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Benedict turned a page in the ledger. “And now, on to the cows.”
“As you can see,” Rowe said, pointing to the page Benedict had turned to, “milk production has been up for the last month.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
“And as of this afternoon, we have three new calves.”
“Yes. I was at the barn earlier.” Memory of the birth he’d recently witnessed flooded back. “We are fortunate that Giles was around for the latest one.”
Before Rowe could respond, a knock sounded. Both men turned to face the door as the Farwells’ butler, Stokes, entered the room.
The butler inclined his head politely. “I beg your pardon, my lord, Mr. Rowe. One of the farmhands just arrived at the house. It seems that Lord Benning’s presence is required at the barn.” Rowe gave Stokes an irritated look, but the butler remained marvelously unperturbed. “I was told that it was a matter of some urgency,” he added.
Benedict glanced out the window. Gray clouds were rolling in, and if Giles had sent for him, his earlier prediction of a storm and more births was proving true; another cow was likely in distress, and he had limited time to change into his working clothes. “My apologies, Rowe.” He started across the room. “We will have to schedule another day to go over the things we have missed.”
“As you wish, my lord.” Rowe’s clipped tone belied his accommodating words. “Although, might I suggest that the hiring of two more milkmaids be done without delay?”
It seemed to Benedict that the imminent threat of the river flooding the north pasture and the prompt procuring of fruit trees were more pressing matters than bringing on additional milkmaids, but in the interest of time, he gave a brisk nod. “If you deem it necessary to bring on additional milkmaids, I leave that in your capable hands. We shall revisit the other issues this time next week.” If he were fortunate, his parents would return soon, and he’d be able to relinquish this tedious job to his father. He gestured toward the open book. “Leave the ledger. I shall look over everything in the intervening days.”
Rowe inclined his head. “Yes, my lord.”
Benedict passed the butler at the door. “See Mr. Rowe out, if you would, Stokes. And have the farmhand tell Giles that I shall be there forthwith.”
Chapter 3
Music filled the small church, bouncing off the wooden rafters and filling the empty crevices in Caroline’s heart. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she added her voice to those around her. Her father’s sermon had been filled with hope and peace. The scripture readings had been uplifting and the prayers sustaining. But it was the singing that had conveyed a feeling of homecoming so warm and so real that she’d felt the prick of tears. No matter how difficult the road ahead, she was where she was meant to be.
Meg stood beside her, barely able to see over the pew in front of them but staring in rapt wonder at the stained-glass window behind the altar. On Meg’s other side, Nora was singing loudly and off-key. Caroline bit back a smile and focused instead on blending her voice with the rich baritone coming from the other side of the aisle.
The second verse began, and the man’s voice swelled. Unable to contain her curiosity, Caroline tilted her head slightly to see past her bonnet’s wide brim. The magnificent singing was coming from the pew reserved for the Farwell family—a pew that currently had only one occupant.
The gentleman was tall. His dark hair curled over the collar of his white shirt, and his broad shoulders filled out his finely cut black coat rather too well. Caroline could not see his face, but he appeared too young to be Lord Farwell, and she’d heard that Henry had married and now resided in Shropshire when he wasn’t in London. Besides, it stood to reason that if Henry were visiting Farwell Manor, he would attend church with his wife. Caroline eyed the gentleman one more time before lowering her gaze. He was no longer scrawny, and his voice had most certainly dropped in pitch since last she’d heard it, but the gentleman had to be Benedict.
When the final prayer of the Sunday service was read, members of the congregation began filtering out from between the narrow pews, down the central aisle, and through the open door into the churchyard. Caroline waited for the rush of people to exit ahead of her before slipping into the aisle. Her father approached from the front of the church.
“That was a wonderful sermon, Father,” she said, kissing his cheek lightly.
“Thank you, my dear.” He smiled at Meg. “And what did you think of it, young lady? From where I was standing, you appeared to be behaving very well.”
“That window is magical,” Meg said, pointing to the stained-glass window behind them. “It keeps changing colors.”
Her father faced the window. “It is rather wondrous, isn’t it?” He gave Meg a kindly smile. “I am glad of the reminder. I don’t often see it from this side of the church.”
Caroline reached for Meg’s hand, but before she could fully clasp it, the little girl gasped, slipped past Caroline, and darted down the aisle.
“Mr. Bent!” she called.
The dark-haired man approaching the church doors stopped. He turned. And Caroline’s heart dropped to her feet. Dear heavens, it could not be. How had she not recognized the gentleman in the yard at Farwell Farm? He’d been dressed in the clothing of a farm laborer, she was sure of it. And his face . . . She swallowed. She hadn’t raised her head long enough to look at it, let alone recognize it. But now, there could be no mistake. Mr. Bent was Benedict. Or more precisely, Lord Benning.
Lord Benning’s gaze settled upon Meg, and he smiled. “Well, if it isn’t my dandelion-gifting friend, Meg. I did not realize that you were at church today.”
Meg nodded vigorously. “Did you see the magical window, Mr. Bent?”
At her daughter’s second use of the inappropriate name, Caroline was roused from her horrified stupor. “Meg.” She hurried toward them. “This gentleman is Lord Benning. You must not call him Mr. Bent.”
Meg looked at her with confusion. “But I’m not cross with him.”
At Lord Benning’s soft chuckle, Caroline’s face flooded with warmth. Could this encounter worsen any further?
