Page 39 of A Provincial Peer

“’Course, I do.” The older lady greeted Caroline with a nod. “It’s right good to see you again, Miss Caroline.”

Like Giles, Cook would always think of Caroline as Miss Caroline.

“Thank you, Mrs. Newson.” Caroline was already unwrapping the blanket around Meg. “I’m most grateful for your assistance. I must remove my daughter’s wet clothing right away.”

“There’s a towel warmin’ in front of the stove,” Cook said, “and I’ve sent one of the maids for a shift.”

“I ’ave it, Mrs. Newson.” A young girl ran into the kitchen from the stairs leading to the servants’ quarters. She crossed the red-tiled floor on hurried feet and offered Cook a simple linen garment. “I looked through all them that were clean. It’s the smallest I could find.”

“Thank you, Evelyn,” Cook said. “This will do nicely.”

“I’m most grateful to you, Evelyn,” Caroline said. “I shall return it as soon as it’s been laundered.”

The maid smiled and bobbed a curtsy. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Caroline tugged at the final corner of the blanket covering Meg, rousing her from her uneasy doze. The little girl’s eyes fluttered opened, and she stared up at Benedict. One of the maids set a pan on the stove, and the clatter filled the room. Instantly, fear filled Meg’s eyes. She blinked, and then strained to look over Benedict’s arm.

“M . . . mama?” her voice trembled.

“I’m here, darling.” Caroline took Meg’s hand. “Lord Benning is going to set you down. Do you think you can stand?”

Meg’s head moved, but Benedict could not tell if she was responding affirmatively or negatively. He didn’t ask for clarification. If she needed his assistance, he would be there. Lowering himself to a crouching position, he relaxed the arm holding Meg. She squirmed forward until her feet touched the ground. Setting her cold hands on his wrist, she pushed herself upright. Her legs trembled.

“It’s w-w-wobbly,” she said.

“It will be better soon,” Caroline said, kneeling before her. “Keep your hand on Lord Benning’s arm. He will help you.” Meg’s small fingers clutched Benedict’s sleeve, and Caroline turned to speak over her shoulder. “Can I trouble you for the towel, Mrs. Newson?”

A large, white towel appeared in Cook’s hands. “I’ll ’old it around ’er, Miss Caroline,” she said. “It’ll give ’er some privacy whilst you get those wet things off. As soon as she’s ready, we’ll wrap ’er in it.”

Benedict leaned back to allow Cook to encircle Meg with the towel. Meg still trembled, but it wasn’t long before Caroline had successfully removed the child’s wet clothing. Someone handed Caroline the clean shift. Meg released her hold on his wrist long enough to have her mother guide her arms through the dry garment’s sleeves, and moments later, Cook was cocooning Meg in the warm towel.

“My word, but you’re as brave and uncomplainin’ as your mother,” Cook said. “And the spittin’ image as well.”

“M-mama is v-very brave,” Meg said. “Sh-she t-tells me th-that every t-time sh-she k-kills a s-spider.”

Benedict thought the older lady might chuckle at Meg’s childlike pronouncement, but her expression remained solemn.

“Oh, that takes all sorts of courage,” Cook said. “Sweepin’ mice out of the kitchen is just the same. And so’s facin’ the world again after you’ve been very ill.”

Meg nodded earnestly, and suddenly, Benedict understood Cook’s subtle message. Caroline was without her veil. No one had warned Cook of Caroline’s scarred appearance, but Cook had taken it upon herself to offer a word of praise and understanding nonetheless. Appreciation for the older woman’s consideration filled him.

Caroline accepted Cook’s compassionate appraisal with a tremulous smile. “That is very kind of you, Mrs. Newson.”

“Nonsense.” Cook straightened, and Benedict could almost hear her old joints creak. “It’s the truth. I still can’t get over some of the ridiculous antics you and Master ’Enry conjured up when you were young, but I think one of the bravest was when you came marchin’ into the kitchen to ask for some raspberry tart for Lord Benning after ’e’d been sent to ’is room for slidin’ down the banister.”

Caroline wrapped her arms around Meg and smiled. “I’d forgotten all about that escapade. I’m not sure which scared me most, the impertinence of asking you for the tart or the fear of running into Lord or Lady Farwell before I delivered it to the nursery door.”

This time, Cook did chuckle. “That was the ’eight of bravery, even if Master ’Enry was standin’ at the end of the passage as watchman.”

“I’m not quite sure why you had to pay so high a price to ease Henry’s guilty conscience,” Benedict said. Now that she was out of her wet clothes, Meg’s shivering had subsided. She appeared steady on her feet and was safely in her mother’s embrace, so he rose from his crouched position and offered Caroline a teasing look. “Not that I have any complaints, mind you. I was most grateful for the smuggled offering.”

“I am very glad to hear it,” Caroline said. “It was hard earned.”

“It most certainly was. I was black-and-blue for days after that inauspicious landing in the hall.”

Taking his twisting of her meaning in stride, Caroline laughed. “That was all Henry’s doing.”

“Agreed. And since he is not here to defend himself, we shall leave it at that.”