Chapter 4

As a child, Caroline had visited the Farwell Farm more times than she could count. She knew her way around all the outbuildings and had always loved spending time with the animals. Additionally, not only would the barn's lighting be dim enough to conceal her appearance from any farm laborers who might be there, but she would also not need to remove her bonnet. There was no reason whatsoever that she should feel anxious about taking Meg there this morning. Unfortunately, reason was not communicating loudly enough to overcome her clamoring nerves.

"Come, Mama." Meg had skipped ahead and was standing beside the gate that led into the farmyard. "I see the barn."

Caroline took an unsteady breath. This would not be hard. It was simply the barn, some animals, and—if she was very fortunate—Giles. Nora had told her that the cowman still worked at Farwell Farm. Lord Benning surely would have informed someone that they were coming, but their presence would take far less explaining if it were Giles who greeted them.

Increasing her pace slightly, she walked the last few yards down the lane to join Meg at the gate. After a week of overcast days, the sun had come out. The sky was blue, the fields and trees a vivid green, and the last of the daffodils waved their bright-yellow heads above the clusters of dandelions in the hedgerows. Caroline checked Meg's hands. The little girl had been so intent on her destination, she'd not stopped to pick a single flower.

"Can we go in now?" Meg asked, hopping with excitement.

"Yes, but I should like you to stay by my side once we are through the gate."

"Yes, Mama." Meg took her hand. The gesture was remarkably comforting.

Closing the gate behind them, Caroline walked with Meg across the yard to the barn. The old redbrick building looked much as it had years ago, although it was possible that the wooden door had received a new coat of black paint since she'd last been there. The door was split in half horizontally, and the upper portion was open. Caroline stepped closer and peered inside. Dark shadows marked the stalls within. The air smelled of straw and animals and echoed with rustling movement.

"It's Shep!" Meg cried.

Caroline swung around in time to see a black-and-white dog lope toward them. He barked, but the sound conveyed recognition rather than warning and was followed by a short whistle. The dog instantly stopped, his ears twitching as Lord Benning appeared around the corner of the building.

"My apologies," he said, looking from Meg to Caroline. "Did my dog frighten you?"

"Not at all." It was true. Caroline's sudden and instinctive grasp of the lower portion of the door had nothing whatsoever to do with the dog and everything to do with the gentleman's unexpected arrival. What was Lord Benning doing here? Once again, he was dressed in the clothing of a laborer—although now that she looked more carefully, she could tell that his garments were well-made, albeit well-worn.

"Good day, Lord Benting," Meg said.

Lord Benning's lips twitched at Meg's new rendition of his name, but he maintained a polite expression. "Good day, Meg." He inclined his head. "Mrs. Granger."

"We are here to see the baby cows," Meg informed him.

"Then we are well met," he said. "I am here to do the very same."

Meg smiled warmly. "Would you like to come with us?"

Caroline was not sure whether to be grateful for her daughter's ease with Lord Benning or mortified by her guileless invitation.

"I'm sure Lord Benning has many other things he must see to, Meg," she said.

"Unfortunately, that is true," he said. "But none so important as checking on the calves." He gestured toward the barn door. "May I introduce you to the newest members of the farm?"

With a surge of embarrassment, Caroline realized she was blocking the entrance. "Forgive me." She moved aside. "I did not mean to stand in your way."

"Not at all. As you see, I am only just arrived. But I daresay Meg is ready for us to curtail any further conversation until we are inside the barn."

A cow lowed, and Meg's face lit up. "Did you hear that? Was it a baby cow?"

Lord Benning grinned. He moved closer and opened the barn door. "I believe that was one of the mothers welcoming you."

* * *

After Caroline and Meg entered the barn, Benedict closed the half door behind them. The outside light coming through the open upper portion of the door illuminated the narrow corridor that ran the length of the building. The stalls beyond remained largely in shadow.

"Giles," he called.

"Over 'ere, m'lord." A few yards away, one of the stall gates opened and closed, and Giles stepped into the light.

Benedict waited until his cowman reached them. "Giles, you remember Mrs. Caroline Granger," he said.

"'Course I do." The older man's voice warmed. "Welcome back t' Farwell Farm, Miss Caroline."

If Caroline objected to Giles referring to her by her unmarried title, she showed no sign of it.

"Thank you, Giles," she said. "It's lovely to see you again."

