Meant-to-Be Mother

Lady Caroline Trelawney Dowling has always wanted a child of her own and her wish comes true when two abandoned children are temporarily turned over to her. She’s finding new purpose and joy—even more so after the handsome baron next door requests her help in renovating his house and refining his manners.

As the new Lord Warrick, Jacob has a host of duties, including updating his estate and providing an heir. Lady Caroline’s expertise in etiquette proves invaluable, and spending time together is a delight. But as the children’s origins are finally uncovered, can he keep her newfound family intact—and unite her dreams with his own?

“Thank you for your help, Carrie,” he said as he put his hands on her shoulders.

She bent to check Gil’s coat as if it were simply a casual motion instead of an attempt to keep herself from stepping even closer to him.

“As I have said time and again,” she said aloud, “it is wonderful to have tasks to fill my time. I will also ask the Cothaire servants to spread the word that you are looking to fill positions here. I have no doubts we will have many suitable candidates within days.”

“At least until they see the sorry state Warrick Hall is in.”

“Have faith, Jacob. By the time your family arrives, the house will be ready.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“Absolutely,” she said, even though she was not. However, she knew he needed to have faith…as she did that all would resolve itself as it should. A half sob caught in her throat, because she knew everything resolving itself as it should would mean some other woman relishing his sweet caresses.

JO ANN BROWN has always loved stories with happy-ever-after endings. A former military officer, she is thrilled to have the chance to write stories about people falling in love. She is also a photographer, and she travels with her husband of more than thirty years to places where she can snap pictures. They live in Nevada with three children and a spoiled cat. Drop her a note at joannbrownbooks.com.

Her Longed-For Family

Jo Ann Brown

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Hearken to me, ye that follow after righteousness, ye that seek the Lord: look unto the rock whence ye are hewn, and to the hole of the pit whence ye are dug.

—Isaiah 51:1

For Greg and Marcia Rose

Thanks for making us feel so at home in your home. It’s always a special treat.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Porthlowen, North Cornwall November 1812

Jacob Warrick pushed his spectacles up on his nose as he followed a footman and wished he could be anywhere else. Not that his surroundings were not pleasant. In Cothaire, the great house overlooking Porthlowen Cove, elegant furniture and artwork filled the hallway. The walls were not pocked with chipped paint. No dust or wet stains created strange scents in the corridor. Servants moved in an easy, efficient rhythm through the home, doing tasks needed to keep the Trelawney family in comfort.

Everything was exactly as the manor belonging to the Earl of Launceston should be.

Everything was the complete opposite of Warrick Hall, his estate.

Until last night, he had not been bothered by the sorry condition of the house he had inherited from his uncle, along with the title of Lord Warrick. He had easily looked past the peeling wall coverings and the definite stench of mildew. Instead, he had focused on safety at the estate’s mines. His uncle had apparently paid as little attention to maintenance at the mines as he had at his house.

Jacob had intended to repair the ancient manor house someday...until the letter arrived from Beverly Warrick, his stepmother, announcing she and his brother, Emery, and Emery’s wife, Helen, would be arriving at Warrick Hall to spend Christmas with him. It was not until the final line of her excited note that she had mentioned Helen’s sister, Miss Faye Bolton—in his stepmother’s opinion, a well-polished young woman—would be traveling with them.

He knew exactly what those few words meant. His stepmother was not satisfied with having arranged the marriage of her niece Helen to his brother. She intended to wed her other niece to him.

Understanding that had set him to pacing his bedchamber all night. One of the great advantages of moving to Cornwall, far from the rest of his family, was he could escape his stepmother’s meddling. Ignoring her was impossible, and resisting her plans created an uproar. He should have guessed his new title would attract her interference in his life like a hound to the fox’s scent. And she would be as persistent as a dog on the trail of its prey.

He had no time for courting. In his few spare moments, he had begun the arduous task of writing a textbook on engineering for mine operators. He had considered himself a skilled engineer after years of study and teaching, but many aspects of tin mining surprised him. Once he completed the manuscript, he would have the book printed. The profits from its sales would allow him to continue updating the mines. That would save lives, for conditions at the estate’s mines when he had arrived in Cornwall last year had been deplorable. Two years ago, a half dozen miners had died. He prayed every night the miners would emerge from underground alive the next day. So far, his prayers had been answered, but he was determined to make the mines as safe as possible.

Finding a wife was a task everyone expected he must put his mind to at some point. The title, along with its obligation of assuring that it continued in their family, coming to him was like a cruel joke. How could he risk suffering that grief another time? After Virginia Greene had died, he had vowed never to fall in love again.

Yet, even if he wanted to marry, his concentration now must be fully on replacing the out-of-date equipment at the mines. Since he had started updating the machinery, fewer men had been hurt and none had died in the depths of the Warrick mines. He did not want anyone else to die because of his negligence.

That had been his plan, but now everything had changed. One look at Warrick Hall would confirm his stepmother’s belief he was in desperate need of a wife.

Immediately.

Even a single breach of etiquette would provide the proof his stepmother needed to show he was unprepared to find a proper baroness on his own. Without a doubt, she was already convinced, which was why she was providing him with the “well-polished” Miss Faye Bolton. The description made him think of a glossy table rather than a wife. A wife who could die as Virginia had because of his carelessness.

He had tried to tell his stepmother the truth about that horrible night. Or at least what he knew of it, because his memories were unreliable in the wake of the injury he had sustained. She refused to listen. She insisted on calling it an unfortunate accident. She was wrong, and he would not endanger another young woman who was foolish enough to fall in love with him and believe his promise she was always safe with him.

There was only one solution. Jacob needed to have Warrick Hall—or, at the very least, the parts of it any guests might see—meet his stepmother’s exacting standards by the time of her arrival. That way, he could show he did not need a wife straightaway.

He could scrape together funds for repairs, but where to begin and what to do? Those questions had kept him awake, and he hoped he would find the answer at Cothaire.

The footman stopped by a closed door Jacob recognized. The room beyond it overlooked the back garden and was small enough to be cozy. He had been in the informal parlor the last time he had called at Cothaire. Then he had come seeking the Trelawneys’ assistance in finding a child he believed had been abducted from his estate. The missing child had been found unharmed and returned to her family. All had ended well.

His mouth tightened as the footman placed a knock on the door and waited for an answer. He forced himself to relax. He could not greet the earl’s older daughter, Lady Caroline, with such a grumpy expression. Most especially when he was about to ask her to grant him a very large favor. He was not accustomed to asking others to help solve his problems.

The footman opened the door, stepped aside to let Jacob enter, then followed him in. Puzzled why the servant was shadowing him and clearing his throat quietly, Jacob glanced across the room to where Lady Caroline waited by the hearth. The light from the flames danced with blue lights off her sleek, black hair. Her neat bun accented her high cheekbones and crystal-blue eyes. She wore a simple yellow gown beneath a fringed paisley shawl draped over her shoulders. As nearly every time he had seen her, a baby girl was not far away. The infant and a little boy were on the rug in front of the fireplace.

“Good morning, my lady,” Jacob said, pushing his spectacles up his nose again after bowing his head toward her. “I appreciate you receiving me when I arrived without an invitation.”

The footman cleared his throat again, this time a bit louder.

Had Jacob said something wrong? Already? He hoped the heat rising from his collar did not turn his face crimson. He seldom blushed, but when he did, there was no hiding it.

That was why he preferred speaking plainly as he had while teaching math and science at Cambridge. Unlike Lady Caroline, who was poised and never seemed to say the wrong word, he had the manners of a man who had spent most of his life with his nose in a book and his fingers upon some piece of machinery.

Another deficiency his stepmother had put on her litany of the faults that would keep him a bachelor unless she stepped in to provide him with a bride.

“By this time, you should know our neighbors are always welcome at Cothaire, my lord.” Lady Caroline smiled, and the room lit up as if it were the sunniest summer afternoon instead of a chilly November morn. She walked gracefully to a chair near where the baby slept while the little boy played with wooden blocks. Sitting, she asked, “Will you join us here by the fire?”

“Thank you.” He took a single step, then halted when the footman cleared his throat again.

When Jacob glanced back, the liveried man repeated too quietly for Lady Caroline to hear, “Ahem!” Did the man have something stuck in his throat?

