letter, the cowman had suggested that Benedict might be back that evening. She'd hoped for a message every day since then, but nothing had come, and no amount of reading or chasing butterflies with Meg had been sufficient to set her mind at ease.

Of course, there was a chance that Benedict had simply been delayed in Gloucester, but Caroline's treacherous thoughts continued to argue that he had not. She had expressed her pleasure at the prospect of his visiting, but she could not help but wonder if he had changed his mind about coming. Why would he spend any more time with a young lady who had been inexcusably rude to him? Then there was always the agonizing possibility that her letter had been misplaced and that he had never received it.

She pressed her forehead to the cool glass, wishing it had the power to calm her thoughts and sooth her heart. But as much as she wished it otherwise, there was no escaping the likelihood that another horrible reason for Benedict's ongoing silence existed. Given his exposure to smallpox at Mr. Rowe's house and his visit to the very city where the steward had contracted the disease in the first place, it was entirely possible that he had become ill.

The rumble of wooden wheels reached her through the glass. Startled, she raised her head. Giles. At this time in the morning, it could hardly be anyone else. Hurriedly, she shed her nightgown and put on the clothing she'd worn the day before. Sliding her bare feet into her slippers, she tiptoed across the floor, exited the room, and flew down the stairs.

Pulling open the front door, Caroline stepped outside. Giles was on his way back down the path toward the wagon, the empty crock Nora had left on the doorstep in his hand.

"Giles!" Caroline called.

He stopped and turned around, surprise lighting his eyes. "Miss Caroline. Yer up early again this mornin'."

"Yes." Wishing she'd thought to grab her shawl, she wrapped her arms around herself and crossed the short distance between them. "I was wondering if you have any news for me."

Pulling on the brim of his hat, he frowned. "I don' 'ave a letter, if that's what ya mean."

"That's all right." Caroline managed to smile through her disappointment. "Tell me what is happening at the farm. I have missed visiting. Is all well there?"

"Nothin' to complain about at th' moment," he said.

"No illness, then," she pressed.

"None amongst th' farm 'ands." He hesitated, and his frown returned. "I did 'ear that Lord Benning's been poorly though."

Caroline's breath caught in her throat. "Has he returned from Gloucester?"

"Aye. Two days past. But I 'aven't seen 'im. John walked a mount up t' th' 'ouse fer Lord Farwell, an' one o' th' footmen told 'im that Lord Benning took t' 'is bed soon after gettin' back."

"Did the footman—" Her voice trembled. She cleared her throat and started again. "Did the footman say what ails him?"

"Word is that it's cowpox."

"Cowpox?" Caroline's thoughts spun. "Has he assisted with the milking recently?"

"No, miss. But even if 'e 'ad, our 'erd's been free of the disease fer some weeks now."

A vision of Molly's scarred hands entered Caroline's head. The marks left by cowpox were so similar to the smallpox blemishes on her own body. How could anyone in the Farwell household be so sure that Benedict was suffering from the lesser disease?

Tightening her arms around her torso, she fought to keep her emotions in check. "Who is caring for him?"

"That, I can't tell ya, Miss Caroline." Giles scratched his forehead helplessly. "I fear I'm not th' best person t' stop by when yer wantin' news, but if ya plan t' be up early again tomorrow, I'll see if I can't learn somethin' more by then."

If the inner turmoil she was currently experiencing was any indication, she would not be able to wait that long to know more, but she appreciated his thoughtfulness. "Thank you, Giles."

He inclined his head. "Till tomorrow, then, miss."

"Yes."

Giles started back down the path. Caroline waited until he reached the garden gate, and then she turned away and reentered the house.

Benedict was ill. Her heart ached with grief—for how he must be suffering and for how they'd last parted. A tear escaped, rolling slowly down her cheek. It was followed by another. The letter he'd sent her had been an olive branch, had offered her hope that the accusations she'd flung at him while she'd been consumed by fear and anger had not irretrievably ruined their relationship. She'd accepted the offering gladly. If he'd received her letter, he would know that much. But she had yet to apologize for her behavior. He did not know how badly she wished those heated words unsaid.

She stumbled into the kitchen and dropped onto the nearest chair as sorrow overtook her. Covering her face with her hands, she allowed the emotion trapped within her chest its release. Sobs consumed her, emptying her mind of all but an overwhelming concern for Benedict.

When her tears were finally spent, the hazy light of early dawn was gone. She blinked. Bright sunlight filled the kitchen, and outside the window, a thrush sang. Wiping her damp cheeks with her fingers, she rose to her feet. Meg would make her appearance any minute, wanting breakfast. Before that could occur, the fire in the stove needed to be rekindled and the kettle filled with water.