Giles's weather-worn face cracked into a lopsided smile. "Been too long, I reckon." He looked down at Meg. "An' who do we 'ave 'ere?"

"This is my daughter, Meg," Caroline said. "Meg, this is Mr. Giles. He helps Lord Benning with the cows."

"Land sakes, Miss Caroline." Giles was staring at Meg with undisguised wonder. "Yer young 'un's th' spittin' image of ya."

"She does resemble me at that age," Caroline admitted.

"Does she 'ave yer curiosity and bravery too?"

Caroline laughed softly, and Benedict discovered that unlike the silly giggles he was wont to hearing in ballrooms, hers was a pleasant sound.

"I fear she does," Caroline said, "although you are either very kind or suffer from significant memory loss if you remember my many scrapes as the efforts of curiosity and bravery. I think my mother would have deemed the ventures pure foolhardiness."

It was Giles's turn to laugh. The gravelly sound filled the barn, causing Benedict to realize how infrequently he heard it.

"Oh, I remember 'em just fine. Th' best was when ya tried rescuin' our old tom cat from th' roof o' th' milkin' parlor only t' 'ave 'im jump down without a care in th' world, leavin' you stuck up there."

Caroline raised one hand to her cheek. "Heavens! I'd forgotten about that one. I seem to think you were the one who rescued me."

"Aye. Master 'Enry came runnin' t' fetch me from inside th' parlor." He chuckled. "I don't know which o' ya were th' most scared: Master 'Enry b'cause 'e'd let ya go up there in th' first place, or you b'cause ya knew there'd be no hidin' the tear ya'd made in yer frock from yer mother."

"My poor mother." Caroline's voice became reflective. "She was forever sewing up a hole or washing off a stain from my frocks and likely despaired of me ever behaving in a ladylike way."

"Yer mother was a wise lady, miss. I reckon she knew what she was doin', lettin' ya come over. When else can a young lady float toy sailboats down a river or chase off the birds in a wheat field?"

"You are right." A hint of wistfulness clung to Caroline's voice. "They were splendid activities, and I am grateful to have such fond memories."

Experiencing a pang of remorse that he'd not made more effort to be involved in Caroline's and Henry's childhood adventures, Benedict turned his attention to Meg. He may have missed out on some memorable experiences in the past, but perhaps he might be the one to facilitate a good memory for Meg's future. "Are you ready, Meg?" he asked.

A cow lowed again, and Meg hopped excitedly. "Yes, Lord Benting, and I think the mama cow is ready too."

"I agree." He turned to Giles. "Are there any we need to leave be for now?"

"No, m'lord. Even th' one that arrived early this mornin' is doin' grand."

"You delivered one that recently?" Caroline asked.

"Aye." Giles rubbed the back of his neck. "We've been mighty fortunate that they've all come healthy, but it's been a right busy few days."

"Lead the way, Giles," Benedict said. "We shall see the newest arrival first."

Giles returned to the stall he'd exited when they'd arrived and opened the gate. "There, Miss Meg, what d'ya think o' that little fellow?"

Meg peered around the wooden partition. "I... I don't see anything except a big cow."

Notwithstanding the dirty straw on the ground, Caroline crouched beside her. "Over there, you see." She pointed to the calf lying pressed against its mother.

"I still don't see it." Meg's voice quivered.

"If you'll allow me, Miss Caroline." Giles stepped forward. "I'll lift th' little 'un up so she 'as a better view."

"Thank you, Giles. That would be marvelous."

Giles reached for Meg. The little girl went willingly, and Caroline rose. She swayed, staggering back a few steps. Benedict acted instinctively, grasping her elbow with one hand and placing his other hand on her back.

"Steady," he said.

"Forgive me." She lowered her head and took a few breaths.

Concern filled him. "Are you unwell?"

She shook her head slightly. "I am well." He waited, not willing to release his hold on her until he was sure. "Truly, I am." She took another breath. "I was very poorly for some time and have yet to regain my full strength. Sometimes I forget and do things too quickly."

"Such as coming to your feet?" he guessed.

"Yes." She turned to watch Giles approach the newborn calf with Meg in his arms.

Benedict lowered his hand from Caroline's back but kept the other at her elbow. "Would you like to sit? There are stools in the barn, and it would be no trouble to fetch one."