“My father will be sorry he is not here to speak with you himself,” Lady Caroline said.

“If this is not a good time—”

“Nonsense. As I said, you should always consider our door open, my lord.” Again she motioned for him to join her by the fire, then reached down to check the little girl. The baby had opened her eyes and stared at him sleepily. Lustrous curls topped her head.

“She has grown so big!” he said.

That brought an even warmer smile from Lady Caroline. “Yes, Joy is thriving at last. Just as Gil is.” She stretched to ruffle the little boy’s brown hair. “All six of the children have settled in well, whether here or at the parsonage with my brother or with my sister on the other side of the cove.”

The Trelawneys, from the earl to his four children, had taken six abandoned waifs into their hearts after the children were discovered floating in a rickety boat in the cove. The family had never stopped looking for the children’s parents, even though he guessed it would be a sad day when the Trelawneys had to return the children.

The footman cleared his throat yet again.

About to ask the man to stop making the annoying sound or take his leave, Jacob realized he still wore his greatcoat and carried his hat. Even he was familiar enough with propriety to know the footman had expected to take them upon Jacob’s arrival. He hastily shrugged off his coat and handed it and his hat to the servant, who had the decency not to smile.

He turned his gaze to Lady Caroline. He needed to obtain her help. She was the perfect choice, and not only because she had taken on the task of overseeing Cothaire after her mother’s death five or six years ago. From what he had heard, she had no interest in remarrying since her husband’s death around the same time, though he suspected such a lovely, gentle-hearted woman had many offers. She treated Jacob with respect but had not flirted with him during their previous conversations. Because of that, he was willing to ask her this favor. Another woman might see his request as a prelude to a courtship.

Stepping carefully around the children, Jacob went to where she sat primly. He lifted her slender hand from the chair’s arm and bowed over it before sitting across from her. His hope that he had handled the greeting correctly withered when he adjusted his spectacles and saw astonishment on her face. What faux pas had he made now?

He bit back the question as the little boy grinned at him, then pointed to the baby girl as he announced, “My baby!”

“Gil is very protective of Joy.” Lady Caroline smiled when the baby smacked the little boy on the arm and giggled. “Though some days, I feel I should be protecting him from her.” Her voice was soft and soothing as she bent toward the baby and said, “Do not hit Gil, Joy. You don’t want to hurt him, do you?”

“Gil is a big boy,” Jacob said with a smile Gil returned brightly. “He can take care of himself.”

“Gil big boy.” He tapped his chest proudly, then turned to Lady Caroline and repeated the words. Standing, he leaned on Jacob’s knee. “Big, big boy.”

“That you are, young man.”

When the little boy laughed, Jacob could not help doing the same. He could not recall the last time he had a conversation with a child as young as Gil. He had been more accustomed to talking to his students at the university, and now most of his discussions were with the miners who worked on his estate.

The baby girl picked up a shiny stick from the rug and stuck it in her mouth, holding it by one end that appeared to be made of silver.

Jacob’s bafflement must have been visible because Lady Caroline said, “Joy is getting her first tooth.”

“And the stick helps?” he asked.

“It appears so. She chews on the coral. Because it is hard, the coral seems to give her relief from the pressure of the tooth on her gum.”

“Do you have another teething stick?”

Her light blue eyes narrowed. “Yes, but why do you ask?”

“I would be interested in examining such a helpful device, but I dare not ask Joy to relinquish hers. She seems to be enjoying it far too much.”

She rose and walked past him without a word. He jumped to his feet belatedly. Was she going to the nursery now? He glanced at the children playing on the floor. She was leaving him with two babies? If she knew the truth of how untrustworthy he could be when his thoughts were elsewhere...

No! He was not going to blurt out the truth. Nobody in Porthlowen knew of his past, and he intended to keep it that way. He had no worries about his family discussing the tragedy that had left his darling Virginia dead the night he proposed to her; they preferred to act as if the accident had never happened.

“My lady—”

“Yes?”

Too late, he realized Lady Caroline held a bell to call for someone to fetch the teething stick. He should have guessed, but he was too unaccustomed to having servants ready to answer any summons.

Somehow, he managed to say, “If it is an inconvenience...”

“None.” She rang the bell, and the door opened in response.

While she spoke to a maid, Jacob tried to regain his composure. How she would want to laugh at him for being unsettled at the idea of being left alone with a two-year-old boy and a baby! Not that she would laugh. She was far too polite.

The maid returned moments later with another smooth stick. Lady Caroline took it, then handed it to Jacob before thanking the maid, who curtsied before leaving. As Lady Caroline went to sit by the children, Jacob examined the coral stick. The flat sides resembled a table knife.

“Fascinating concept,” he said, glad to concentrate on something other than his disquiet. He ran a single finger along the smooth, cool coral. The silver handle, which was connected to a ribbon, was embossed with images of the sun and flowers and birds.

“The ribbon can be tied to a child’s waist to keep the teething stick from getting lost, but my mother stopped doing that after I almost knocked an eye out with mine when I was a baby. Apparently, my cheek bore black bruises for a week.”

Jacob tried to envision Lady Caroline as an infant with a black eye. The image banished his dark thoughts temporarily, and he laughed. “It sounds as if your mother was a wise woman.”

“She was.”

The sorrow in her voice subdued his laughter. What a fool he was! Speaking of her mother’s death would remind her as well of her husband’s. He knew how impossible it was to forget someone loved and lost forever. Unsure what to say, he fell back on the clichéd. “You must miss her.”

“Yes.” She squared her shoulders and looked at him directly. “Now tell me what has brought you to Cothaire this morning, Lord Warrick. I know you are a busy man, and I doubt this is a social call.”

“I would like to ask you if... That is...” He was making a muddle of what should be a simple request. Taking a deep breath, he sat once more facing Lady Caroline and placed the teething stick on a table by his chair. He kept his voice even as he said, “I need your help.”

“My help? With what?”

“Please hear me out before you give me an answer, my lady.” When she nodded, words spewed from his lips before he lost the courage to say them. “My family is coming to Warrick Hall for the Christmas holiday.”

“How wonderful!”

He kept his smile in place. Wonderful was not the way he would describe the visit, because his stepmother loved drama and excitement while he preferred quiet for his writing and other long hours of work. “It would be wonderful if Warrick Hall was in any condition to receive guests.”

“That does present a problem, but we would be glad to have your guests stay here with us. We have plenty of room, and it is a short drive from here to Warrick Hall.”

“Thank you, but my family will expect to stay at Warrick Hall.”

“Of course.” She paused when the baby chirped. Lifting Joy, she set the squirming baby in her lap. “Forgive me, my lord, but I am confused. Will you explain how I can help you?”

He appreciated her getting right to the point. He would do the same. “I need help in redoing Warrick Hall so it is ready for my family. I suspect there is enough furniture in the attics, but I have no idea what pieces to use or how to arrange it. Nor do I have any idea which colors to use to repaint. Will you help me?” He jabbed at his spectacles, pushing them up his nose, and held his breath.

If Lady Caroline did not agree to assist him, he had no idea where to turn next to keep his stepmother from interfering in his life with disastrous results...again.

* * *

Caroline Trelawney Dowling struggled not to grin at Jacob Warrick. The baron was not as tall as her brothers, but of above-average height. His hair was ruddy-brown, his jaw firm and his face well-sculpted. However, the first thing she always noticed was his brass spectacles slipping down his nose. When she had been told he was calling, she had never guessed he would make a request that could gratify a craving in her heart. She had been struggling in recent months not to be envious when her younger brothers and sister began creating homes of their own. She had not realized how much she wanted to do the same. Cothaire had been her responsibility for the past five years, but that changed when her brother Arthur, Lord Trelawney, had married.

Even though she would always have a place to live at Cothaire, Caroline had been shunted from her position as the great house’s chatelaine. Not that Arthur’s wife, Maris, was anything but the epitome of kindness. She sought Caroline’s advice regularly. However, the household now looked to Maris for direction, not Caroline. It was as it should be; still, Caroline longed for a house to make into a home.

Now Lord Warrick was here with an offer for her to help him do exactly that with dilapidated Warrick Hall. Assisting him to make the old manor house comfortable for his family would show her father she should be allowed to renovate a house in the village for her, Gil and Joy. At last, she would have the snug cottage she had hoped to share with her late husband John and their children.