She crossed the small room and set a pan on the stovetop. Making porridge was an easy enough endeavor, and the mindless stirring would give her time to consider what she must do next. Her deep-felt reaction to learning that Benedict was ill had shown her that she could not simply sit idly by hoping for good news.

About five minutes later, her father entered the kitchen. "Good morning, Caroline."

"Good morning, Father." Averting her tearstained face from her father's perceptive gaze, Caroline gave the porridge another stir. "There is tea in the teapot, and the porridge will be ready shortly."

"Thank you, my dear." He stepped toward the cupboard and took out a cup and saucer. "Have you eaten?"

"Not yet." Caroline's appetite had left with Giles.

He took out a second cup and saucer. "You must, you know. No matter how unhappy you may be feeling."

Caroline released her hold on the wooden spoon and slowly turned to face him. "Why would you think I am unhappy?"

His smile was gentle. "You have greeted me with a kiss on the cheek every morning since you were little. Other than when you lived in Portsmouth, the only times that has not occurred were when you were very poorly, cross with me, or sad about something. As you appear to be in good health and we parted on good terms last night, I must assume you are suffering from the latter complaint."

He was right, and she should have known he would notice. Stepping away from the stove, she brushed his grizzled cheek with a kiss. "Good morning, Father."

"Much better," he said. "Now, tell me what has caused you to neglect your breakfast."

There was no reason to hide the cause of her unhappiness from him. "Benedict is ill," she said. "Giles shared the news with me this morning."

Worry lined her father's forehead. "How ill is he?" Given their conversation in the parlor a few days before, he had likely ascertained that her feelings for Benedict were significantly stronger than they had been in the past.

"Giles said it is cowpox, but I can't help but wonder..." She swallowed the lump in her throat. She had cried enough. "How can they be so sure that they have diagnosed it correctly? Both cowpox and smallpox manifest themselves with a fever and blisters."

"True, but I feel sure that Lady Farwell would alert those in the household if there were any chance of smallpox contagion."

"I would hope so." It was a small comfort, but it was better than nothing. "But even if Benedict truly has cowpox, the knowledge that he is suffering from a fever and blisters..." She shook her head helplessly. "What am I to do with myself, Father? I shall be able to think of nothing else until he is well."

"I have no doubt Lady Farwell feels similarly," her father said. "And as you are likely one of the few within her acquaintance who has no need to worry if it is actually the smallpox, perhaps she would appreciate a visit from you."

Caroline set her hands on the back of the nearest chair and gripped it tightly. "Do you really think so? Ever since Giles left, I have wanted nothing more than to go to the house to inquire after Benedict, but I worry that Lady Farwell would consider it overly forward."

"Given your long-standing relationship with the family, I believe that is highly unlikely." His expression softened. "If Lady Farwell is disinclined to see you, you have lost only the time and effort it will take to travel to Farwell Hall. If, on the other hand, she invites you in, you will gain the knowledge you seek and, God willing, the reassurance as well."

The very thought of exchanging her overwhelming anxiety for peace of mind was sufficient encouragement. "Would arriving before calling hours seal my fate as an indecorous neighbor?"

"You are the daughter of a vicar, who makes calls at all hours. I daresay they will withhold their censure." He smiled. "Go, my dear. I was planning to write my Sunday sermon today, and as I had already determined to base my remarks on Christ's teaching in Matthew 18:4, spending time with my young granddaughter would be more than appropriate."

Relief washed over her. "Thank you, Father. I will help Meg dress and give her some porridge before I go."

"And partake of some breakfast yourself," he admonished.

She had little choice. No matter the knots in her stomach, her father would insist that she eat something before she left.

"A cup of tea," she said. "Truthfully, Father, that is all I can manage."

* * *

An hour later, Caroline found herself standing in front of Farwell Hall's imposing front doors. She was as unsure of the reception she would receive as she had been earlier, but her conviction that she needed to come had strengthened with every step she'd taken along her route from the vicarage. She'd passed the entrance to the farm and had caught sight of John walking Ginger in the yard. She'd admired the fields of wheat that lined the lane and had heard the cows lowing in the pasture and the river gurgling nearby. Each of those things had evoked recent memories of experiences shared with Benedict. His kindness to Meg, his desire to help his tenants, his work ethic, and his willingness to walk away from that work to sail toy boats and sit beside a river with her. He had repeatedly proven his steadfastness. It was time that she proved hers.

After hitting the knocker against the large door, she clasped her hands together and waited. She heard Stokes's steady footsteps moments before the bolt drew back and the door opened.

"Good morning, Mrs. Granger," he said, inclining his head politely.