"Thank you, but no. I do not want to miss this moment with Meg."

Benedict followed her gaze. The little girl was looking down at the calf from the safety of Giles's arms, her expression a picture of wonderment and joy. It was impossible not to be touched by the sight, and for a moment, they both stood in silence.

And then Caroline spoke again. "Three months ago, I contracted smallpox. I was told it was a severe case, although I have little memory of the worst of it. My health has improved significantly since then, but it is hard to be patient when each day brings a reminder of my limitations."

At her quietly spoken confession, Benedict was rendered temporarily speechless. Smallpox! Dear heaven. The mortality rate for that dreaded disease was terrifyingly high. And if it had been a severe case, it was a miracle that she was standing beside him at all.

"I have been reluctant to tell people because I dread their responses," she continued. "But now that you have witnessed my weakness firsthand, it seemed best that you know its source."

Benedict attempted to gather his wits, needing to say something before she regretted confiding in him. "I am honored by the trust you have placed in me and will not share this information with anyone, if that is your wish."

She shrugged slightly. "It will become general knowledge soon enough. Without my gloves and bonnet, the scars are impossible to hide."

"That is the reason for your veil and wide-brimmed headwear."

"Yes." She was facing Meg, who was now chatting with Giles and pointing at something on the ground beside the calf. "I have no desire to shock people with my appearance—especially those who have known me since childhood—and I have discovered that it is remarkably difficult to accept pity gracefully, no matter how well-meaning the giver may be."

Benedict could understand that, albeit to a far lesser degree. Not making it onto the rowing team at Cambridge after weeks of practice had been a bitter blow, but the pity he'd received from his classmates had been worse. He'd been grateful for the discipline, strength, and endurance he'd developed during his intense training period and would much rather have focused on those things than on what he had lost.

"I would have you know that although I grieve for what you must have gone through these last few months, I do not pity you. The dignity you exhibit after having experienced something so difficult is as admirable as it is inspiring."

"Thank you," she said softly.

He paused, hesitant to ask and yet wanting to know. "What of your husband and Meg? Meg shows no sign of the illness."

"My husband, Fred, was the first to become ill," she said. "A few men on his ship contracted smallpox after a stop in Calais, and he experienced the first symptoms of the disease within a day of arriving back in Portsmouth. I immediately sent Meg to stay with a friend."

"You protected your daughter but not yourself."

"Fred needed me." Her attention remained on Meg. Giles was now leading the awestruck girl to the other side of the stall, where twin calves born almost three weeks before were standing.

"Your husband is very fortunate to have so caring a wife."

Caroline held very still, and even though he could not see her face, he sensed her withdrawal. He lowered his hand from her elbow, waiting.

"Fred died the day I succumbed to the fever," she said.

A weight settled in Benedict's chest. He had yet to love a woman enough to make her his wife, but he had grown up in a home with parents who sincerely cared for one another, and he'd seen a similar depth of emotion in the relationship his brother, Henry, shared with his wife. To lose a love like that... Benedict could barely fathom the pain Caroline had experienced.

"I am truly sorry," he said. "Is that why you returned to Leyfield?"

She nodded. "I had a neighbor in Portsmouth who survived smallpox a couple of years ago. She knew Fred had been ill and brought some bread to the house." Caroline's voice broke, but she cleared her throat and continued. "I was so feverish, I was scarcely coherent, but she understood me well enough to use the money I had in the house to see to Fred's burial. She watched over me until my high temperature broke. It took a few more weeks until I was well enough to travel, but without Fred's income from the navy, Meg and I could not stay."

"I see." It was a pitiful response, and yet Benedict hardly knew what else to say.

"Mama!" Meg's voice broke through his troubled thoughts. "Mr. Giles says that if you will allow it, I may help feed the baby cows."

The tension in Caroline's shoulders lessened a fraction. "That is very kind of him. Will you do exactly as he tells you?"

"Yes, Mama."

"Very well, then."

Meg performed what Benedict was coming to recognize as three of her signature hops of excitement.

"Did you hear, Mr. Giles?" Meg asked. "Mama said yes."

"I did, indeed," Giles said. "So, we'd best see t' it right away."

Benedict was unable to see Caroline's face, but he received the distinct impression that she was smiling. There was little doubt in his mind: no matter the trials Caroline had endured or the ones that lay ahead, her vivacious young daughter was a godsend.