That dream had died along with John when his ship sank. Even before then, because she had been told by the local midwife the chances of her becoming pregnant diminished as each month passed and she did not conceive. She had continued to pray for as long as John was alive that she would someday hold their baby in her arms. Others wondered why she had not remarried in the years since his death, but how could she wed when she might never be able to give her husband a child? She had sensed John’s disappointment each month, and she did not want ever to hurt someone she loved like that again. It was better she remained unmarried and found a small home of her own in the village.

She looked at Joy who took a block from Gil, then let it fall to the floor as she giggled. God had heard her prayer and brought children into her life in a way she could not have imagined. And now He was answering another prayer from deep within her heart by giving her the chance to help Lord Warrick with renovating Warrick Hall.

“I would be glad to do what I can,” she said, proud how serene her voice sounded when her thoughts were whirling like a tempest.

Lord Warrick’s hazel eyes widened behind his brass spectacles. “Really?”

She smiled. “Yes, really.”

A flush rose from his collar. “My lady, I didn’t mean to suggest you would speak anything but the truth. I admit I expected you to demur because you would be busy with holiday preparations at Cothaire.”

“Our New Year’s Eve gathering has been held for so many years, everyone knows what to do in preparation.” She did not add that many of the tasks she had done in previous years would now be assumed by the new Lady Trelawney.

Joy cried and raised her hands. Caroline picked up the baby, who was growing rapidly and getting plump. She had guessed the baby was little more than a newborn when Joy was rescued along with five other children at the end of summer. In the past few weeks, Joy had begun to act a couple of months older than anyone had assumed. She pulled herself up on anything and anyone, and she made jabbering sounds, which had earned her the nickname of “little monkey” from Father. Soon she would start saying real words. Caroline wondered what Joy’s first word would be. She secretly hoped it would be “Mama.”

“When does your family arrive?” Caroline asked the baron.

“In about a month. Will that be enough time?”

“It must be, because it is all we have.” She stood as the baby gave a sharp cry. Reaching for the teething stick on the table next to Lord Warrick’s chair, she nearly bumped her nose into his as he came to his feet. He leaned away, and she snatched the teething stick from the table. She handed it to Joy, not looking at the baron. She hoped her face was not as red as his had been a moment ago.

Caroline froze at a distant rumble. The glass in the garden doors rattled sharply.

“What was that?” she asked as Gil jumped to his feet and ran to hide his face in her skirt.

“It sounded like thunder,” Lord Warrick said, lines of bafflement threading across his forehead. “But the sky is clear.”

“Storms can come up quickly at this time of year.” She did not add more as Joy cried out in pain. She put the baby to her shoulder and patted Joy’s back. The little girl flung aside the teething stick and began chewing on a seam along Caroline’s shawl.

“One more thing, my lady,” he said, clearly trying not to look at the widening spot of damp from the baby’s drool on her shawl. “I have no doubts my family will wish to entertain while they are here. Because of that, I must ask another favor. Will you help me learn the niceties and duties of a host so I can avoid any mistakes that might embarrass my family?”

Caroline blinked once, then twice, then a third time. “You want me to teach you the proper graces of Society?”

“Yes, if you are willing.” His unsteady smile warned her how important this request was.

Why? She wanted to ask that question but swallowed it unspoken. Lord Warrick’s explanation did not ring true for her. Other than his late uncle, no member of his family was of the ton, so why would they expect him to know the complex intricacies of the Beau Monde when, as far as she knew, he had never been to London or even attended many gatherings in Cornwall? There must be some other, more important reason he was not sharing with her, but asking that would prove her own manners were beneath reproach.

She could think of many reasons to say no. She needed to discover the truth about the children. She needed to spend time with Joy and Gil and her family, both its longtime members and its newest ones. That was very important, because she had no idea how much longer the children would be in her life.

Withhold not good from them to whom it is due, when it is in the power of thine hand to do it. The verse from Proverbs, one of John’s favorites, burst out of her memory. She had the time and ability to help Lord Warrick with both of his requests, and, to own the truth, she was thrilled to have the chance to see inside ancient Warrick Hall.

Gil took advantage of her silence to go to Lord Warrick and, grinning, hand him a wooden horse.

“Thank you, young man,” the baron said.

“You welcome.” Running to the other toys, Gil began piling blocks one on top of the other.

“You have taught him well,” Lord Warrick said, drawing her gaze to him. “Would it be any different to teach me?”

“Of course, it would be different. He is a child.”

“And I am as a child when it comes to etiquette. You have seen that yourself.” He held up his hand. “You need not be polite and try to deny it, my lady. I saw the truth on your face when I made blunders upon my arrival today.”

“If I made you feel uncomfortable or appeared judgmental, I am sorry.”

He crowed, “There!”

“There what?” she asked, confused.

“What you said.” He set the toy horse on the floor near Gil, and the little boy pretended it was galloping along a road of blocks. “Gracious and kind. I want to learn how to be as eloquent and cordial in social situations. Will you help me?”

“I will try.” She did not hesitate before she went on, “May I ask you for a favor in return?”

“Whatever you wish.” His words were casual, but she sensed an undertone of tension in them. What was he hiding?

“You know we are searching for the children’s families and are desperate to discover why they were left in a wobbly boat.”

“And by whom, so you know who was heartless,” Lord Warrick said, his voice as serious as a magistrate handing down justice. “I will be happy to do whatever I can to help in the search.”

She nodded, glad he understood. She could not imagine leaving six small, very active children in a tiny boat. Any of them could have tipped it over, and they would have drowned.

“Thank you.” She was happy to have someone else involved in the search that had been fruitless for more than four months.

“So?”

Caroline was startled by Lord Warrick’s abrupt question. “Pardon me?”

“Which lesson shall you give me first?”

“You want to start now?”

“Why not?” He gave her a grin that reminded her of Gil when the little boy was trying to wheedle her into reading him another story before bed. “Perhaps you can begin with what I should have done when I came into the room today.”

“As you wish.” She bent to put Joy down, but halted when the floor rocked under her feet.

Thunder erupted around her. So loud she could not hear the baby cry, even though the little girl’s open mouth was close to her ear. Gil threw himself against her. His small hands grasped her skirt again, holding on as if for his very life.

Broader hands tugged her to the floor that spasmed beneath her. Lord Warrick! He gripped the chair beside her with both hands. His arms surrounded her and the children.

The cacophony receded enough to let her hear the children’s frightened shrieks. She gathered them both closer to her, wanting to shield them from whatever was happening.

A warm breath brushed her ear. She started to turn her head, but a firm hand clasped her chin, holding her in place as Lord Warrick warned, “Wait. It may not be over.”

Was he shouting or whispering? She could not tell.

“What may not be over?” she asked.

His answer vanished beneath another swell of chaotic noise. The glass in the garden doors exploded inward into sharp splinters. She ducked, pulling the children and him toward the floor with her.

What was going on?

Chapter Two

The din rolled away, fading like distant thunder. Beside Caroline, a lamp slid off the table, cracking and spreading oil into the rug. A pair of painted porcelain spaniels bounced across the mantel. One shattered as it hit the hearth, the other remained, hanging precariously, on the very edge of the mantel. Books crashed to the floor.

Joy shrieked in her arms, and Gil babbled in terror. She cuddled them close. Their heartbeats were as rapid as her own.

“Lady Caroline?” asked a taut voice.

She raised her head slowly and looked around. Every book had tumbled off the shelves along the far wall. Ornaments set on shelves or hanging on the walls were now on the floor. Most were broken. Paintings had fallen, too, and frames were chipped and awry. Glass from the garden doors lay splintered on the floor or glittering on the furniture.

“Lord Warrick, please take Gil,” she said.

“Where?” He lowered his arms from around them and drew back.

“Pick him up and keep him away from the glass.”

The little boy yelped when he was tugged away from her, but Lord Warrick said, “Come and help me save that dog on the mantel, young man.”

Caroline rose as far as her knees while the baron went with Gil to push the porcelain spaniel from the edge of the mantel. The room was a mess. What about the rest of the house? Had anyone been hurt?

As if she had asked aloud, Lord Warrick asked, “Are you unharmed, my lady?”

