Chapter 7

Caroline and Meg were not at church. Benedict averted his eyes from the empty spot on the pew beside Nora and attempted to dispel his concern. Given that Reverend Moore was preaching, that was not an easy task. Benedict considered it most unlikely that Caroline would miss her father's sermon on a whim. There had to be a sound reason that she and her daughter were absent. He tightened his hold on the hymnal. Had her fainting spell in the barn been something more than simply rising too quickly? He should have checked on her before now.

The hymn came to a close, and Reverend Moore rose to offer the benediction. The congregation knelt, and when the final amens were said, everyone stood and began filtering into the aisle. Reverend Moore wasted no time. When Benedict reached the end of his pew, the vicar was already conversing with the local shopkeeper, Abel Wallace, at the other side of the church. And based upon Reverend Moore's solemn expressions, it was a conversation best left uninterrupted.

Instead, Benedict searched for Nora. Even though the vicar's cook and housekeeper did not live at the vicarage, she would surely know if Caroline had taken ill. Unfortunately, the older lady wearing a straw bonnet with a distinctive plaid ribbon was nowhere to be seen among the steady stream of people exiting the church.

Offering a polite nod to the local magistrate and his wife, Benedict joined the general exodus and stepped out of the dimly lit building into a churchyard filled with sunshine, blue skies, and chatting parishioners. A quick look around told him that Nora had not stayed to mingle. And neither would he. Walking briskly, he took the gravel path to the gate and the nearby hitching post, where his mount stood waiting.

"Come, Saxon," he said, setting his foot in the stirrup and pulling himself into the saddle. "We must make a detour before we go home."

The vicarage was not far from the church, and Benedict traversed the short distance quickly. Dismounting, he tied his horse's reins to the gate post and approached the front door. Rose bushes yet in bud filled the flowerbeds beneath the windows on either side of the dark-blue door. Benedict raised the knocker and let it fall. The sound echoed hollowly. He frowned. Was it possible that no one was home? Or were both Caroline and Meg confined to their bedchambers?

Taking a step back, he gazed at the upper windows. Sunlight reflected off the glass, but nothing from within the house was visible. A child's squeal sounded from somewhere nearby. Benedict turned. Had it come from behind the vicarage? The narrow path he'd taken to the front door continued around the house. He followed it until he reached a large oak tree that marked the entrance into the back garden. There, he stopped.

Ahead of him, a lawn dotted with tiny daisies stretched all the way to the stone wall that separated the vicarage from the neighboring field. Not far from what was likely the kitchen window lay a rectangular vegetable plot. A thriving rhubarb plant towered over rows of seedlings only just making their appearance in the loamy soil. An empty washing line hung between two apple trees.

Caroline was seated on a small bench beneath the nearest tree. She was wearing a pale-green gown and had a crown of tiny daisies lying atop her curly hair. As he watched, she set a matching ring of flowers on Meg's head. Meg hopped excitedly, sending her yellow frock fluttering and causing the daisy ring to slip.

Caroline laughed. "You must stop moving if you wish to wear your crown, Queen Margaret," she said. Meg froze, and Caroline repositioned the floral headpiece. "There! I believe that is just right."

"Thank you, Mama." Meg gave a subdued hop and shifted to Caroline's right, giving Benedict his first clear view of the young lady.

His jaw tightened. Caroline was without her bonnet, and shadows caused by the sun flickering through the apple tree branches rippled across her pockmarked face. He had seen far worse on other smallpox survivors, but he could not deny that her scarring was readily apparent. Neither could he deny the way his spirits lifted to truly see her again. As he had guessed from the glimpse he'd been given of her hair during their earlier meetings, her curls had darkened. But her blue eyes—that were so like Meg's—were just as he remembered. And her smile was as warm today as it had been when she'd been chasing toy boats down the river with him and Henry.

Meg squealed. It was the same sound he'd heard moments before. "Look, Mama! The butterfly is back!"

"I see it," Caroline said.

The little girl ran in a circle, and Benedict caught sight of tiny white wings fluttering ahead of her. Then the butterfly deviated, flying directly toward the oak tree. Meg followed, and before Benedict had a chance to retreat, she spotted him.

"Lord Benting!" she cried. With all thought of catching the butterfly seemingly forgotten, she hurried toward him. "Mama! Lord Benting is here."

Caroline stood, and with dismay, Benedict realized that he was caught in a trap of his own making. He had intruded on Caroline's privacy, something for which she had every reason to be upset.

"Lord Benning," she said, and there was no mistaking the wariness in her tone. "What are you doing here?"

It was not the welcome he usually received, but intuition told him that her coolness stemmed from her discomfort at being without her bonnet and gloves.

"Forgive me for trespassing," he said. "I tried the front door and was about to leave when I heard Meg's voice." Deuce take it. What was wrong with him? He sounded like a schoolboy caught in the wrong dormitory. He cleared his throat. "I noticed that you were not in attendance at today's church service. Nora disappeared before I could inquire about your health, and so I determined to stop at the vicarage to ask after you on my way back to Farwell Hall."

