Chapter 8

The next day, Benedict had just finished reviewing a bill from the blacksmith who had taken over for Will Trilby when Stokes walked into the study.

"Good morning, my lord." He set a silver salver containing half a dozen envelopes on the desk. "I apologize for not bringing your letters in before now. The post arrived later than usual today."

"No apology necessary, Stokes," Benedict said. "Such things cannot be helped."

"Thank you, my lord." The butler bowed and then exited the room as quietly as he'd entered.

Benedict sifted through the small pile of correspondence. Unless he discovered something that needed his immediate attention, he planned to wait until this evening to respond to them. He wanted to be at the stables when Caroline and Meg arrived.

He'd almost made it to the bottom of the stack when his fingers stilled. Separating one of the letters from the others, he studied the bold script on the envelope. Unless he was mistaken, the handwriting belonged to Henry's brother-in-law, Lord Dunsbourne. A quick glance at the clock on the mantel reassured him that he still had time to read the baron's letter.

Breaking the envelope's seal, Benedict withdrew the piece of paper within. The letter was short and ended with Dunsbourne's distinctive signature. Benedict started reading.

Dunsbourne Manor, Berkshire

8th June 1796

Dear Benning,

I was sorry to hear that your steward has had difficulty locating new saplings for your apple orchard. Although the loss of trees was widespread last year, it is my understanding that most apple growers have successfully replanted.

I took the liberty of reaching out to Mr. Thomas Sedgewick, an arborist in Berkshire, who has provided me with saplings in the past. As luck would have it, he had some ready for transplanting, and since your correspondence led me to believe that you were anxious to locate saplings as soon as possible, I asked him to send them your way.

If memory serves, you favor Genet Moyle and Blenheim Orange apples. All being well, Sedgewick will deliver four saplings of each variety to Farwell Hall on Monday, 13th June.

You may settle the bill with Sedgewick directly. I have found him to be fair with his prices and honest in his dealings.

Yours sincerely,

Dunsbourne

Benedict lowered the letter to the table, his thoughts whirling. Given how long it had been since he'd first asked Rowe to seek out replacement apple trees, it was mystifying that the steward had been unable to procure them if the many apple farmers known to Dunsbourne had not experienced similar shortages. Who was it that had turned down Rowe's requests? And why? They were questions worth investigating, and upon Rowe's return to Farwell Hall, Benedict intended to do just that.

He shook his head slightly. It was no wonder he hadn't heard from Dunsbourne before now. The gentleman had done far more than steer Benedict in the direction of an arborist. He'd arranged everything—right down to choosing the correct variety of apple. Leaning back in his chair, Benedict rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. There could be no doubt; he was in the baron's debt for this. Today was the thirteenth of June. Assuming the trees arrived on time, his men could have them planted by evening.

The news was cause for elation, yet his heart sank. Rowe had gone to Gloucester to purchase more wheat seed and was not expected back until later in the week. No matter how badly Benedict wished to personally introduce Caroline and Meg to the horses in his stable, he owed it to Dunsbourne to be present when his arborist arrived at the house.

* * *

Caroline closed the farmyard gate and reached for Meg's hand. The sun was shining, bathing the redbrick farm buildings with morning light. In the milking parlor, someone was whistling, and a gentle mooing reached them from the cow barn. The scene was as tranquil as it was familiar, yet Caroline's nerves were humming like a swarm of bees.

After Lord Benning had left the vicarage the day before, she'd circled the back garden at least half a dozen times, but she'd been as confused when she'd ended her pacing as she had been when she'd started it. Somehow—without the gentleman saying or doing anything in particular—her feelings had shifted from indignation that he had encroached upon her privacy to reluctant acceptance that he would now see her as she really was.

