Her Longed-For Family

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.