"That was very good of you." She had not moved any closer. "As you can see, I am well. Meg consumed too many ginger biscuits yesterday, which led to an upset stomach and a very wakeful night. Nora generally does not come to the vicarage on Sundays, so I stayed at home to be with Meg."

"I am relieved that it was nothing more serious that kept you away."

"I'm all better now." Meg was standing at his side, her head tilted back, seemingly studying his head. "If you ask her, Mama can make you a daisy crown. It will look prettier than your black hat."

"Margaret Jane Granger, that was not polite. What do you say to Lord Benning?"

At her mother's use of her full name, Meg's eyes widened. "I beg your pardon, Lord Benting."

Benedict crouched and faced the little girl. He had a fairly good idea that it was Meg's invitation rather than her less-than-complimentary comment about his headwear that had caused Caroline's displeasure. He also thought it likely that Caroline would not have responded so vehemently had she been wearing one of her veiled bonnets.

"It is quite all right, Meg. I'm not sure that my haberdasher is capable of making me anything so fine as your daisy crown, but for fear of upsetting the fellow, I'd best stick to the rather boring black hats he offers me." The apprehension did not leave the little girl's eyes, so he took her hand in his. "I do think your crown is quite lovely, though, and although your mother likely will not believe me, I also prefer the daisy crown she is wearing today to her usual bonnets."

"You are correct, Lord Benning, I do not believe you. But you are very gallant to say so."

While he'd been focused on Meg, Caroline had crossed the lawn and now stood within a yard of him. Benedict released Meg's hand and rose to his full height. He met Caroline's eyes, knowing that to look away after she'd lowered her defenses sufficiently to approach him would be the most hurtful thing he could do. "To be considered gallant is a laudable goal for any gentleman," he said. "For my part, however, I believe being honest and trustworthy is of even greater worth."

She tilted her head to one side, as though attempting to take his measure. "Are you fully honest and trustworthy, my lord? That is no small claim."

"Agreed. And as I am human, I daresay I err more often than I should, but I do my best to stay true to those values."

"And yet you maintain that you prefer to see me without my bonnet, as disfigured as I am?"

"I do. In truth, it is a pleasure to see the young girl I once knew again."

She looked away, and Benedict was struck with the discomforting realization that he may have made her cry.

"Forgive me, Caroli—Mrs. Granger, I did not mean to distress you."

"Caroline," she said, dabbing her mottled cheeks with a handkerchief. "Please call me Caroline." She turned back to him and offered him a watery smile. "After all, it is what you called me when I was the young girl you once knew."

"It is." He smiled. "Henry was the only one who called you Cora-Curly."

She grimaced. "Thank goodness that name did not last long."

"The butterfly!" With a joyful shout, Meg took off running toward the vegetable plot.

"We should all be so enthused about butterflies and daisies," Benedict said, watching Meg prance after the fluttering insect.

"Yes, but then we might be equally willing to eat our weight in ginger biscuits."

Benedict battled to keep a straight face. "How bad was it?"

"Bad enough that Nora is now under strict instructions to hide any tins containing baked goods."

Conceding defeat, he grinned. "Meg is remarkably bright. She will likely find them regardless."

"I fear you are right. I shall have to keep her busy doing other things."

"You have yet to bring Meg to the stables at Farwell," he said. "The invitation to visit the horses remains in effect. We keep a small Welsh Mountain Pony there for Henry's young son, Miles. It would be just the right size for Meg."

This time, when her blue eyes met his, he barely noticed her scarred skin. "Would it truly be no inconvenience to the stablehands?"

"Not at all," he said. "They are well used to working around interruptions."

"She will be thrilled. She has asked about your horse several times since we last saw you."

"Saxon is hitched to your gate post. We can introduce her to him now if you wish." He sensed her stiffen and instantly realized his mistake. Approaching him with her face uncovered had taken immense courage, but that did not mean she was ready to stand at the vicarage gate, particularly at a time when so many people would be returning home from church. Meg scampered by, and he seized upon the little girl's present fascination as a means of undoing his blunder. "Given how enthralled she is by that butterfly, however, it might be best to save meeting Saxon for another day."

The tension in Caroline's shoulders eased a fraction. "Yes, I believe you are right. If the weather remains fair, I can take her to the stables tomorrow morning."

"You'd best stop at the cow barn as well. Giles will want to see you both."

At his mention of Giles, a small frown appeared on her forehead. "Was Giles at church today?"

"Unfortunately, no." Giles was a regular churchgoer, but today had been one of the rare occasions that he'd missed the service. "One of the cows came in for the morning milking with an injured leg. Giles stayed at the farm to tend to it."