"Good morning, Stokes. I am here to see Lord Benning."

"I'm afraid Lord Benning is unavailable today, ma'am."

Caroline should have known that would be Stokes's response. "Would you be so good as to ask if Lady Farwell would see me?"

"I am sure her ladyship would be pleased to have you return during her scheduled morning hours."

As true as that might be, Caroline was unwilling to wait another two hours to learn more about Benedict's condition. "Forgive me, but I have walked all the way from the vicarage. I require only a few moments of her time."

Stokes shifted his feet. His responsibility was to protect the family from unwanted intrusions, but since Caroline had been a frequent visitor to the house in the past, her request had likely placed him in a difficult position.

"I would not ask this of you if it were not extremely important," Caroline added.

With a curt nod, he opened the door wider and gestured toward two chairs set against the wall beside the door. "If you would be so good as to wait here, I shall make inquiries for you."

"Thank you, Stokes."

Caroline took the chair closest to the door and watched as Stokes made his way across the entrance hall toward the servants' staircase. His direction gave her no clue as to where he expected to find Lady Farwell, but Caroline had no doubt that he would.

According to the long-case clock on the wall across from her, Stokes reappeared two minutes later. Once again, he crossed the entrance hall with slow, deliberate steps. Caroline stood.

He stopped before her. "Lady Farwell will be with you shortly, ma'am."

"Does she wish me to wait here or—" Before Caroline could suggest relocating to the parlor, swift footsteps sounded on the grand staircase. Caroline raised her eyes to see Lady Farwell descending.

"Caroline!" Dressed in a pale-yellow, lace-trimmed gown, Benedict's mother appeared as elegant as always, but as she hurried down the stairs, Caroline noted a marked change in the lady. The poise that had always seemed as natural as breathing to her was gone, and in its place, she emanated an air of deep anxiety. "I am so glad you are come!"

Unprepared for Lady Farwell's enthusiastic welcome, Caroline took a few steps toward her. "Are you well, my lady?"

"Well enough, although I fear the same cannot be said for Benedict."

Caroline's heart contracted. "Giles informed me of his illness this morning. How poorly is he?"

"Three days of fever. The blisters are limited to his hands and arms, thank heavens. Dr. Phillips has been here; he claims that typical cowpox symptoms abate within three to four days, and so I pray we shall see a change in Benedict by the end of the day."

"Are you sure that it is cowpox, my lady?" Despite the doctor's supposed surety, Caroline had to ask.

"Quite sure." Anxiety filled her eyes. "Benedict stopped to see a Dr. Jenner on his way home from Gloucester and allowed the gentleman to administer a cowpox vaccine to him. According to Benedict, his reaction to the treatment was to be expected, but that knowledge has done little to assuage my concern for him."

A vaccine? What did that mean?

Caroline barely had time to formulate the questions when Lady Farwell took her hands. "Are you willing to see him?" she asked. "I realize that I am asking a great deal of you since his sores are so similar to the ones you endured and may bring back difficult memories, but I believe a visit from you might make all the difference. He has been asking for you throughout his delirium."

Caroline stared at her doubtingly. "For me? Are you certain?"

"Completely. He has mentioned no one else by name." There was a knowing look in Lady Farwell's eyes. "May I also add that if you have claimed a special place in his heart, I could not be happier."

Touched beyond measure, Caroline offered her an unsteady smile. "Thank you, my lady." To see Benedict suffering would be terribly hard. But she had come to Farwell Hall for him, and there was no place for her personal apprehensions. "I would be glad to go in to him."

Lady Farwell squeezed her hands. "Thank you, my dear. Come. I shall take you to his chambers."

With the same haste she'd shown earlier, Lady Farwell led the way up the sweeping staircase. When she reached the landing, she turned left. Caroline followed. They passed three closed doors before Lady Farwell stopped and knocked softly on the next door. Moments later, a middle-aged woman dressed in a serviceable gray gown opened the door. Her dark hair was flecked with gray, and when she saw Lady Farwell at the door, she bobbed a curtsy.

"His lordship managed a little gruel this morning, my lady."

"I am glad to hear it." Lady Farwell drew Caroline closer. "Caroline, this is Mrs. Abbot. Mrs. Abbot has been our housekeeper for the last four years and has recently added taking a turn sitting with Benedict to her list of responsibilities."

If Mrs. Abbot had been at Farwell Hall for only four years, it stood to reason that Caroline had not met her. The previous housekeeper, Mrs. Lansing, would have needed no introduction.

"I am pleased to meet you," Caroline said.

"Likewise, miss."

