Page 8 of A Provincial Peer

“Not at all. You have been very kind.”

He inclined his head. “I hope the calves live up to Meg’s expectations.”

“Many thanks, my lord,” Caroline’s father said.

“And to you, sir. Your sermon this morning was thoughtfully given and most enlightening.” Lord Benning bowed politely and walked out of the church.

* * *

Meg Granger’s mother is Caroline Moore. The words spun in circles through Benedict’s head. How had he not ascertained that? He’d noticed the child’s unusually blue eyes. Caroline was the only other person he’d ever met with eyes that shade. And although the woman he’d spoken to in the church today had light-brown hair, as a child, her locks had been as blonde and curly as Meg’s. In fact, if he remembered correctly, Henry had occasionally called her Cora-Curly.

Perhaps he could be forgiven for not recognizing her in the yard earlier this week. He had not seen her face. Indeed, he had yet to set eyes on it. She had raised her head high enough to face him today, but the church’s poor lighting and the veil on her wide-brimmed bonnet had conspired to prevent him from seeing her clearly. Did she still have the hint of mischief in her blue eyes that he’d always rather envied? Or had motherhood brought with it a new measure of caution? And what of her husband? She had not mentioned him. Neither had he been in attendance at the church service.

Benedict guided his mount through the gates leading to Farwell Manor, racking his memory for anything he may have heard about Caroline’s marriage. His reflection came up sadly lacking. When they were young, Henry had known her far better than he had. Indeed, there had been many times when Benedict had secretly wished for the friendship they’d enjoyed. But even Henry had likely lost contact with her when he’d gone away to school. Boarding school tended to do that to early childhood friendships.

He gazed at the large stately home before him. Built of pale-yellow sandstone, the structure was impressive in its size and striking in its design, but more importantly, it was filled with warm recollections from his childhood. The ornamental urns and shrubs that beautified the front of the house were the locations of marvelous games of hide-and-seek. The large oaks lining the drive were the best climbing trees on the property, and the stables had always housed a child-sized pony until he and Henry had been tall enough to manage a full-sized mount. His parents had shown him and Henry real affection. It was a gift few of his peers could claim.

For a moment, his unexpected reminiscing brought with it a yen to reclaim those carefree, youthful years. But then reality returned. There were many things about going away to school, learning his role as the earl’s heir, and performing the duties expected of a gentleman of his rank that he did not enjoy, but he recognized the freedom those responsibilities offered him now. The freedom to be at Farwell almost anytime he wished. And the freedom to question servants when he desired information. It was a privilege he intended to exercise right away.

The stable doors came into view. His head groom, John, must have been listening for him, because he was outside, waiting to take Benedict’s horse’s reins the moment he dismounted.

“You have my thanks, John,” he said, handing the groom the leather straps. “I’ll let you take him from here.”

John inclined his head. “Very good, m’lord.”

Assured that his horse was in capable hands, Benedict made directly for the barn. He’d not seen Giles at church, which probably meant he had felt that he could not leave the cows unattended. Ignoring the advice he’d so recently offered young Meg, Benedict walked into the animal enclosure wearing his newest boots and favorite coat and breeches.

“Giles,” he called.

“Over ’ere, m’lord.” Giles’s tousled gray hair appeared above one of the wooden partitions. He opened the stall gate and stepped out. “It’s lookin’ like we’ll ’ave another young ’un by evenin’,” he said.

“The mother?” Benedict asked.

“So far, she’s managin’ right well.” Giles glanced over his shoulder at the next stall. “All the calves are comin’ along nicely. Most of ’em should be ready t’ be put out in th’ pasture by week’s end.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Benedict cleared his throat. “The calves will likely have some visitors tomorrow morning.”

Giles raised his shaggy eyebrows but said nothing.

“A young girl by the name of Meg Granger,” Benedict continued. “She’ll probably be accompanied by her mother. Perhaps even the vicar.”

Giles’s initial look of surprise disappeared. “Miss Caroline and her daughter, is it?”

“That’s right.” Benedict did not bother to correct him. No matter that she was married and had a new surname, those who’d known her as a child would be hard-pressed to call her anything but Miss Caroline.

“They’ll be welcome. Seems t’ me that Miss Caroline used t’ visit the barn ’erself all those years ago.”

“Did she come with Henry?” Even though Henry worked as the curator of natural history at the British Museum, he had always been more interested in rocks and plants than in animals.

“Not so much,” Giles said. “Used t’ slip in on ’er way to and from the big ’ouse, she did. ’Specially if we ’ad babies in th’ barn.” He chuckled. “She weren’t picky. She were just as ’appy t’ see th’ barn cat’s litter as she was t’ see th’ calves.”

“Did you know she was back in Leyfield?” Benedict asked.

“Aye. Nora, up at th’ vicarage, told me when I delivered th’ milk there last time.”

“What brought her back?” It was a rather roundabout way of asking what Giles knew about Caroline’s recent past, but it seemed more circumspect than coming right out and asking for those details.

“Nora weren’t overly forthcomin’ with details,” Giles said. “Just asked if I’d be willin’ t’ bring a little more milk and cream so as t’ ’elp ’er nurse Miss Caroline back t’ health.”