Caroline's frown deepened. "Do you think I might speak to him for a few minutes when I come to the farm? It's a matter of some urgency."

"Most certainly," Benedict said. "If you plan to be there at about the same time as your last visit, I can make sure he's available." He paused. He could not imagine what Caroline's business with his cowman might be, but it appeared to be causing her significant concern. "I shall see Giles myself this afternoon. If your need is pressing, I can convey a message to him within the hour."

"It... it is pressing. At least, I believe it is."

Mystified, Benedict raised his eyebrows. "How can I help?"

"May I count on your full discretion? It is a matter of some delicacy."

"Of course."

Caroline's gaze shifted to Meg. The little girl had stopped chasing the butterfly and was intent on digging a hole in the vegetable plot with a long stick. He waited, not knowing what to expect but fervently hoping it was nothing that would negatively impact Caroline or her daughter.

"Are you familiar with the Trilby family?" she asked.

He stared at her. "Do you mean Will and Sarah Trilby's family?"

"Yes."

"At one time or another, Will Trilby reshoed every one of our horses," he said. "He also worked on our carriage wheels once or twice. I knew him well."

"Then you know of his sudden passing."

"Yes. I attended the funeral."

She took a deep breath. "My father and I went to visit Sarah yesterday. It is obvious that she loves her children and is doing her best to provide for them, but Father and I fear that it is not enough." She met Benedict's eyes again. "Her children are desperately hungry."

"Surely the vicar offered help."

"He did, but she refused it. She claims others in the village are in greater need."

It was Benedict's turn to frown. The village of Leyfield included all the Farwell land and those who lived upon it. Surely none of their tenants were suffering so greatly that they were going without food. "Does your father know of others who are in dire straits?" he asked.

"I'm ashamed to say I did not ask him. After we left the Trilbys' house, my focus was on what we might do for Sarah and her children."

"Did you settle upon something?"

"I believe so," she said. "It's a small thing, but if Giles is willing to assist me, I think it will make a difference."

"Giles is a good man. I am sure he will do his part if he is able."

Clasping her hands together tightly, she said, "Giles drops two pints of milk off on the vicarage doorstep every morning. I wondered if he would be willing to leave one pint here and take the second to the Trilbys' door instead. I realize it would take him a little longer to go to their cottage and back, but we would continue to pay for the milk, and perhaps we could pay a little extra for his time."

"Absolutely not."

At Benedict's adamant reply, Caroline took a startled step back. "You will not allow it?" Shock rang through her voice.

"What I will not allow is the vicar paying Giles to drive another half a mile or the vicar's daughter going without milk when she has yet to fully restore her own health."

"I would not go without. My father has said—"

Benedict raised his hand. "At the risk of being inexcusably rude, I must stop you. It will not matter what you say. I refuse to cut the vicarage's milk delivery in half when there is no need for it. I wholeheartedly approve of your idea and would be most grateful if you would permit Farwell Farm to contribute two pints of milk a day to the Trilbys. Giles can be sworn to secrecy, and the Trilbys need never know why their doorstep has been added to his morning route."

"But someone must pay for the milk."

"Although it's true that the dairy farm could not function properly if we simply gave away our milk to everyone, donating two pints a day to Will Trilby's widow and children is nothing. Rather, it is a privilege. Will undercharged me for his work more times than I can count."

Moisture glistened in Caroline's eyes. "I must repeat what I said earlier, Lord Benning: you are a gallant gentleman."

"In this instance, I am merely a contributing partner. I can take no credit for your thoughtful and compassionate notion."

She smiled, and the blunders he'd made earlier seemed to fade in significance.

"I am most grateful," she said. "And the Trilbys will be also."

"It is I who should express gratitude. I value the trust you have placed in me. Not only on behalf of the Trilbys but also personally."

With a small sigh, she raised a blemished hand and gazed at it. "I have yet to fully come to terms with my new appearance. I do not know how long it will take for me to become immune to the reactions of others when they set eyes upon me, but I thank you for enabling me to feel comfortable in your presence without my bonnet and gloves on. Up until now, the circle of people I have trusted with my appearance has been limited to my father and Nora."

"I am honored to be included amongst them. And I would have you know that when you are with me, you may wear whatever brings you the most peace of mind, but as far as I am concerned, no matter how fine the hat, a wilted daisy chain will always be more elegant."

She gasped and reached for the string of tiny flowers in her hair. "I had forgotten they were there."

He grinned. "I daresay Meg would have reminded you sometime before supper."

Her soft laughter lifted his spirits and left him feeling grateful that they would part on better footing than they'd been on when he'd first arrived.

"Well, if I'm to speak to Giles before the second milking, I'd best be on my way."

"Yes." She held her bedraggled headpiece at her side. "Thank you for taking care of that."

"My pleasure," he said. And since Meg remained fully consumed with her digging on the other side of the garden, he offered Caroline a slight inclination of his head and bid her farewell.