"Caroline is Reverend Moore's daughter," Lady Farwell explained. "She has known Lord Benning and his brother since they were very young."

It did not escape Caroline's notice that Lady Farwell focused on her long-standing friendship with the family and neglected to introduce her by her married name. Given that she was about to enter Benedict's chambers, it was understandable.

"This must be the Caroline his lordship has spoken of so often," Mrs. Abbot said.

"It is, and I believe it will be good for him to see her."

"I daresay you are right, my lady." The housekeeper stepped aside.

"Thank you, Mrs. Abbot. I will accompany Caroline into Lord Benning's chamber so that you may go downstairs for a while."

"Very good, my lady." With a polite nod, the housekeeper slipped out of the room and disappeared down the passage.

Caroline followed Lady Farwell into the room. Heavy, maroon velvet curtains hung at the windows. Someone—Mrs. Abbot, Caroline presumed—had opened them a fraction so that enough light entered for her to make out the elegant tallboy and chest of drawers on one side of the room and a writing desk and chair on the other. Two large pastoral paintings hung on the wall. Caroline guessed they were scenes from the Farwell Estate. A fire burned in the grate, and the room felt overly warm.

Tugging at the ribbons beneath her chin, Caroline removed her bonnet, gloves, and shawl and set them on the writing desk as Lady Farwell approached the bed.

"Benedict." Her ladyship spoke softly. "You have a visitor."

The bedclothes rustled. "I have no need of the doctor, Mother. A day or two more and I shall be well again."

"That is my hope also," she said, "but in the meantime, I thought you might like to see Caroline."

For a fraction of a second, the air in the room hung still.

"Did you say that Caroline is here?"

"Yes, dear."

The bed creaked. Caroline waited, her heart pounding.

"Caroline?" Benedict's voice held the same hesitation that she was experiencing.

"Go to him, dear." Lady Farwell moved away from the bed. "I shall sit beside the writing desk should either of you need me."

Caroline stepped closer. Maroon-and-white damask brocade hung from the corners of the four-poster bed. The rumpled bedspread was a maroon-and-gray jacquard pattern, and several white pillows had been stacked against the headboard. Benedict was sitting up, leaning against the pillows. His dark hair fell loose to his collar. He wore a nightshirt, open low enough at the neck to expose a portion of his chest. His arms lay across the bedcovers, and though the light was poor, she could make out the blisters, red and angry upon his skin.

Tears pricked her eyes. "Oh, Benedict." Her voice broke. She lowered herself onto the edge of the bed beside him and gently touched his damaged hand. "What were you thinking?"

"Truthfully?" His fingers moved to capture hers. "I was thinking of you." His eyes shone with the slightly glassy look of someone fighting a fever.

"That makes no sense. Surely you know that this illness is the very last thing I would wish upon you."

"Not this illness, Caroline. I am battling cowpox. You see the blisters on my hands and arms, but there are none on my face or neck. Already, my fever has lowered, and just as all the milkmaids before me have done, I shall put the illness behind me with limited scarring." He held her gaze. "After I am fully recovered, you will never again have need to dread losing me to smallpox."

"I... I don't understand." Surely something so incredible could not be true.

"Dr. Jenner—the gentleman who administered the cowpox vaccine to me—has made a study of the connection between cowpox and smallpox and has discovered that when a person has battled the lesser illness, he or she becomes immune to the more deadly one. It is manifest every day in the milkmaids who have been protected from the plague."

"Such as Mr. Rowe's maid."

"Yes. Rachel's seemingly miraculous escape from the illness further persuaded me that Dr. Jenner's findings have merit." Weariness hung over him, but he had yet to drop his gaze. "My insensitivity to your feelings when I told you of Mr. Rowe's condition was unpardonable. You trusted me with details surrounding your own very personal and harrowing experience with smallpox, and I broke that trust by rekindling horrific memories and fears with my lack of thought and tactless delivery of the news. I am deeply sorry. If I can ever do anything that will help relieve your fears, Caroline, I will do it." His smile was weak but sincere. "Unlike cowpox, I have determined that thinking of you above anyone or anything else is an all-pervading condition from which I have no hope of recovering."

"Benedict," she whispered, fighting her tears. He still held her hand, but she ached for more. She yearned to be in his arms, wanted his kisses. But this was not the time nor the place. "It is I who must apologize to you for reacting so poorly that day. My words were harsh, my accusations unjust. I do not deserve you."

He groaned, and pulling himself upright, he raised their joined hands to his mouth and pressed a light kiss to her fingers. "If you truly believe that, then we are equally matched, my love." For a brief moment, an impish light shone through the glaze in his eyes. "Although I am certain I shall never attain your degree of goodness and bravery, I take comfort in believing that in the future, if I practice well, I may consistently best you in toy sailboat racing."

