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“Giles!” Caroline called.

He stopped and turned around, surprise lighting his eyes. “Miss Caroline. Yer up early again this mornin’.”

“Yes.” Wishing she’d thought to grab her shawl, she wrapped her arms around herself and crossed the short distance between them. “I was wondering if you have any news for me.”

Pulling on the brim of his hat, he frowned. “I don’ ’ave a letter, if that’s what ya mean.”

“That’s all right.” Caroline managed to smile through her disappointment. “Tell me what is happening at the farm. I have missed visiting. Is all well there?”

“Nothin’ to complain about at th’ moment,” he said.

“No illness, then,” she pressed.

“None amongst th’ farm ’ands.” He hesitated, and his frown returned. “I did ’ear that Lord Benning’s been poorly though.”

Caroline’s breath caught in her throat. “Has he returned from Gloucester?”

“Aye. Two days past. But I ’aven’t seen ’im. John walked a mount up t’ th’ ’ouse fer Lord Farwell, an’ one o’ th’ footmen told ’im that Lord Benning took t’ ’is bed soon after gettin’ back.”

“Did the footman—” Her voice trembled. She cleared her throat and started again. “Did the footman say what ails him?”

“Word is that it’s cowpox.”

“Cowpox?” Caroline’s thoughts spun. “Has he assisted with the milking recently?”

“No, miss. But even if ’e ’ad, our ’erd’s been free of the disease fer some weeks now.”

A vision of Molly’s scarred hands entered Caroline’s head. The marks left by cowpox were so similar to the smallpox blemishes on her own body. How could anyone in the Farwell household be so sure that Benedict was suffering from the lesser disease?

Tightening her arms around her torso, she fought to keep her emotions in check. “Who is caring for him?”

“That, I can’t tell ya, Miss Caroline.” Giles scratched his forehead helplessly. “I fear I’m not th’ best person t’ stop by when yer wantin’ news, but if ya plan t’ be up early again tomorrow, I’ll see if I can’t learn somethin’ more by then.”

If the inner turmoil she was currently experiencing was any indication, she would not be able to wait that long to know more, but she appreciated his thoughtfulness. “Thank you, Giles.”

He inclined his head. “Till tomorrow, then, miss.”

“Yes.”

Giles started back down the path. Caroline waited until he reached the garden gate, and then she turned away and reentered the house.

Benedict was ill. Her heart ached with grief—for how he must be suffering and for how they’d last parted. A tear escaped, rolling slowly down her cheek. It was followed by another. The letter he’d sent her had been an olive branch, had offered her hope that the accusations she’d flung at him while she’d been consumed by fear and anger had not irretrievably ruined their relationship. She’d accepted the offering gladly. If he’d received her letter, he would know that much. But she had yet to apologize for her behavior. He did not know how badly she wished those heated words unsaid.

She stumbled into the kitchen and dropped onto the nearest chair as sorrow overtook her. Covering her face with her hands, she allowed the emotion trapped within her chest its release. Sobs consumed her, emptying her mind of all but an overwhelming concern for Benedict.

When her tears were finally spent, the hazy light of early dawn was gone. She blinked. Bright sunlight filled the kitchen, and outside the window, a thrush sang. Wiping her damp cheeks with her fingers, she rose to her feet. Meg would make her appearance any minute, wanting breakfast. Before that could occur, the fire in the stove needed to be rekindled and the kettle filled with water.

She crossed the small room and set a pan on the stovetop. Making porridge was an easy enough endeavor, and the mindless stirring would give her time to consider what she must do next. Her deep-felt reaction to learning that Benedict was ill had shown her that she could not simply sit idly by hoping for good news.

About five minutes later, her father entered the kitchen. “Good morning, Caroline.”

“Good morning, Father.” Averting her tearstained face from her father’s perceptive gaze, Caroline gave the porridge another stir. “There is tea in the teapot, and the porridge will be ready shortly.”

“Thank you, my dear.” He stepped toward the cupboard and took out a cup and saucer. “Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.” Caroline’s appetite had left with Giles.

He took out a second cup and saucer. “You must, you know. No matter how unhappy you may be feeling.”