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Her father stepped closer, and with a tender look in his eyes, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “It will be well, Caroline. I trust Lord Benning to be mindful of your situation. His kindness to Meg is a good thing; his long-standing friendship with you will buoy your flagging confidence and, as such, is an even better thing.”

Chapter 11

Benedict crossed the north pasture toward the river, a blanket tucked under one arm and a toy sailboat in each hand. Shep trotted alongside him, ears pricked and alert to the distant sounds of lowing cattle and birds. At Benedict’s other side, one of his footmen, Wesley, carried a small pile of towels and a long pole with a fishing net attached to one end. The towels were a precautionary measure. Benedict had no desire to get wet, particularly in the cold river, but experience told him that the chances of escaping that fate while racing toy boats were virtually nil. For that reason, he’d also donned his work boots, along with a pair of tan breeches and a navy jacket that could withstand a dousing.

“This spot will work nicely,” he said, spreading the blanket out beneath a tree whose branches hung over the river. “Set the towels here, Wesley, and then you and I will walk a little farther downstream to determine where the race should end.”

The young footman deposited the towels on one corner of the blanket. Benedict placed the boats beside them, and then the two of them and the dog began walking along the riverbank. The water was back to its normal level, and even though it was likely six or seven feet deep at its center, the river was not much more than two feet deep at its banks. Benedict eyed the shoreline approvingly. The shallower water was just the right depth for a boat race.

They reached a fallen tree. A portion of the trunk lay over the river, the branches appearing as a tangled mass beneath the surface of the water.

“Chances are, the boats will become caught in the branches if we let them get this far,” Benedict said. He turned back the way they’d come and pointed to a large rock jutting out of the bank. “I say the first boat to pass that boulder is declared the winner. That gives us a yard or two to catch the boat before it reaches the downed tree.”

“Very good, my lord.” Wesley set the pole on the grass. “Can’t say that I’ve ever gone fishing for sailboats before, but they can’t be as hard to catch as minnows, can they?”

Benedict grinned. “I certainly hope not. But given the job ahead, I’m glad to know you are an experienced fisherman.”

This activity was definitely beyond the normal scope of the footman’s work, but Wesley was a country lad and had barely batted an eyelid when Benedict had handed him the long pole with the net attached.

“Lord Benting!” Meg’s voice reached him from the gate.

Benedict turned to see Caroline latching it closed behind her. He started back toward the blanket. Meg was already running toward him, her floral frock fluttering around her legs. Caroline followed at a more sedate pace. She was dressed in a blue gown, and its simple cut suggested that she, too, had chosen to wear something that could bear getting a little wet. Her straw bonnet shaded her face, but as she drew nearer, he noticed there was no veil attached, and his heart lifted to know that she’d made that choice of her own volition.

“Good afternoon!” he greeted them warmly.

Shep bounded over to Meg, his tail wagging.

“It’s Shep!” Meg laughed delightedly.

“Be careful, Meg,” Caroline warned.

Benedict raised his fingers to his mouth, but before he could issue a commanding whistle, Shep’s forward momentum stopped, and he dropped to his haunches in front of the little girl. With his tail yet wagging furiously, Shep gave a welcoming bark. Meg patted the dog’s head. Shep sniffed her hand and then gave it a lick. Meg giggled, and with bemusement, Benedict lowered his arm. It appeared that his so-called working dog had fallen under Meg’s spell as quickly as he had.

“Good afternoon.” Caroline reached him. Spotting the boats on the blanket, she smiled. “Those diminutive vessels look familiar.”

He chuckled. “They do seem smaller than they used to, don’t they?”

“Yes. Although spending time at the harbor in Portsmouth has probably influenced my perspective too.”

“Undoubtedly.” He picked up the boats. “Which color would you like, Meg? Red or blue?”

“Um.” Meg gazed at the boats, seeming to take the decision very seriously. “I think blue.”

“Good choice,” Caroline whispered.

Benedict raised his eyebrows in mock consternation. “I beg your pardon. The red boat and I have something to prove, and we intend to do just that.”

Caroline laughed, and he was doubly grateful that the veil was gone so he could see the amusement on her face.

“Meg and I accept the challenge, my lord.”

“Excellent.” He pointed to Wesley, who had remained by the pole a few yards downstream. “You see my footman there?”

Caroline nodded.

“We’ll set the boats in the water here, and the first one to pass the boulder near Wesley’s feet is the winner. Wesley will then use the fishing net to draw them out of the river—hopefully, before the boats encounter the tree limbs.”

“What? No wading in after them?” Caroline teased.