Chapter 3

Music filled the small church, bouncing off the wooden rafters and filling the empty crevices in Caroline's heart. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she added her voice to those around her. Her father's sermon had been filled with hope and peace. The scripture readings had been uplifting and the prayers sustaining. But it was the singing that had conveyed a feeling of homecoming so warm and so real that she'd felt the prick of tears. No matter how difficult the road ahead, she was where she was meant to be.

Meg stood beside her, barely able to see over the pew in front of them but staring in rapt wonder at the stained-glass window behind the altar. On Meg's other side, Nora was singing loudly and off-key. Caroline bit back a smile and focused instead on blending her voice with the rich baritone coming from the other side of the aisle.

The second verse began, and the man's voice swelled. Unable to contain her curiosity, Caroline tilted her head slightly to see past her bonnet's wide brim. The magnificent singing was coming from the pew reserved for the Farwell family—a pew that currently had only one occupant.

The gentleman was tall. His dark hair curled over the collar of his white shirt, and his broad shoulders filled out his finely cut black coat rather too well. Caroline could not see his face, but he appeared too young to be Lord Farwell, and she'd heard that Henry had married and now resided in Shropshire when he wasn't in London. Besides, it stood to reason that if Henry were visiting Farwell Manor, he would attend church with his wife. Caroline eyed the gentleman one more time before lowering her gaze. He was no longer scrawny, and his voice had most certainly dropped in pitch since last she'd heard it, but the gentleman had to be Benedict.

When the final prayer of the Sunday service was read, members of the congregation began filtering out from between the narrow pews, down the central aisle, and through the open door into the churchyard. Caroline waited for the rush of people to exit ahead of her before slipping into the aisle. Her father approached from the front of the church.

"That was a wonderful sermon, Father," she said, kissing his cheek lightly.

"Thank you, my dear." He smiled at Meg. "And what did you think of it, young lady? From where I was standing, you appeared to be behaving very well."

"That window is magical," Meg said, pointing to the stained-glass window behind them. "It keeps changing colors."

Her father faced the window. "It is rather wondrous, isn't it?" He gave Meg a kindly smile. "I am glad of the reminder. I don't often see it from this side of the church."

Caroline reached for Meg's hand, but before she could fully clasp it, the little girl gasped, slipped past Caroline, and darted down the aisle.

"Mr. Bent!" she called.

The dark-haired man approaching the church doors stopped. He turned. And Caroline's heart dropped to her feet. Dear heavens, it could not be. How had she not recognized the gentleman in the yard at Farwell Farm? He'd been dressed in the clothing of a farm laborer, she was sure of it. And his face... She swallowed. She hadn't raised her head long enough to look at it, let alone recognize it. But now, there could be no mistake. Mr. Bent was Benedict. Or more precisely, Lord Benning.

Lord Benning's gaze settled upon Meg, and he smiled. "Well, if it isn't my dandelion-gifting friend, Meg. I did not realize that you were at church today."

Meg nodded vigorously. "Did you see the magical window, Mr. Bent?"

At her daughter's second use of the inappropriate name, Caroline was roused from her horrified stupor. "Meg." She hurried toward them. "This gentleman is Lord Benning. You must not call him Mr. Bent."

Meg looked at her with confusion. "But I'm not cross with him."

At Lord Benning's soft chuckle, Caroline's face flooded with warmth. Could this encounter worsen any further?

"It is quite all right, Mrs. Granger," the gentleman said. "Lord Benning is rather a mouthful when one is young. I struggled with it myself at Meg's age."

He knew her married name. How was that possible? "Forgive me, my lord, but Meg must learn to address you properly."

"I understand," he said, but she caught a hint of reluctance in his voice. "But if she slips occasionally, please know that no offense will be taken on my part. There are days when I believe the Mr. Bent designation suits me far better than does the Lord Benning one."

Such as when he was dressed as a farmhand. Caroline cringed inwardly. He must think her such a fool for not knowing him in the yard.

"Ah, Lord Benning." Her father joined them. "I am glad to see that you are becoming reacquainted with my daughter."

"Your daughter!" Shock flickered across Lord Benning's face. Not the shock of distaste that she'd become accustomed to since her smallpox scarring occurred but the shock that accompanied an unexpected revelation. "You are Caroline Moore?"