“Yes. You?”

“Relatively.”

She faced him and gasped when she saw blood trickling down his left cheek.

“Lady Caroline, what is wrong?” he asked as he rushed to her side. “Are you injured?”

“No, but you are!”

“Ouchie,” Gil said, poking at the baron’s face.

Lord Warrick gently took the little boy’s finger and moved it away from his cut cheek. Pulling out a handkerchief, he ripped off a piece and pressed it to the laceration where drying blood would hold it in place. “I was nicked by flying glass. Nothing to worry about.”

The door flew open, and her older brother, Arthur, burst in, shouting, “Carrie, are you in here?”

“Over here.” She stood, careful not to put her hand out to steady herself when her knees wobbled beneath her. Broken glass covered every surface. She felt the oddest need to weep as her brother used the nickname he had given her when he was unable to say her name as a youngster. She had not realized how fearful she was for her family’s safety. “Are we under attack again?”

It was not a frivolous question. Cornwall was in a precarious position in the midst of a war being fought on two fronts, Napoleon to the east and the Americans to the west. Most of the French fleet had been destroyed or captured at Trafalgar seven years before, but pirates flying the French flag haunted the Cornish coast. There were rampant rumors of Americans harassing shipping, as well.

“No ships have been sighted in the cove.” Her brother’s black brows lowered when he glanced toward their neighbor. “Warrick, you are bleeding.”

“I know. It is nothing.” Lord Warrick dismissed Arthur’s concern as he had Caroline’s. He took a step toward them but paused when glass cracked beneath his boots. “Anyone badly hurt?”

“Our butler, Baricoat, was going upstairs when the biggest blast hit the house. He twisted his wrist badly when he tried to grab the banister.” He grinned swiftly. “As you can guess, he is not letting that slow him down.” His smile faded as he added, “The house has suffered the most. Windows facing the moor have been shattered throughout Cothaire. Any that are seaward are intact.”

“The village?” Caroline whispered, her voice trembling as much as her knees.

“I sent a few men from the stables as well as the footmen to check on the villagers. They have instructions to visit the parsonage and Susanna’s house, as well.”

“Thank you.” Again she could not speak very loud. Their younger brother, Raymond, was the local parson and lived in the parsonage with his wife and a child who had been on the same rickety boat as Gil and Joy. She prayed they, along with Susanna, the youngest of the Trelawney family, and her husband and everyone at her house around the curve of the cove were safe and unhurt.

“Maris is working with Mrs. Hitchens to check that we have enough medical supplies.” Arthur’s gaze cut to Lord Warrick. “Mrs. Hitchens is our housekeeper. What of your people? Do you think you will need help? I was told several people saw a bright flash up on the moor.”

Lord Warrick handed Gil to her startled brother. The baron muttered what sounded like a curse under his breath, then added a hasty apology with a glance in her direction.

“You know what happened.” Caroline did not make it a question, because, in spite of his unpolished manners, Lord Warrick must have been furious to allow such a phrase to slip out when she and the children were nearby.

“Not for sure yet.” He ground out the words past clenched teeth. “But I intend to discover as quickly as humanly possible. If you will excuse me...”

“No.”

“No?” he repeated at the same time as Arthur asked, “Carrie?”

“I’m coming with you,” she said.

The baron frowned. “My lady, though I understand your need to ease your curiosity about what has occurred, under these circumstances, the mines are no place for a woman.”

“You said you don’t know for sure what the explosion was.” She held up her hand before he could retort. “There must be anxious families at the mine. Allow me to see to them while you investigate the explosions.”

“Arguing will gain you nothing with my stubborn sister,” Arthur said, shifting Gil to hold the wiggling boy more securely.

Lord Warrick opened his mouth to reply, then nodded. “You must promise me, my lady, you will not allow your fervor to entice you to enter the mines.”

“There is nothing in the world that would compel me to go even a step into the mines.” She shuddered at the thought of creeping into the deep shafts, leaving light and fresh air behind as the fear of rising water stalked every breathing moment.

“Good.”

She looked at Joy, who clung to her shawl. For a moment, she considered remaining at Cothaire to soothe the children. Irene, the nursery maid, loved them, and they returned her affection. She would ease the children’s fears.

“I will be only a few minutes,” she said. “If you don’t mind waiting, my lord, so I may ride in your carriage...”

“I came here by horseback.” He took a step toward the door, clearly anxious to be gone.

“I will not slow you once I have a horse saddled.”

Her brother said, “I will arrange for horses, Carrie, and get the supplies gathered while you settle the children. Give me a hand, Warrick?”

She followed them out of the damaged room. In the hallway, where paintings were askew on the walls, Arthur put Gil down. She took the little boy’s hand and went as quickly as his short legs could manage toward the stairs. She glanced back to see her brother and Lord Warrick hurrying in the other direction.

She wondered what they would find when they reached the mine high on the moor. Please, God, watch over us especially closely today.

* * *

Halting his horse in the shadow of the beam engine house, Jacob looked at the scene in front of him. The three-story tall building with its brick chimney was not silent, a good sign, because the pumps worked to lift water from the mine shafts deep below the ground. The rhythmic thud of the beam engine was unbroken. If a shaft had collapsed, the area would have been filled with desperate relatives and others trying to make a rescue.

The miners’ wives and daughters swept glass in front of the terrace houses where they lived. He had repaired rotten roofs and cracked foundations, then had both the exteriors and the interiors whitewashed. New floors had been put in where needed, along with strengthening unsteady staircases. Now, every window he had replaced after his arrival at Warrick Hall was probably broken.

When he frowned, it felt as if a hot poker pressed to his skin. He ignored it. What could have gone wrong? Had he made another mistake that had led to the explosion? He pushed that thought away, not wanting to imagine someone else dying from his failure to pay attention to what was going on around him, as Virginia Greene had because he did not notice the road was icy.

A child shrieked.

Lady Caroline jumped down from her horse. She reached up to her brother for the bag of medical supplies he carried. He handed it to her. She called to a nearby lad to take her horse’s reins.

The boy, his eyes wide, scurried to obey.

“Can you keep my horse from wandering away?” she asked with a gentle smile. “I don’t want it to get injured.”

He nodded, then squared his narrow shoulders when she thanked him as if he were the answer to her dearest prayer. Pride and purpose battled on the lad’s face as he raised his chin, clearly ready to do his duty for her.

Jacob watched a miner step forward to take the heavy bag she carried. The man grinned broadly when she asked him to follow as she hurried to where the women had gathered around a crying child. Every request Jacob made to these stubborn Cornishmen and their women was met with reluctance and often outright defiance. A single smile from Lady Caroline, and they were as docile and eager as a litter of puppies.

“It is a gift she has always had,” Lord Trelawney said as he moved his horse closer to Jacob’s. “She cares so much about others they cannot help but care about her.”

“How did you know what I was thinking?”

“You are not the first to stare in disbelief.” He arched a brow. “I admit I envy her that ability, especially when a couple of tenant farmers are about to come to blows over a matter that could be handled by cooperation.”

“You should take her with you to ease the anger.”

Lord Trelawney smiled. “Trust me. There have been a few times when her help saved the day.” Glancing around, the viscount became serious again. “It does not look as if the explosion occurred here.”

He turned his horse past the engine house and away from the village. “I hope I am wrong, but I suspect the explosion came from this direction.”

“Why?”

“Come with me, and you will see.” He did not want to make any accusations until he had facts.

They did not have to ride more than a quarter of a mile. Across the open moor where even the gorse had lost its bright blossoms with the coming of winter, soot marked where a fire had flared. A few men stood at one side of the blackened earth, beating out low flames.

A tall, thickset man rushed toward them. As he looked at Jacob, he wore his usual sneer. He started to speak, then glanced at Lord Trelawney. Whatever he had intended to say ended in a sharp gulp.

“Yelland,” Jacob asked as he swung off his horse, Shadow, which shied nervously at the strong odors from the smoke, “what happened?” He knew, too well, from what he could see in front of him, but he wanted to hear the mine captain’s explanation.

Paul Yelland had held that prestigious title and the duties of overseeing the men and the mines since before Jacob’s arrival. Jacob let him continue, but was growing more disillusioned with the man’s character and abilities. Yelland preferred evading work. As well, he had made no secret of his lack of respect for the new baron, though Yelland was intimidated by Lord Trelawney.

