Page 52 of A Provincial Peer

For the first time since they’d ridden to the vicarage together, there was warmth in her smile. “I am.”

“May I help you?”

For a fraction of a second, she stared at him. “Have you ever washed a dish in your life?”

Brilliant. Apparently, he had yet to learn that saying the first reckless thing that popped into one’s head was no better than remaining mute. What on earth was wrong with him? Other than being a first-class numbskull, that was.

“Does licking my spoon until it shone after finishing that raspberry tart you smuggled into the nursery all those years ago count?”

She covered her mouth with her damp hand, but Benedict was almost positive he’d heard a soft giggle.

“No.” She cleared her throat, and when she lowered her hand, her expression was serious. “And so, my answer must also be no. I cannot risk you breaking the Simkinses’ dishes.”

“Fair enough.” As ridiculous as it seemed, he was genuinely disappointed. “If you will excuse me, I should go upstairs to speak with Jim and the doctor.” He crossed the small entry, but after he’d stepped onto the first stair, he turned back to face her. “You needn’t worry about the door. I can let myself out.”

He had climbed three more steps when he heard the rustle of her gown near the bottom of the stairs.

“Benedict.”

He paused. Heaven help him. What was it about Caroline? All it took was one word and he was ready to go back down the stairs and attempt washing dishes regardless of how many he broke in the process. He turned again. She was standing with her hands tightly clasped, and for the first time, he noticed that they were red—not from her lingering scars but from having them in hot water for too long. “Yes?”

“When you are finished upstairs, would . . . would you be so good as to stop by the kitchen before you leave? I . . . I have something I would like to discuss with you.”

He studied her curiously. Did this discussion involve her sudden change in attitude toward him? Was it about Meg? His chest tightened. If—as her recent coolness indicated—she wished to curtail their time together, he’d rather not hear it.

“I must return to Farwell Hall soon, but if time permits, I shall come,” he said.

She took a step back. “Thank you.”

He nodded and started up the stairs again. There was not really any question. No matter the hour, he would make time for a detour to the kitchen. He was only now realizing that it had become all but impossible for him to refuse Caroline Granger anything.

* * *

Caroline scrubbed the last of the porridge off the pot before leaning back to stretch her aching muscles. She would be sore tomorrow, but she would sleep well knowing that Hester’s kitchen was put back to rights.

Coming to her feet, she pressed her hand to the small of her back and eyed the washtub grimly. Perhaps she’d best pour some of the water out before she attempted lifting it. She’d filled the tub from the kettle, and it had been unwieldy enough while empty. Attempting to carry it while filled with water was likely beyond her.

She lowered a pot into the tub, filled it half full of water, and then carried it out through the back door. A gust of wind tugged at her gown. She dumped the water at the base of a nearby bush and looked at the sky. A single drop of rain landed on her face. And then another. Her heart sank. It appeared that she would have a wet walk home.

Hurrying back into the kitchen, she scooped up another panful of water and started for the door again.

“Is this a new method of washing dishes that I have yet to learn about?”

At the sound of Benedict’s voice, Caroline started. The water in the pot sloshed upward, splashing onto her apron and the tile floor.

“Forgive me,” he said, crossing the small room in a few strides and taking the pot from her hands. “I did not mean to startle you.”

“I did not hear you come in,” she said, placing her hand over her racing heart.

“I should have announced myself better. Doctor Phillips just left, and I erroneously assumed you would have heard the door close.” He raised the pot. “Where is this to go?”

“Outside.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Where exactly outside?”

“Anywhere that can manage a little extra water,” Caroline said. “I poured the first load onto the bush to the left of the door.”

“And is there a reason for this ceremonial dumping?”