Caroline bobbed a curtsy. "Yes, my lord." Somehow, he had known her married name but had not connected that name to the young girl he'd once known.

"I beg your pardon. I had not heard that you were returned to Leyfield."

"Only recently, my lord. Meg and I moved into the vicarage with my father less than a week ago."

"I see."

Caroline considered that highly unlikely. He had yet to set eyes upon her scarred face, and he surely knew nothing of her reasons for returning home. Beyond her father and Nora, very few people were aware of the lonely life she'd led these past five years, of Fred's untimely death, or of her own narrow escape from the same fate. Besides, there could be no doubt that Lord Benning had far more pressing concerns than the reasons behind the vicar's daughter's relocation.

"I confess, I am surprised that you are currently in residence at Farwell Hall, my lord," she said. "Has the London Season ended already?"

He offered her the ghost of a smile. "I believe the London Season will be winding down within another fortnight or so, but I returned to Farwell several weeks ago. There is too much happening at the farm for me to be gone during the spring."

"So I imagine," Caroline's father said. "What with all the planting that must be done. And I daresay you have calves arriving soon."

"Indeed." This time, Lord Benning's smile was natural, and warmth filled his brown eyes. "The ninth one was born last night." He paused as if an idea had just struck him. "Most are in the barn still, and if you think Meg would enjoy seeing them, she is very welcome to visit."

Caroline blinked back her surprise. Most gentlemen considered having a child underfoot to be an inconvenience.

"What do you say to that, Meg?" Caroline's father asked. "Would you like to see Lord Benning's young calves?"

Meg looked at Caroline with wide eyes.

"Calves are baby cows, dear," Caroline said.

"And I can see them?"

"If you would like to, Lord Benning has said that you might."

Meg's smile was instant. "Now?"

Humor flickered in Lord Benning's eyes. "It might be advisable to change out of your Sunday-best frock before entering the barn. Would tomorrow morning meet with your approval?"

Meg's expression fell but only momentarily. "Would it, Mama?"

"I believe so," Caroline said.

"Yes, Mr.—" Caroline cleared her throat, and Meg caught herself. "Yes, if you please, Lord Bent."

Caroline sighed. It was close. And Lord Bent was a vast improvement over Mr. Bent. When they returned to the vicarage, she would have Meg practice pronouncing Benning so she could say it correctly the next time they encountered the nobleman.

"Very good," Lord Benning said. "I shall inform my cowman, Giles, to expect you." He raised a questioning eyebrow at Caroline. "Would eleven o'clock be convenient?"

"Yes, my lord. And I thank you. Meg will undoubtedly speak of nothing else from now until the moment we arrive."

He smiled. "Then I may have done you a great disservice."

"Not at all. You have been very kind."

He inclined his head. "I hope the calves live up to Meg's expectations."

"Many thanks, my lord," Caroline's father said.

"And to you, sir. Your sermon this morning was thoughtfully given and most enlightening." Lord Benning bowed politely and walked out of the church.

* * *

Meg Granger's mother is Caroline Moore. The words spun in circles through Benedict's head. How had he not ascertained that? He'd noticed the child's unusually blue eyes. Caroline was the only other person he'd ever met with eyes that shade. And although the woman he'd spoken to in the church today had light-brown hair, as a child, her locks had been as blonde and curly as Meg's. In fact, if he remembered correctly, Henry had occasionally called her Cora-Curly.

Perhaps he could be forgiven for not recognizing her in the yard earlier this week. He had not seen her face. Indeed, he had yet to set eyes on it. She had raised her head high enough to face him today, but the church's poor lighting and the veil on her wide-brimmed bonnet had conspired to prevent him from seeing her clearly. Did she still have the hint of mischief in her blue eyes that he'd always rather envied? Or had motherhood brought with it a new measure of caution? And what of her husband? She had not mentioned him. Neither had he been in attendance at the church service.

Benedict guided his mount through the gates leading to Farwell Manor, racking his memory for anything he may have heard about Caroline's marriage. His reflection came up sadly lacking. When they were young, Henry had known her far better than he had. Indeed, there had been many times when Benedict had secretly wished for the friendship they'd enjoyed. But even Henry had likely lost contact with her when he'd gone away to school. Boarding school tended to do that to early childhood friendships.

