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“Good,” Cook said, “because it’s ’igh time we set this little girl in front of the stove with a cup of ’ot milk.”
“An excellent suggestion, Mrs. Newson,” Benedict said. “And whilst you and Caroline see to that, I shall excuse myself so that I might change out of my own wet clothing and boots.”
“An equally good suggestion, if I might say so, my lord. Especially since you brought a muddy, wet trail in with you.” She grimaced. “It always ’appens when my floor is newly washed.”
Benedict fought back a grin. The house may belong to the Farwell family, but the kitchen was most certainly hers. “You have my sincere apologies, Mrs. Newson.”
“Hm.” She did not seem to believe him, but he wasn’t overly worried. He’d caught her expression immediately before she’d turned toward the stove, and he was quite sure a small smile had taken the place of her grimace.
Chapter 14
Caroline leaned her head back against the wooden rocking chair and allowed the everyday sounds of the kitchen to wash over her. In the adjacent room, a scullery maid was scrubbing a large pot. Two other maids were at the large wooden table, busily chopping carrots and parsnips, while Mrs. Newson stirred something on the stove. At Caroline’s feet, Meg sat decanting peas with a teaspoon, happily watching them drop from one small bowl into another.
It had taken only a change of clothing, a mug of warm milk, and twelve minutes sitting on Caroline’s knee in front of the stove for Meg’s trembling to ease and the stutter in her speech to disappear. The little girl’s natural curiosity had soon overcome her initial discomfort at being in an unfamiliar place, and when Cook had provided her with a bowl of shelled peas, she had quickly relocated to the floor to supposedly sort them.
Even though Caroline had received some wide-eyed stares from the younger maids, Mrs. Newson’s gracious reaction to her scarred face had given Caroline the courage to take off her gloves and bonnet. Grateful for the opportunity to rest unencumbered by the wide-brimmed headwear, she’d set her belongings on the drying rack beside Meg’s frock and underclothing. Already, the kitchen’s natural warmth had done much to shrink the wet patch on her own gown. Unfortunately, it was unlikely that Meg’s clothing would fully dry before they needed to return home.
She glanced at the clock hanging on the wall above the stove. It was getting late. She’d expected Benedict to return by now. If he did not come soon, she and Meg would have to leave without seeing him—or thanking him.
“Five more minutes, Meg,” she said softly, “and then you must put on your clothes so we can be on our way. Your grandpapa will be wondering what has become of us.”
Meg eyed her wrinkled frock on the nearby clothing rack. “But they’re wet.”
Caroline could not help but feel a twinge of concern at Meg’s donning damp clothing again, but even if it were warm enough outside, the child could not walk home in a shift at least ten inches too long. “They’re not so wet as they were,” she said. “And we shall leave them in front of the stove until the very last minute.”
Meg’s reluctant but accepting sigh preceded the sound of voices coming from the passage.
“Lord Benting is back.” Meg scrambled to her feet, and in her attempt to untangle her legs from the excess shift fabric, she knocked over one of the bowls. The peas scattered, rolling across the tiles in every direction.
Meg froze, and then her lower lip quivered. “My peas!”
Before her daughter’s tears could begin in earnest, Caroline dropped to the floor beside her. “Don’t cry,” she said. “We can pick them up.” Benedict’s voice was clearer now. They had only a matter of seconds before he entered the kitchen. “Quickly, Meg. Let’s see how many we can gather before Lord Benning comes in.” Mrs. Newson may have been willing to overlook some dirty water on the floor, but squashed peas were something else entirely.
Tugging at the long shift, Meg dropped onto her hands and knees and crawled under the table to retrieve a couple that had stopped against the nearest table leg. “There’s lots over here, Mama,” she called.
Caroline poured the ones she’d gathered into the empty bowl and then followed Meg under the table.
“Caroline?”
“Lord Benting!” Meg jumped to her feet, promptly hitting her head on the table and letting out a wail.
Benedict’s rapid footsteps crossed the kitchen and stopped a few feet from the table. “What are you doing under there? Are you all right?”
“Yes, thank you.” Drawing Meg into her arms, Caroline closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “It was just a small bump. We’re both fine.” The unequivocal falsehood rolled off her tongue before she could call it back. The truth was, she was completely mortified, and Meg would undoubtedly have a goose egg on the top of her head within the next few minutes.
She turned her head slightly, silently praying that she would not see a trail of smashed peas marking Benedict’s path across the room. She did not. But what she did see was infinitely worse: a pair of feet clad in elegant slippers situated right beside Benedict’s highly polished black boots.
“My mother is here to see you,” Benedict said. Had she imagined the apology in his voice? “She met me in the passage outside my chambers, and when she learned why I was dripping water all over the rug, she insisted upon accompanying me to the kitchen.”
“Of course I did.”
Caroline would have recognized Lady Farwell’s voice anywhere, and though she would have picked almost any scenario other than her current one for their reunion, she could not deny the surge of genuine happiness she felt at hearing it again.
“How could I miss an opportunity to see you and meet your precious daughter?” Lady Farwell continued.
“If . . . if you would just give us one moment, my lady.” Hastily wiping the tears from Meg’s eyes, Caroline pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “The pain will go away soon, Meggie,” she whispered. “I am sure of it. And I believe we have gathered as many peas as we are able. I’m sure Cook will forgive us for missing a few.”
Meg rubbed her head and sniffled. “Can I go to Lord Benting now?”
