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“You delivered one that recently?” Caroline asked.

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

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

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

Meg peered around the wooden partition. “I . . . I don’t see anything except a big cow.”

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

“I still don’t see it.” Meg’s voice quivered.

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

“Thank you, Giles. That would be marvelous.”

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

“Steady,” he said.

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

Concern filled him. “Are you unwell?”

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

“Such as coming to your feet?” he guessed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” she said softly.

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