“It went off,” Yelland said, staring at his feet.

“What went off?” asked Lord Trelawney as he dismounted.

“Gunpowder, my lord,” Yelland replied with an obsequiousness he never showed Jacob.

Lord Trelawney rounded on Jacob. “You are making gunpowder this close to your mines and village? Are you mad, Warrick?”

Jacob kept his voice even. “We are not making gunpowder here. I would never put the miners and their families in such danger.”

“Then what—?”

Knowing he was being rude but determined to deal with the matter himself, Jacob looked at Yelland as he said, “If you will excuse us, Trelawney...”

“Yes, certainly.” Curiosity burned in the younger man’s eyes, but he nodded. Patting his coat as if making sure something important was beneath it, he added, “I need to check the nearby farms and Porthlowen. I trust you will share what you discover with Carrie before she returns to Cothaire, so she may inform Father.”

“Yes, certainly,” he said, using the viscount’s own words. “I will see she arrives safely home.”

Trelawney startled him by laughing. “She has been riding along this moor and the seaside since she could walk.” He glanced toward Yelland and the other men who had gathered to listen. “However, I appreciate you escorting her to Cothaire.”

Wondering what the viscount had sensed from the miners, Jacob nodded as Trelawney mounted and rode across the moor in the direction of the ancient farm foundations. Nobody in the area could be unaware of the multitude of troubles with the mines. His attempts to update them had brought more problems. The beam engine required constant vigilance and failed time after time. Whenever it stopped, water had to be pumped out of the shafts before the miners could return to work. Was it simply the new beam engine had inherent faults, or was there a more sinister scheme behind its many problems?

Jacob shook that thought from his head along with his curiosity as to why Trelawney was riding in the opposite direction of his closest farms. He had enough to deal with right now. Being distracted was something he could not afford again, not after a young woman had lost her life because of his inattention.

“Tell me what happened, Yelland,” he said with the stern tone he imagined Trelawney would use. “Now and quickly.”

The mine captain stiffened but replied without his usual, self-important tone, “We decided to test the gunpowder to see how useful it would be when we next need to cut new shafts.”

“Without alerting anyone?”

“We figured we were far enough away.”

“You blew out windows at Cothaire.”

Faces paled on the men behind Yelland, but the mine captain stood with his chin jutted toward Jacob, as if asking for a punch to knock him off his feet.

One of the men, a miner named Andrews, whispered, “The old earl? Was he hurt?”

“As far as I know, no.” Jacob knew the miners esteemed the Earl of Launceston, who had provided for the miners and their families when his own uncle had failed to in the months leading up to Uncle Maban’s death. “The house was damaged, and the family and their servants were terrified.”

Yelland folded his arms over his chest. “A few broken windows seems to be the worst of it.”

Jacob was irritated by the man’s attitude. Remembering the horror on Lady Caroline’s face and the children’s fearful cries, he fought his rising temper.

“How much did you detonate?” he asked.

“All of it.”

Shock stole every word from Jacob. He was tempted to ask Yelland if he had lost his mind, but the answer was obvious. “Was anyone hurt here?”

“We took shelter in the old stone circle.” Yelland fired a glance at the men behind him. A warning, no doubt, not to complain of any injuries.

One man was cradling his left arm in his right hand. Another was trying to staunch a bloody nose. Several pressed a hand against their ears, and he suspected they rung from the explosion’s concussion. The fools who had assisted Yelland could have easily been killed, and he could see they knew it.

“Clean up this mess. Make sure the remaining fires are put out. Once you are done here, come to the village. There are a lot of windows to be boarded up as well as plenty of shattered nerves to be soothed.” He glanced around at the scorched moor. “And don’t forget to thank God you are alive. He has been merciful today.”

The men behind Yelland nodded, knowing what Jacob said was true. They hurried to follow his orders. After glaring at Jacob another moment, even the mine captain walked away.

Remounting, Jacob did not have to urge Shadow toward the village. The horse was eager to put the stench of fire and destruction behind him. The fine-boned Arab, a gift from Jacob’s brother to commemorate him becoming a baron, could challenge the ever-present wind from the sea. It had been too long since Jacob had found time to ride neck-or-nothing on Shadow, but he could not give the horse his head now. He must return to the village to examine the damage more closely.

He sighed as he drew in Shadow near the engine house. Before he had come to Cornwall, he had envisioned his life at Warrick Hall would be one of ease, where he could enjoy racing his powerful horse any time he wished. What a witless air-dreamer he had been!

Jacob scanned the crowd. In its center, Lady Caroline was tending a little boy’s hand while a long line of others waited for her attention. She spoke softly to the child, too softly for Jacob to hear her exact words as he dismounted again and lashed the reins to the building’s railing. Her tone was clear, however. She was offering comfort as well as trying to win a smile from the child. She succeeded before a woman took the little boy’s uninjured hand and drew him aside so another hurt child could take his place.

As he walked toward the crowd, no one paid him any attention. Every eye was focused on the earl’s daughter.

Even his. Lady Caroline’s round face was alight with caring. Strands of her ebony hair curled along her cheeks and accented her gentle smile. She wore a patched apron she must have borrowed from a miner’s wife, but it could not detract from her elegance. Somehow, she combined grace with a warmth that made the villagers feel comfortable around her.

As he did.

He had not expected ever to be at ease in the company of a woman after the terrible night that changed his life. However, from the first time he had met Lady Caroline, she had treated him with kindness.

“What happened to you, sweetheart?” Lady Caroline asked the little girl standing in front of her.

The child, who could not be much more than six, held up her right hand. Tears washed down her cheeks, and her lips trembled as she spoke. “Hurt my finger.”

“I see.” Dipping a cloth into a bucket, she dabbed gently at a small cut on the girl’s finger. She spoke in a soothing tone while she bandaged the finger. Again, by the time she was finished, the child was smiling.

Lady Caroline noticed him and straightened. Asking a woman to bring more boiled water, she assured those waiting for attention she would return in a moment. Only then did she walk toward him.

“How do they fare?” he asked above the noise from the beam engine.

“There are no serious problems. Mostly small lacerations. The worst injuries are twisted ankles or wrists when someone was knocked to the floor.” She glanced toward the terrace houses. “With your permission, I would like to ask Mr. Hockbridge to pay a visit here to confirm there are no broken bones.”

“Thank you.”

She looked past him. “Where is Arthur?”

“He decided to check on some of your tenants.”

“Have you discovered what caused the explosion?”

“Gunpowder.” He explained what Yelland had admitted to before adding, “They were overeager to discover if they could use it in the mines.”

Her brows lowered in concentration, as her brother’s had, and she folded her arms in front of her. “They had gunpowder without you knowing?”

“I knew, but I intended they test only a small amount under my supervision. Before I allowed even that, I would have informed your father.”

“But such explosions are dangerous.”

“Rest assured, my lady, I have experience with detonating chemicals.”

“I thought you were at Oxford before you came here.”

He smiled for only a second as pain sliced his cheek. “Actually I was at Cambridge. I taught mathematics and physical sciences. I supervised many experiments with my students.” He clamped his lips closed, wondering why he was babbling about matters that probably were of no interest to an earl’s daughter.

“I should have known you would be cautious, even if your mine captain was not.”

He appreciated her faith in his good sense. He wished he could trust it, as well. Once, he had been sure he would make the right decision in any situation. No longer. If his brother had not come upon the broken carriage the night of the accident as Jacob fought to hold on to his consciousness, Virginia might not have been the only one to die.

Jacob realized Lady Caroline had gone on speaking and was giving him an overview of the damage inside the terrace houses. He almost groaned, because it was more extensive than he had guessed. The ones closest to the explosion were unsafe, and he would need to find temporary homes for those who lived there.

“If they do not mind,” she was saying when he focused on her words again, “we have some empty buildings about a mile from here. Not cottages exactly, but they have roofs and doors.” A grin eased the tension on her face. “Best of all, they have no windows.”

He could not keep from returning her grin, though the expression tugged at his sore cheek once more. “If those in Porthlowen who have lost windows wish to present me with a bill for the replacement glass, I will reimburse them.”