He gazed at the large stately home before him. Built of pale-yellow sandstone, the structure was impressive in its size and striking in its design, but more importantly, it was filled with warm recollections from his childhood. The ornamental urns and shrubs that beautified the front of the house were the locations of marvelous games of hide-and-seek. The large oaks lining the drive were the best climbing trees on the property, and the stables had always housed a child-sized pony until he and Henry had been tall enough to manage a full-sized mount. His parents had shown him and Henry real affection. It was a gift few of his peers could claim.

For a moment, his unexpected reminiscing brought with it a yen to reclaim those carefree, youthful years. But then reality returned. There were many things about going away to school, learning his role as the earl's heir, and performing the duties expected of a gentleman of his rank that he did not enjoy, but he recognized the freedom those responsibilities offered him now. The freedom to be at Farwell almost anytime he wished. And the freedom to question servants when he desired information. It was a privilege he intended to exercise right away.

The stable doors came into view. His head groom, John, must have been listening for him, because he was outside, waiting to take Benedict's horse's reins the moment he dismounted.

"You have my thanks, John," he said, handing the groom the leather straps. "I'll let you take him from here."

John inclined his head. "Very good, m'lord."

Assured that his horse was in capable hands, Benedict made directly for the barn. He'd not seen Giles at church, which probably meant he had felt that he could not leave the cows unattended. Ignoring the advice he'd so recently offered young Meg, Benedict walked into the animal enclosure wearing his newest boots and favorite coat and breeches.

"Giles," he called.

"Over 'ere, m'lord." Giles's tousled gray hair appeared above one of the wooden partitions. He opened the stall gate and stepped out. "It's lookin' like we'll 'ave another young 'un by evenin'," he said.

"The mother?" Benedict asked.

"So far, she's managin' right well." Giles glanced over his shoulder at the next stall. "All the calves are comin' along nicely. Most of 'em should be ready t' be put out in th' pasture by week's end."

"I'm glad to hear it." Benedict cleared his throat. "The calves will likely have some visitors tomorrow morning."

Giles raised his shaggy eyebrows but said nothing.

"A young girl by the name of Meg Granger," Benedict continued. "She'll probably be accompanied by her mother. Perhaps even the vicar."

Giles's initial look of surprise disappeared. "Miss Caroline and her daughter, is it?"

"That's right." Benedict did not bother to correct him. No matter that she was married and had a new surname, those who'd known her as a child would be hard-pressed to call her anything but Miss Caroline.

"They'll be welcome. Seems t' me that Miss Caroline used t' visit the barn 'erself all those years ago."

"Did she come with Henry?" Even though Henry worked as the curator of natural history at the British Museum, he had always been more interested in rocks and plants than in animals.

"Not so much," Giles said. "Used t' slip in on 'er way to and from the big 'ouse, she did. 'Specially if we 'ad babies in th' barn." He chuckled. "She weren't picky. She were just as 'appy t' see th' barn cat's litter as she was t' see th' calves."

"Did you know she was back in Leyfield?" Benedict asked.

"Aye. Nora, up at th' vicarage, told me when I delivered th' milk there last time."

"What brought her back?" It was a rather roundabout way of asking what Giles knew about Caroline's recent past, but it seemed more circumspect than coming right out and asking for those details.

"Nora weren't overly forthcomin' with details," Giles said. "Just asked if I'd be willin' t' bring a little more milk and cream so as t' 'elp 'er nurse Miss Caroline back t' health."

"She didn't tell you what ailed Caroline?"

"No, m'lord."

Benedict had sensed a weariness in Caroline when she'd arrived at the yard in search of Meg. It seemed he'd not been mistaken. Perhaps her sojourn at the vicarage would last only as long as it took her to feel well again.

"Where was she living before?"

"Portsmouth, I'm thinkin'," Giles said. "Married a naval officer, she did. Seems like that's where 'e was stationed fer a while."

"And now?"

Giles shrugged. "Couldn't tell ya, m'lord. I ain't seen 'im nor 'eard about 'im, come t' that, fer a long time."

"Of course." It was time he stopped quizzing his cowman about a woman he knew so slightly. Caroline's life was none of Benedict's concern. He started toward the door, avoiding the dirtiest patches of straw on the ground. His valet would be grateful if Benedict escaped the barn without soiling his best boots too badly. "Send word if you need my assistance this evening; otherwise, plan on our visitors arriving at about eleven o'clock."

"Very good, m'lord."