No matter that she'd warned him about what the smallpox had done to her, she'd expected to see shock or pity in his eyes. But she'd seen neither. And that had enabled her to push past her own insecurities in a way that she'd not done since the first time she'd looked in the mirror after her raging fever had subsided. For a short time in the garden, Lord Benning had made her feel whole again. It had been a moment of longed-for release, but it had ended all too soon. A new awareness of her deformity had come as soon as she'd glanced at the wilted daisies in her scarred hand, and the burden of moving forward in her condition had settled upon her once more. Lord Benning's reaction—or lack thereof—had been an anomaly. She should not expect others to repeat it.

Squaring her shoulders, she guided Meg toward the half-open barn door. Sometime during the next dozen or so steps, she needed to wrestle her wayward emotions into submission. She was taking Meg to visit horses and cows—something she'd done countless times during her youth. She pressed her gloved hand to the top of her veiled bonnet. It was secure. All would be well. She raised her chin a fraction. Even if she were to encounter Lord Benning again, there was absolutely no call for nervousness.

"I hear the baby cows, Mama." At her side, Meg hopped excitedly. "Do you think they will remember me?"

"Let's find out, shall we?"

Caroline opened the lower portion of the barn door and led Meg inside. The smells of cows and straw assailed her.

"Well now, look who's come t' see us!" Giles's voice was filled with welcome. "If it ain't Miss Caroline and Miss Meg."

Caroline smiled. "Good morning, Giles."

"Good day, Mr. Giles." Meg had gone from hopping to skipping. "Did the baby cows miss me?"

Giles gave a throaty laugh. "I reckon they did, though they're not so good at tellin' me these things as they should be." He pointed to the nearest stalls. "There's not many of 'em left in 'ere anymore."

Meg's movement slowed. "Where are they?"

"In the pasture, with th' other cows." He crossed to a stall gate a few feet to their right. "But there's two in 'ere that ya can take a look at. They were bran' new when you were 'ere afore."

Meg scampered after him. Caroline followed more slowly. While they were alone in the barn, she was tempted to ask the older man if he'd dropped off some milk at the Trilbys' house earlier this morning, but she wasn't sure how much Lord Benning had planned to tell him. It was likely better if Giles was unaware of her involvement in the scheme.

"Is Lord Benning at the farm this morning?" she asked instead.

"I 'aven't seen 'im yet. 'E's usually 'ere by now, so I'm guessin' some'at came up at th' 'ouse t' keep 'im there today."

Caroline had offered the question out of politeness—along with a desire for some forewarning should the gentleman be expected—so she was unprepared for the flicker of disappointment she experienced upon hearing Giles's response. "I'm sure he has a great many matters to see to."

"That, 'e does." Giles opened the gate so Meg could walk into the stall. "I'm alwus amazed at 'ow much time 'e spends at th' farm." He chuckled. "Seein' as 'e could be just about anywhere, I reckon it means 'e likes bein' 'ere in th' muck with me an' th' animals."

Caroline was inclined to agree. She also thought it likely that Lord Benning enjoyed working alongside Giles. Notwithstanding the cowman's unmatched skill and experience with cattle, he was unpretentious and kind. Caroline had been around enough men—particularly the naval officers and sailors in Portsmouth—to know what a rare combination that was.

"I like being in the muck with the animals too," Meg declared, cheerfully tromping through the dirty straw to approach a wary calf.

"Steady now." Giles reached out his work-worn hand to slow her. "We need t' give th' little fella a minute t' get used t' us bein' in 'ere."

"But what if he remembers me already?"

"Then 'e'll come round that much faster."

Thankfully, Meg heeded the cowman's warning and stood still long enough for the jittery calf's fears to subside.

"Nice an' slow, now," Giles said, taking Meg's hand. "We'll get a little closer, an' then ya can go over t' th' stables an' see th' 'orses."

Caroline stood beside the gate, watching while Giles guided Meg's hand to softly pat the calf's back. The calf turned its head to lick Meg's fingers. The little girl giggled, and Caroline smiled. After the heaviness of the last few months, it was a gift to see Meg so joyful.

