Page 55 of A Provincial Peer

“I don’t recognize it,” Benedict said, straining to identify the elegant vehicle through the rain. “It likely belongs to a business associate of my father.”

“Whoever it is did not wait long to visit. Your parents are only just returned.”

“It’s always the same,” Benedict said. “They rarely have a full day to settle in before someone comes calling.”

He reined Saxon to a stop behind the glossy black carriage. Immediately, the front door opened, and someone wearing a hooded cloak over his footman livery hurried down the stairs toward them. Benedict dismounted and raised his arms to Caroline. “Come,” he said. “You must get in out of the rain.”

This time, she set her hands upon his shoulders without prompting. And when he lifted her down, she did not pull away. Grateful, he smiled at her. Her shy answering smile sent a rush of longing coursing through him.

“Shall I take your horse, my lord?” Wesley’s question brought him back to reality with a start.

“Yes, thank you.” He offered the young footman his reins. “And, Wesley, after you’ve taken Saxon to the stable, would you locate Giles? He should be in the milking parlor. Tell him two pints of milk must be delivered to the Simkinses’ cottage before dark.”

“I’ll make sure he knows, my lord.”

“Good lad.”

Setting his hand on Caroline’s elbow, Benedict guided her quickly up the steps and into the great hall. The butler met them with a bow.

“My lord. Mrs. Granger.”

Benedict handed him his hat, and Caroline fumbled to untie the ribbons beneath her chin.

“Is my mother in the blue salon?” he asked. It was her favorite spot in the afternoon because of the way the sunlight brightened the room.

“She is, my lord.” Stokes accepted Caroline’s wet bonnet and set it beside Benedict’s hat on the nearby table.

“Excellent. Thank you, Stokes.” Taking Caroline’s elbow again, he led her across the hall to the second door on the right. He knocked lightly and then entered the room.

It was easy to see how the blue salon came by its name. White cornice molding ran atop pale-blue walls. The heavy velvet curtains hanging at the windows were a slightly darker shade of blue and matched the two sofas situated in the center of the room. More blues appeared in various cushions, paintings, vases, and rugs around the room. Indeed, the only truly contrasting colors in the parlor were found in the gowns of the room’s current occupants. His mother was as elegant as always in pale yellow. On the opposite sofa sat Mrs. Mary Flockton. The opinionated wife of a foxhunt-obsessed neighboring baron was dressed in lavender. Her two vapid daughters, who were seated on either side of her, were in white and cream respectively.

“Blast it all.” Benedict’s muttered exclamation was surely loud enough for Caroline to have heard it, even if the other women in the room had not.

“It seems we have found the owner of the mysterious carriage,” Caroline whispered.

“I’m afraid so.” Kicking himself for being in such a hurry that he’d not asked Stokes about their visitors, he summoned a polite smile and raised his voice to a normal level. “I beg your pardon, Mother. I did not realize you had guests.”

“Benedict.” His mother welcomed him rather too warmly. “And, Caroline. How lovely to see you. Do come in. You must join us for tea.” She gestured at the other sofa. “You remember Mrs. Mary Flockton and her daughters, Miss Marjorie Flockton and Miss Ruth Flockton. Ladies, this is Reverend Moore’s daughter, Mrs. Caroline Granger. She is recently returned to Leyfield from Portsmouth.”

The ladies had come to their feet. Benedict bowed, vaguely aware that Caroline had dropped into a curtsy beside him. “It’s very nice to see you again,” he lied.

“It has been far too long, my lord.” Mrs. Flockton’s smile set his teeth on edge. “You have not attended any of the recent dinners or dances in the area, even though your mother tells me you have been in residence at Farwell Hall for months.”

It was an all-too-familiar accusation, and Benedict was not willing to take the bait. Indeed, he was not even willing to continue the pointless small talk. “I’m afraid Caroline and I cannot stay, Mother. We must speak to Cook about a rather urgent matter. We shall come back when you are free.”

“You wish to speak to Cook?” His mother appeared suitably confused.

“Yes.” He bowed and offered Caroline his arm.

She set her hand upon it, obviously as ready as he was to leave.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Flockton was disinclined to let them go. “Do you intend to stay long in Leyfield, Mrs. Granger?” she asked.

It was the first time the lady had addressed Caroline, so Caroline turned to face her. “I have no fixed plans at present, ma’am.”

Mrs. Flockton’s response was an audible gasp. “Oh, you poor dear! Your face has been completely ravaged.”

Benedict had completely forgotten that Caroline was without her bonnet. Perhaps since her focus was on their quest to help the Simkinses, it had slipped her mind too. But with this jarring reminder, her fingers dug into the damp fabric of his jacket sleeve, and like puppets responding to the marionette master’s tug, the Misses Flockton’s heads swiveled to openly stare.