Lady Caroline unfolded her arms and nodded. “That is generous of you. I will ask Raymond to take an accounting in the village, and then we will send the list to you.”

“Thank you.” He hoped the parson would be as forgiving. “And you should include any windows damaged at Cothaire.”

“That will not be necessary.”

“It is. I—” His frown sent a heated pulse of agony across his face, and his fingers went to his cheek. Foolish! Another wave of pain rushed over him as new wetness rushed beneath his fingertips.

Shock riveted him when Lady Caroline grasped his shoulders. She steered him to sit on the engine house steps. She bent and gripped his chin, shocking him again. Tilting his head, she said, “You are bleeding.”

“It is barely more than a scratch,” he asserted, even though every change of expression seared his cheek.

“Those explosions happened an hour ago, and your face is still bleeding. It is more than a scratch. Take a deep breath.”

That was his only warning before she yanked the piece of his handkerchief off his face. He yelped but bit his lip to silence any further reaction as she called for someone to bring her medical supplies to her.

She leaned toward him, one foot on the first step. “That cut is as long as your forefinger, and it runs from below your spectacles to the top of your lip. Your glasses may have saved your eye.”

A woman rushed over to them. She dipped in a quick curtsy as she handed a small basket and a pail to Lady Caroline.

Thanking her, Lady Caroline dipped a rag in the bucket of steaming water. “This will sting,” she warned.

That was an understatement. The soft fabric brushed his face with liquid fire. He clamped his teeth together and stared straight ahead as she cleaned the wound. He winced when she dabbed the skin closest to the cut. When she started to apologize, he waved aside her words and lifted off his glasses, holding them on his knee. “Do what you must, my lady.”

He drew in a deep breath of some sweet scent he could not identify. It came from her gentle fingers. He sat as still as he could while her fingers flitted about him as quick and soft as butterfly wings. Strands of her ebony hair fell forward and brushed his ear in a tantalizing caress as she spread a cooling salve on his cheek.

When she drew away to get fabric to wrap over his head and under his chin to secure a clean bandage on top of the salve, he watched her easy motions. She fit perfectly in her world. Would he ever be as confident in the role thrust upon with Uncle Maban’s death?

The door behind him opened at the same moment he realized the beam engine had stopped. Jumping to his feet, he caught Lady Caroline’s arms to keep her from being knocked to the ground. Her eyes widened, but he did not care if his actions were overly familiar. He did not intend to let someone else, especially this kind woman, be hurt because of him.

Not releasing her, he shouted, “Get the men out of the mine. Now!”

Lady Caroline wrested herself from his hold and asked him to excuse her.

“My lady—”

His name was yelled from the engine house. Turning to Lady Caroline, he took her hand and offered his very best bow. He saw her astonishment when he straightened, and he knew he had made another etiquette mistake.

“I—I—I must go,” he said, stumbling over the few words.

She held out the salve she had put on his face. “Take this jar and use the salve liberally when you change the bandage tonight.”

“Thank you.” He took the jar. Something very pleasant surged up his arm as his fingers brushed hers. If she had a similar reaction, he saw no sign of it in her polite smile.

Bidding her farewell, he ran up the steps and into the engine house. He was unable to shake the feeling he had made another, even bigger mistake.

Chapter Three

Wiping his hand on an oily cloth, Jacob watched the steady motion of the beam engine that had taken him and his assistant two days to repair. The great beam rocked in and out of the opening high in the front of the three-story building. With every motion of the wooden beam, that was thicker than he was and twice as tall, water was pumped out of the mine and sluiced away.

“Seems to be working now, my lord,” his assistant, Pym, said.

Treeve Pym resembled a well-fed cat. Short and round, he was topped by thick brown hair. As always, he smelled of oil, sweat and too many days without a bath.

Jacob had grown accustomed to Pym’s reek. The man was a genius when it came to figuring out what was wrong with the beam engine and fixing it. Maybe he would be better described as a foxhound. He had the ability to sniff out a problem before Jacob could discover the cause.

“It does.” Jacob ran his fingers through his hair as he watched the pendulum motion of the beam. “Any idea what caused the trouble?”

“One of the screws connecting the bob to the rod outside the building loosened.”

Jacob picked up the beef pasty he had brought with him at dawn when word was delivered to Warrick Hall that the beam engine had halted again. He had been fortunate his cook rose earlier than the sun. He unwrapped the pasty as he climbed the stairs so he could look out and watch the great beam which Pym called a bob.

He leaned his elbow on the thick sill of the window that gave him the best view of the beam. As he watched, he could not determine how a screw holding it to one of the cylinders could have come loose.

Taking a bite of the beef and potato pasty, he smiled. He appreciated the efficiency of a Cornish pasty, which the miners carried underground with them. Because it had a thick edge almost two inches wide, they did not have to remove poisonous tin from their hands before they ate. The crimped edge allowed a miner to hold the pasty while eating the inner crescent-shaped dough and filling. Once he was finished, the miner tossed the outer edge away. It was, Jacob had decided, a brilliant idea, and he had asked Mrs. Trannock to prepare the same fare for him when he worked at the mines.

He wondered if Lady Caroline ever dined on something as commonplace as a pasty. Now, where had that thought come from? The lady had slipped into his thoughts often while he should have been concentrating on fixing the beam engine, and not only when he inadvertently touched his sore cheek.

Pym asked from behind him, “See anything to tell you what went wrong?”

“Nothing but a properly working beam engine.” Jacob pushed himself away from the window and started down the stairs after Pym. “If you see something that gives you an idea of what happened, let me know.”

“I can’t say now why it stopped, my lord, but I will try to find out.”

Thanking him, Jacob took his greatcoat from a peg and shrugged it on. He pulled on his gloves and set his hat on his head. Outside, his horse Shadow waited patiently for him. While the beam engine had been converted to steam, Shadow had stood outside the building the whole night on several occasions. He knew there were those in Cambridge who would call him a fool for spending time and money updating the mines. However, he was determined to make a success where his uncle had failed, leaving the mines in intolerable condition and the mining families on the precipice of starvation. Only the generosity of the Trelawneys and the Porthlowen church had kept them from slipping over the edge.

It was not as if the miners’ families had other opportunities to make a living. The poor, thin soil of the moor did not allow for farming. Jacob knew the best and perhaps only way to provide for the people on the estate was to keep the mines open. They had been neglected by Maban Warrick. Some miners had turned to thievery and other crimes. Those caught had been hanged or transported, leaving their families in an even worse state.

The thump of the beam’s motion was a comforting sound as Jacob rode to Warrick Hall almost two miles higher on the desolate moor. He did not look toward the scorched ground, but the wind coming off the land blew the odors of burnt brush and gunpowder to him.

Yelland had made himself scarce since that debacle. Pym had asked several times if Jacob intended to dismiss the mine captain. Jacob wished he could. He knew Yelland had intimidated the miners. Firing the man for his insolence and outright stupidity would cause trouble in the mines. The miners would be forced to join a protest against his dismissal.

To own the truth, Yelland did an excellent job...when he worked. The men willingly followed him, and after almost a year, they still did not trust Jacob. The sorry truth was Jacob needed the mine captain to keep order in the mines and production moving smoothly. With the beam engine claiming too much of Jacob’s time, he had few opportunities to show the miners he respected their skills and hard work.

Now, somehow, he had to find time to repair Warrick Hall enough to make it suitable for his family’s visit. Also, he had to arrange to take lessons in etiquette with Lady Caroline so, if anyone from neighboring estates called, he would not shame his family with his unrefined manners.

The chilly wind crept past his collar, and he shivered. Last winter had been one of the worst anyone could remember. Signs pointed to another cold and snowy one.

Coming over a ridge, Jacob saw Warrick Hall in front of him. It was a dark, hulking building. Oddly enough, Warrick Hall had not sustained any damage from the gunpowder explosion. The contour of the moor had protected the ancient house from the concussion. That was good, because the shock from the detonation could have done far more damage to the run-down structure than break a few windows. He was grateful the roof did not leak or had fallen in as ones had on some of the outbuildings.

The house had only two servants indoors as well as the lad who tended the horses and cleaned the stable. The two servants were both so elderly, Jacob felt as if he should serve them. Mrs. Trannock, the cook, oversaw the kitchens, which were as out of date as the mines had been. Wherry was butler and footman, and he would have been Jacob’s valet if Jacob had allowed it. The wizened man could barely climb the stairs, but insisted on answering the door and attending the table during meals.