* * *

Benedict cut through the orchard with long strides. Mr. Sedgewick had arrived at the house with his cart full of saplings less than an hour after the post had come. Benedict's examination of the young trees had been encouraging. Each one had appeared healthy, and as Dunsbourne had suggested, Sedgewick's asking price for the delivery had been fair. Upon receiving his payment, the fellow had been good enough to transport his cargo to the orchard, where three of Benedict's men had unloaded the trees and begun digging the holes necessary for planting them.

Now that Sedgewick was gone, however, Benedict had left his men to get on with their work. If he was fortunate and Meg was as enamored with the horses as she'd been with the calves, he might yet catch her and Caroline before they left the stables.

The orchard ended at a low stone wall. Not bothering to walk down to the gate, Benedict vaulted over it, landing in the pasture on the other side. Half a dozen cows looked up from their grazing to eye him curiously. Ignoring them, Benedict made directly for the gate on the other side of the field. It led into the farmyard and gave him a clear view of the stable, barn, and milking parlor.

There was no one in the farmyard when he reached it, but his hopes rose when a young voice reached him through the open stable door.

"He's big."

"Aye, 'e is that." It sounded like his groom, John. "'E's right 'andsome as well, don't ya think?"

"Yes, but he's very, very big."

Benedict grinned. He had a fairly good idea which horse Meg was talking about. Saxon's stall was close enough to the stable entrance that the voices of anyone standing beside it would carry into the yard. He reached the open door and stepped inside. Caroline was standing a couple of yards away, her back to him. John was at Saxon's stall, running his hand down the horse's elegant neck. Meg was beside him, her head back and her eyes fixed on the black stallion towering above her.

Saxon's ears twitched, and he nickered. The stallion knew he was there.

That was all it took for John to realize it too. He stepped back from the stall gate and bowed his head. "Good day, m'lord."

Caroline swung around. Benedict wished he could see her face, but it was hidden beneath a fringe of lace.

"Good day," he said.

She bobbed a curtsy, but before she spoke, Meg crossed the distance between them and grabbed his hand.

"Come and see, Lord Benting," she cried. "I found the biggest horse."

Caroline sighed. "Really, Meg. We went over this."

"Oh!" Meg offered him an apologetic look, and without releasing his hand, she bent her short legs and managed a crooked curtsy. "Good day, Lord Benting."

Knowing it was important to Caroline, Benedict acknowledged Meg's greeting with a formal inclination of his head. "Good day, Meg. I am very happy to see you. Have you enjoyed your visit to the Farwell stables?"

"Yes." She tugged him forward. "Do you want to see the biggest horse in the world?"

Caroline's gloved hand moved to her face. "Oh heavens. You have my apologies, my lord."

"Nonsense. I am quite sure Saxon would benefit greatly if John and I treated him with Meg's level of awe and enthusiasm."

Meg had reached the stall gate and pointed at the stallion. "See?"

Benedict ran his free hand down Saxon's nose. The horse nickered appreciatively. "You are absolutely right, Meg. This horse is taller than most." He looked down at her. "Have you seen our small pony yet?"

Meg's eyes widened. "Is it a baby horse?"

"No, but I believe you might think her just the right size."

"Will you show me?"

"Of course." Benedict turned to his groom. "Would you bring Ginger out on a lead rope, John?"

"Yes, m'lord." John hurried down the aisle and disappeared into the last stall on the right.

"I imagine you and your mother have been within the stables for some time," Benedict said. "Shall we go outside? John can bring Ginger out to us in the yard. I'm sure she'd enjoy the fresh air too."

With a little hop of excitement, Meg released his hand and ran to her mother's side. "The pony is coming outside with us, Mama."

Belatedly realizing that he should have suggested the change of location to Caroline first, Benedict hurried to offer her an alternative. "John can take Ginger out later if you would rather not bother with it now."

"Going outside would be lovely," Caroline said.

Relief filled him. Perhaps he had not misstepped after all.