Page 51 of A Provincial Peer

“’E took a fall out o’ one of th’ old apple trees,” John said.

“I was prunin’ th’ dead wood, not realizin’ th’ very branch I was sittin’ on was ready t’ go.” Jim winced, and the other two men guided him toward the chair. Gingerly, he lowered himself onto it. A bead of sweat appeared along his hairline, and when he set his hands upon the armrests, they were shaking. “Many thanks, lads.”

“Oh, Jim.” Hester reached his side and was openly weeping.

“It’s all right, Hester,” he repeated. “As long as yer fine with an ’usband who’s missin’ ’alf ’is teeth.”

“I don’t care ’bout yer teeth any more than you care ’bout my scar. I jus’ need ya with me.”

In Caroline’s arms, the baby stirred. Whispering a gentle “hush,” Caroline increased her rocking. She’d been without her bonnet ever since she’d entered the cottage, and not one of these decent people had given her a second glance. Jim’s bloodied face was so much worse than her scarring. And at the time of her injury, Hester’s had likely been even more disfigured. How much she could learn from these good, simple people who placed so little stock in physical appearance.

Another knock sounded on the door. Caroline was closest. Without hesitation, she went to answer it.

“Doctor Phillips!” The village doctor had been a good friend to her father for years. How he’d come so quickly, she could not fathom; neither could she deny the relief it was to have him there.

He peered at her through small, round spectacles, confusion evident in his expression. “Miss Caroline, isn’t it?”

“It is.” She ushered him inside and offered him a simple explanation. “I returned to the vicarage after my husband passed from smallpox.”

He tutted. “Your father mentioned as much the last time I saw him. A terrible disease, as I’m sure you can attest. I pray every day that Dr. Jenner’s cure will amount to something.”

Caroline had never heard of Dr. Jenner or a supposed cure for the disease that had changed her life forever, but though the doctor’s comment piqued her interest, this was not the time to question him about such things. “Mr. Simkins just arrived home,” she said, gesturing toward the parlor.

“A bad fall is what Lord Farwell’s man said.”

“Yes.” Had it been Lord Farwell or Benedict who had sent for the doctor? Regardless, she was grateful. “With multiple injuries.”

Doctor Phillips tutted his tongue again and entered the parlor just as Robbie decided to let out a wail.

Offering the baby her knuckle to suck on, Caroline removed herself to the kitchen. “Give your mama a minute to talk to the doctor, little fellow,” she murmured. “I promise, she will take you soon.”

Chapter 18

Clouds were rolling in. Benedict reined Saxon to a halt outside the Simkinses’ cottage and eyed the sky warily. The storm that had brought moisture during the early-morning hours was long gone, but the light breeze suggested another one was coming. Already, the warm afternoon temperatures were lowering. He’d best make his visit short, or he’d be returning to Farwell Hall in the rain.

Dismounting quickly, he tied Saxon’s reins to the gate post. There was no sign of the farm cart, but a horse and trap was parked nearby. If his father’s message had reached Doctor Phillips, it was likely the physician’s vehicle. Benedict hoped he was correct. He also hoped the doctor had good news to share. Walking briskly up the short path, he knocked on the door. A baby cried, and footsteps sounded within. Moments later, the door opened.

He blinked. Had his inability to fully remove Caroline from his thoughts all day reduced him to this? A vision of her standing in the Simkinses’ doorway, wearing an apron, with her sleeves rolled up and her hands dripping with water? He blinked again. The vision remained unchanged. “Caroline?”

“Good day, Benedict. Have you come to see Jim Simkins?”

“I have.” He rubbed the back of his neck a little too hard. There was no doubt about it. He wasn’t dreaming. “May I ask what you are doing here?”

“Washing dishes,” she said. His shock must have shown, because her guarded expression softened a fraction. “Hester needed the help.”

“Of course.”

“Would you like to come in?” she asked.

“Yes.” He groaned inwardly. She must think him every kind of idiot for standing like a confounded statue on the doorstep.

She stepped aside to allow him entry.

“Thank you,” he said.

She nodded stiffly. “Your men helped Jim to his bedchamber before they left. Doctor Phillips is with him still. Hester is feeding the baby in the adjacent room.”

“And you are washing the dishes.”