As Warrick Hall seldom had visitors, Jacob did not have to worry about them being left out in the rain or cold while Wherry shuffled his way slowly to the door. He had solved the other issue by telling both the cook and the butler he preferred to collect a tray from the kitchen and eat in his room while he read reports or toiled over the paperwork that never seemed to end. He should hire an estate manager as well as someone to handle the mine’s accounts, but he did not have time to interview anyone.

The wind grew stronger as he rode toward the house. He would order a cup of something warm from the kitchen and sip it while he handled the week’s correspondence. Actually, the correspondence was almost a month old, and there was no more room on his desk for another piece of paper.

He was relieved when he saw Howell standing in the stable’s doorway, ready to take Shadow. Thanking the lad, Jacob rushed to the house. There were closer doors than the front one, but they opened into sections of Warrick Hall where the floors could not be trusted. Something he had learned shortly after his arrival. He had been exploring the vast house. The floor had broken beneath him, and he had nearly fallen into the cellar.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” said Wherry when he opened the door to usher Jacob in. His white hair was brushed back from his face, and not a speck of lint ruined the perfection of his black livery. “She is waiting for you in the gold parlor.”

“She?”

“Lady Caroline. She said you were expecting her.”

Was he? He could not recall setting a date or time for Lady Caroline to visit Warrick Hall. His heart had begun a cheery dance in his chest at the mention of her name, and his lips wanted to turn up in a silly smile.

“I trust having her wait in the gold parlor was what you would have wanted, my lord,” Wherry continued.

He was astonished how excited the butler sounded that Lady Caroline was calling. Again it was as if Lady Caroline made everyone’s life brighter simply by being a part of it...as she did his. He swallowed his chuckle as he imagined how she would laugh at his frivolous thoughts.

His urge to smile vanished as he glanced around the entrance hall. The heavy wood on the walls had been painted a deep black that consumed every bit of light. For some reason, his uncle had had wood installed over the windows, so no sunshine could enter. The rest of the house was as dark and dreary. The gold parlor, called that because of a hideous gilt frame around a mirror on the chimneypiece, was one of the least grim rooms. It did reek, however, of the tobacco his uncle had used, an odor so overwhelming that Jacob avoided the room whenever possible. He could not leave Lady Caroline sitting in the stench.

“Thank you, Wherry. I trust a fire was laid and lit in the room.”

“Most certainly.” The butler acted offended that Jacob had asked such a question. “Shall I have a tea prepared for you and the lady?”

“Thank you.”

Wherry bowed his head, then walked away at the best pace his bowed legs could make.

Jacob went to the gold parlor. He took a bolstering breath before he walked through the parlor’s open door. He must not make another faux pas while greeting Lady Caroline, though that might be difficult when he did not know what he had done wrong before.

He almost groaned when he saw the state of the room. It was in no condition for a lady. Canvas was draped over the furniture. Pictures were wrapped in linen and leaning against walls beneath the lighter rectangles where they once had hung. Even the mirror that gave the room its name was draped. The rug had not been unrolled. It remained beneath the bay windows on the far side of the room. A fire burned merrily on the hearth. At least someone had opened the draft, because the smoke rushed up the chimney.

If Lady Caroline was bothered by the disarray, he saw no sign of it as she rose gracefully from the only chair not covered with dusty canvas. Her dark red velvet coat matched the ribbons at the bodice of her gown. A cut velvet bonnet the same color perched on her black hair. The shade accented the deep rose brushing her cheeks and complemented the sparkle in her blue eyes. When she walked toward him as if they stood in the gallery of a fine palace instead of a run-down house, she did not offer her hand.

He was relieved because he obviously had done something wrong when he bowed over her fingers at Cothaire. Now he did not have to chance repeating the error.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Jacob said as he stepped around the mound of canvas that had been swept off her chair and left on the floor. He hoped Wherry had handled that task rather than expecting the lady to do it herself.

She faltered. “Surprise? I thought you wished my help with preparing your house for your family’s visit.”

“I do need your help, and I am delighted you are here.” There. That sounded like something a titled gentleman would say. Emboldened by the thought, he said, “I am glad you are here. Do you think Warrick Hall can be made presentable in a month’s time?”

* * *

Caroline wondered if the air had been sucked out of the room. She could not draw in a breath. When she had been shown into the parlor, she had guessed it was because the room was ready for guests. What a shock to discover its abandoned state! She clasped her hands in front of her, wondering if the parlor truly was the best available space to receive people. Certainly the entry hall offered no welcome.

“A month...” Caroline repeated while she tried to determine how best to answer without insulting Lord Warrick and his home. To own the truth, she doubted the house could be repaired to the point of welcoming guests in anything less than a year.

“It is a herculean task, I realize,” he said, and she guessed her thoughts had been on her face.

She walked to where the door hung from one hinge. She fought the urge to push it straighter, because she had the irrational thought that moving a single item could bring the whole structure down on their heads. Looking into the corridor, she stared at the peeling wall coverings and damp stains. The reek of mildew filled every breath she took. She wondered how Lord Warrick managed to live amidst the ruin of what had once been a grand house.

“It is impossible,” she said, then wished she had not been blunt when his face fell.

His fingers folded into frustrated fists at his sides. “If it is impossible for you, then...” Turning away, he picked up the canvas and tossed it atop another chair. “Thank you for calling, my lady. I am sorry to waste your time.”

“Wait a moment!” she called as he took a step toward the door. “I didn’t say I would be unwilling to try.”

Hope flared in his dark eyes. “Really?”

“Yes.” She drawled the word out, searching his face. His relief was so strong. “May I ask you a question which is truly none of my bread-and-butter?”

He chuckled. “You cannot ask any question that I would take the wrong way.”

“You may not think so when you hear my question.”

“Fire away.”

For a second, Caroline considered saying something other than what had been on her mind from the moment he first beseeched her assistance; then she asked, “Why is having both this house and yourself make such a good first impression with your family so important to you?”

“A fair and honest question, and I shall give it a fair and honest answer.” He folded his arms in front of him. “My stepmother is bringing a young woman who she believes would make me the perfect bride.”

His tone was bleak. When she could not restrain her laugh, he regarded her with bafflement.

“I thought you might have empathy for me, my lady,” he said.

“Forgive me, but you sounded as if you were about to be marched off the plank by a band of rapacious pirates. Surely you are accustomed to matchmaking. An unmarried man with a title often finds himself the target of eager mamas.”

“I am not accustomed to it. Perhaps if I had spent time in London, where matchmaking has been raised to an art form, I would be. My brother is very happy with his wife, who was introduced to him by our stepmother. Do not mistake my words. I don’t mean to cast aspersions on the young lady. May I be blunt?”

“Please do,” she said, even though she wondered how much more straightforward he could be.

“It is the not the young woman herself I object to, for I have met her on occasion, and she seems quite pleasant.”

“Faint praise is no praise.”

“That was not my intention. I don’t object to the young woman in particular. I am not like you, my lady. I cannot balance children and a household and the needs of my family at the same time. Certainly not with the ease you display.” He smiled wanly. “I know I must marry one day because the family’s title requires an heir, but my focus at present is on keeping the mines operating and safe. I have no time now for courting or a family of my own.”

“I understand.”

His smile became more genuine. “I am glad. No one else seems to.”

“There are expectations on every member of the ton, especially...” She halted herself before she could say something untoward. To discuss her inability to conceive was sure to embarrass both of them. After all, she did not discuss such an intimate subject with her own family.

“Ah,” he said, nodding. “I see you have been the target of matchmaking, as well.” He did not give her a chance to respond before he went on. “I came to Cornwall as soon as I received my title because I had reports of the sorry situation with the mines.”

She nodded. “You have made many improvements, and I know people are grateful.”

“Doing that takes the majority of my time. I have not been able to convince my stepmother of that. If she sees the pitiful condition of the house, she will be even more determined I need a wife.”

“What you need are a carpenter and a maid with a dusting rag,” she said drily.

A roar of mirth burst from him. He laughed hard and had to lean forward to put his hands on his thighs while he struggled to regain control of himself.

