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“It is.” He smiled. “Henry was the only one who called you Cora-Curly.”
She grimaced. “Thank goodness that name did not last long.”
“The butterfly!” With a joyful shout, Meg took off running toward the vegetable plot.
“We should all be so enthused about butterflies and daisies,” Benedict said, watching Meg prance after the fluttering insect.
“Yes, but then we might be equally willing to eat our weight in ginger biscuits.”
Benedict battled to keep a straight face. “How bad was it?”
“Bad enough that Nora is now under strict instructions to hide any tins containing baked goods.”
Conceding defeat, he grinned. “Meg is remarkably bright. She will likely find them regardless.”
“I fear you are right. I shall have to keep her busy doing other things.”
“You have yet to bring Meg to the stables at Farwell,” he said. “The invitation to visit the horses remains in effect. We keep a small Welsh Mountain Pony there for Henry’s young son, Miles. It would be just the right size for Meg.”
This time, when her blue eyes met his, he barely noticed her scarred skin. “Would it truly be no inconvenience to the stablehands?”
“Not at all,” he said. “They are well used to working around interruptions.”
“She will be thrilled. She has asked about your horse several times since we last saw you.”
“Saxon is hitched to your gate post. We can introduce her to him now if you wish.” He sensed her stiffen and instantly realized his mistake. Approaching him with her face uncovered had taken immense courage, but that did not mean she was ready to stand at the vicarage gate, particularly at a time when so many people would be returning home from church. Meg scampered by, and he seized upon the little girl’s present fascination as a means of undoing his blunder. “Given how enthralled she is by that butterfly, however, it might be best to save meeting Saxon for another day.”
The tension in Caroline’s shoulders eased a fraction. “Yes, I believe you are right. If the weather remains fair, I can take her to the stables tomorrow morning.”
“You’d best stop at the cow barn as well. Giles will want to see you both.”
At his mention of Giles, a small frown appeared on her forehead. “Was Giles at church today?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Giles was a regular churchgoer, but today had been one of the rare occasions that he’d missed the service. “One of the cows came in for the morning milking with an injured leg. Giles stayed at the farm to tend to it.”
Caroline’s frown deepened. “Do you think I might speak to him for a few minutes when I come to the farm? It’s a matter of some urgency.”
“Most certainly,” Benedict said. “If you plan to be there at about the same time as your last visit, I can make sure he’s available.” He paused. He could not imagine what Caroline’s business with his cowman might be, but it appeared to be causing her significant concern. “I shall see Giles myself this afternoon. If your need is pressing, I can convey a message to him within the hour.”
“It . . . it is pressing. At least, I believe it is.”
Mystified, Benedict raised his eyebrows. “How can I help?”
“May I count on your full discretion? It is a matter of some delicacy.”
“Of course.”
Caroline’s gaze shifted to Meg. The little girl had stopped chasing the butterfly and was intent on digging a hole in the vegetable plot with a long stick. He waited, not knowing what to expect but fervently hoping it was nothing that would negatively impact Caroline or her daughter.
“Are you familiar with the Trilby family?” she asked.
He stared at her. “Do you mean Will and Sarah Trilby’s family?”
“Yes.”
“At one time or another, Will Trilby reshoed every one of our horses,” he said. “He also worked on our carriage wheels once or twice. I knew him well.”
“Then you know of his sudden passing.”