Caroline's soft laughter filled the room. "I have no doubt Meg will encourage you in that endeavor."

Benedict smiled. "Tell me about Meg. Is she well?"

"She has become Nora's special helper in the house and has become quite adept at forming knotted bread rolls that look remarkably like snails. She continues to collect dandelions whenever we are in the garden but misses our rambles to the farm." Caroline paused. "She asks about you every day and has not hopped or skipped much since she saw you last."

This time, when Benedict smiled, she recognized the fatigue behind it. "Tell her that as soon as I am well enough, I shall ride to the vicarage to see her."

"I will, and you may be sure she will be watching for you." Caroline slid her hand free from his. "We both will. But now, you must rest."

He leaned back against his pillows, his lack of disagreement further proof of his exhaustion. "Thank you for coming, Caroline."

"If you need me, send someone, and I shall come." She rose from the bed, and before she could talk herself out of it, she leaned over and brushed his forehead with her lips.

He blinked, and then he reached up to touch her face. "Soon," he promised in a low voice. "I shall see you again very soon. And then it will be my turn to kiss you."

The scrape of a chair leg against the floor was a poignant reminder that they were not alone. Reluctantly, Caroline stepped away from the bed.

Lady Farwell emerged from the shadows. "Sleep now, Benedict," she said. "Mrs. Abbot or I will check on you in a little while."

Caroline crossed to the writing table and reclaimed her belongings. Donning her gloves, she set her shawl upon her shoulders and her bonnet upon her head, and then she followed Lady Farwell to the door. When she reached it, she turned to look back at the bed. Benedict's dark head was visible against the white pillows, his breathing heavy and even. I love you, Benedict, her heart whispered. Please keep fighting.

Lady Farwell remained silent until they reached the bottom of the stairs. Stokes stood ready at the front door, but as they drew nearer, Lady Farwell's feet slowed to a stop. "Forgive me if I am out of line, my dear, but I feel that I would be remiss if I did not speak with you before you leave."

Caroline's heart began to pound. Had her ladyship witnessed the brief kiss she'd given Benedict? It had been so natural, Caroline had given no thought to its impropriety. She swallowed. "Of course, my lady."

Lady Farwell hesitated, as though measuring her words. "I began to suspect that Benedict may have developed feelings for you when he defended you so soundly in front of Mrs. Flockton and her daughters." She shook her head slightly. "Over the years, I have introduced my son to countless eligible young ladies only to have him show no interest in furthering an acquaintance with them. Now I realize how needless it was to worry over him. He was simply biding his time to make his own choice, to find a young lady who appreciates his passion for the farm and cares as deeply about the local people as he has always done." The smile she offered Caroline was filled with fondness. "Your arrival here this morning has offered me hope that Benedict's feelings for you are reciprocated. I did not hear every exchange you and Benedict shared just now; the words were not intended for my ears. But one would have to be blind not to recognize the affection you have for one another.

"I know that I should learn from the past and cease my interfering, but you are good for him, Caroline. And I believe he may be good for you too."

If Caroline's heart did not calm itself soon, Benedict would not be the only one forced to take to a bed. "I appreciate your kindness more than I can say, my lady, but you realize that unlike the other young ladies you referred to, I have no title or fortune. Instead, I have a young daughter."

"Of course. But Benedict has no need to marry into a title or money. He is already in possession of both. And as far as Meg is concerned, I believe Benedict was completely smitten with her before he even realized his feelings for you."

A vision of Benedict cradling Meg in his arms after their adventure at the river filled Caroline's mind, and she knew that there was truth to Lady Farwell's words. "He has been unfailingly good to Meg."

"I am glad, though not overly surprised." She set her hand on Caroline's arm. "Allow him to be good to you, too, my dear. And know that Lord Farwell and I will welcome you here with open arms, whether you come as a much-loved neighbor or as something more."

Tears were threatening. "Thank you, my lady."

With an understanding smile, Lady Farwell released her arm. "I daresay I have far exceeded my meddling allotment for the week, so I'd best let you go. I am grateful to you for coming when you did."

Not daring to trust her voice, Caroline bobbed a brief curtsy and hurried to the door. Stokes saw her coming and opened it as she approached.

"Good day, Mrs. Granger," he said with a bow.

Caroline offered him a grateful look and made her escape. Perhaps by the time she walked back to the vicarage, her tears of relief and happiness would be spent, and her heart would no longer feel as though it were bursting. Then again, if this was simply a manifestation of pure joy, there was a distinct possibility that she would experience it again the next time she saw Benedict.