Caroline smiled. Since she had first met him months ago, she had never heard such lighthearted laughter from him. Usually he was serious about the obligations that weighed upon him.

Raising his head, he wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. “I thought one had to be less blunt within the strictures of Society.”

“Yes, but beyond the polite and prim conversation at formal events, you will find people speak plainly. The goal is never to hurt another’s feelings.” She smiled. “I did not think you would be insulted by my comment.”

“Quite to the contrary.” He motioned for her to lead the way into the passage. “You must have known the situation was dire when I came begging for assistance. Maybe you did not realize how dire.”

Caroline decided silence was the best answer. The house was a disaster. As they walked along the corridor, she kept up a steady patter about cleaning and airing the draperies and rugs and the need to get all the cobwebs out of the corners of the intricate crown molding. She had no idea how many servants worked at Warrick Hall. As they toured the ground floor, she saw a butler and a cook, but two old retainers would not be enough to bring the house to a suitable state to receive guests. She was about to say that when she heard a skittering as she and Lord Warrick entered another room.

“You will need to do something about the mice,” she said. “Many women are frightened of rodents, no matter how small.”

“They don’t seem to bother you.”

“Not during the daylight. I would not appreciate waking up to the sight of one of them crossing my room, but that will not happen if their numbers are lowered. The best way is to bring cats from your outbuildings into the house. A good mouser will rid a home of vermin very quickly, especially if you make sure there is a fresh bowl of milk available as a treat.”

“A dandy idea.” He halted, putting his hand on a table hidden beneath a cloth. When a cloud of dust rose from the spot he had touched, he shook his hand clean. “I assume there are cats around, because I have not seen many mice in the stable. However, I have not seen any cats, either.”

“Your uncle used to complain there were more of them here than fish in the sea. I am sure we can find a couple to bring into the house.”

“Shall we look now?”

Caroline was about to say she needed to return to Cothaire, but halted when chiming came from a short-case clock hanging on the wall. In spite of the dust, Lord Warrick’s butler must have kept it wound.

“I can stay a bit longer,” she said, more pleased than she expected to be that she could help Lord Warrick with this small task. “I want to be at Cothaire when Joy wakes from her nap. She is peevish with teething.”

“It should not take too long to recruit a cat for mousing duty.”

Lord Warrick showed her the way to the stable. It was, she noticed, one of the few outbuildings with a door. The stable was in better condition than the house, but only slightly.

When they entered, the three horses inside stirred and regarded them with curiosity before returning to munching their oats. The space was surprisingly large and had as many cobwebs as Warrick Hall. Faint sunlight came from windows in the hayloft overhead.

A lad rushed out of a room beyond the stalls. “My lord, what may I do for you?” He put his fingers to his forelock as if tipping a cap as he glanced from Lord Warrick to her. “Shall I have the carriage readied?”

The baron stiffened. What an odd reaction to a commonplace question!

Then she wondered if she had seen something that was not there. Lord Warrick’s voice was unchanged. “That is not necessary, Howell. Have you seen any cats about?”

“Cats?” The lad nodded, eager to please. “There are always some about. Do you want me to try to find some and bring them to you?”

“No, just point us in the right direction.”

He looked toward steps at the far end of the stable. “They seem to gather in the lower haymow.”

“Thank you.” Lord Warrick offered his arm to Caroline, surprising her.

When she put her gloved hand on his coat sleeve, her fingers sparked as if she had grabbed a bolt of lightning. She almost jerked her hand away. Somehow, she kept her fingers on his sleeve, so she did not call attention to her reaction. If he felt it as well, she saw no sign, because his smile did not waver.

Bits of hay crunched beneath Caroline’s boots, releasing the aroma of dried grass to mix with the ancient dust dancing in the sunlight. She wondered how long it would be before the new stable at Cothaire smelled like this instead of freshly cut wood and paint.

Comparing this stable with Cothaire’s kept her from thinking about how Lord Warrick’s greatcoat brushed against her legs on each step. She could not ignore his masculine scent. She told herself she found that fragrance intoxicating because she had not stood close to a man other than her father or brothers since John’s death.

When the baron withdrew his arm to allow her to precede him up a trio of stone steps, regret flooded her. She chided herself. A lack of sleep after trying to soothe Joy most of last night was no reason to act witless today. Lord Warrick was a gentleman to offer his arm, and he was being polite stepping aside to let her go first.

But, for those few moments, it had been pleasant to be on the arm of a man again.

Stop it! She turned the scold into a prayer for good sense. She was no longer a young miss who blushed and tittered whenever a man stood beside her.

Caroline looked around the haymow, which was almost full. When she saw a bright ray of sunlight aimed at the stone floor to her right, she headed in that direction. Cats, whether they lived in a barn or in a house, always sought out a sunny spot for a nap. She smiled when she saw a half dozen felines stretched out in the warmth.

As she approached, they scattered except for one, which arched and hissed. She smiled and squatted an arm’s length from the calico. She held out her hand as she murmured, “Don’t be afraid, Miss Cat.”

The animal snarled again, her white, black and brown hair standing on edge.

Behind her, Caroline heard Lord Warrick say, “Be careful. She will scratch you. Step aside, and give her a chance to escape.”

“She would have fled before if that was her choice. She must have a litter hidden in the hay behind her.” She rose and edged forward, then around the hissing cat. It raced away only a few feet before turning to glare at Caroline, who had not given chase as the cat had hoped. Bending, she shifted the hay and smiled as she heard small mews.

A pair of heads popped up, curious about the noise. One was black with a white blaze on its nose. The other was a gray tiger. They bounced out, ready for battle, though they could not be more than two months old.

“This one seems bold enough.” Lord Warrick picked up the black-and-white kitten. As he balanced it on his hands, the kitten batted tiny paws at him and gave a warning growl.

She scooped up the other kitten who began to purr as loudly as a cat twice her size. “A mother cat and two kittens will be perfect, assuming the mother cat can be caught. These kittens are the right age for her to teach them to catch prey. While they learn, they will be ridding your house of vermin and insects.”

“I will have Howell bring the mother cat to the house, but will she stay?”

“You may have to keep them in a box for a few days, but if you provide food and water and milk, she will realize quickly she is better off in the house. Cats are smart that way.” She stroked the satiny fur on the kitten’s head. “What are you going to name them?”

“Name them? Do they need names?”

“How will they know to come when you call for them?” Smiling, she asked, “Did you never have a cat or dog?”

He shook his head. “My mother said cats made her sneeze, and dogs eat too much.”

Caroline turned away to pat the tiger kitten, not wanting him to see her shock. It was easy to forget Lord Warrick’s upbringing had been different from her own. She thought of the rumors she had heard. How could Maban Warrick hoard his fortune at Warrick Hall and allow his brother’s family to struggle in poverty?

“What name would you suggest?” he asked.

“Something simple.” She saw the mother cat skulking toward them and her kittens. “Mam is the Cornish word for mother. How about that for the calico?”

“Good. What about this bold black-and-white kitten?”

“He appears ready to chase the mice already, so Helhwur would be a good name. It means hunter.”

“And the tiger? What is the Cornish word for tiger?”

She laughed. “Tiger.”

“I think we can do something better than that.”

“Tegen would be a good name for her, because the word means pretty thing.”

He rubbed the kitten’s head. “Would you like that name, Tegen?” A tiny pink tongue brushed his wrist, and he chuckled. “I will take that as a yes.”

She watched as he continued talking to the kittens as if they could comprehend every word he spoke. His hands, calloused from his work at the mine, were gentle on the kittens. Exactly as they had been with the children. Lord Warrick would be a caring and loving father. A twinge of envy twisted her heart at the thought of him holding his own son and teasing him as he had Gil.

Envy was an ugly emotion, but she could not pretend she did not feel it. She was envious of Lord Warrick and his future wife and their children. How many nights had she silently cried herself to sleep, knowing she had failed—again!—to give John a child? He had tried to act as if being childless did not bother him, but she could not forget how often he spoke, in the months after they were first wed, of the family they would have together.

She had to leave before the tears burning her throat reached her eyes. Telling Lord Warrick she needed to hurry to Cothaire, she handed him the tiger kitten. She rushed through the stable, even though she knew she could never escape her greatest failure.

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