When Jacob arrived early at Cothaire for another lesson more than a week later, he was eager to tell Carrie that the furniture she had selected was out of the attic. It had been a greater task than he had guessed to get the largest pieces out through the windows and on to the rope attached to the pulley, but with the help of the men he had hired from Porthlowen, the job had gone well.
He asked the butler to have him announced to Carrie. He was surprised when the family’s butler said that the earl wished to speak with him first. Surprised and unsettled. What could the Earl of Launceston want to say to him? He had met the man only a few times, because the earl suffered from gout, which kept him confined for days at a time to his rooms.
The only way to discover what the Earl of Launceston wanted was to follow the butler to a door. Jacob hid his astonishment. Usually, he knew from his few lessons with Carrie, a footman would be responsible for that task. Clearly the butler considered the duty important enough to do it himself.
When the door opened, Jacob realized he had been in the room before. He had spoken with the earl’s heir briefly there, and at that time, he had taken note of little about the room other than the huge portraits of horses and hounds on the walls. Other smaller pictures were scattered between them. It was a room meant for men, and the faint smell of tobacco suggested it was one where they could raise a cloud without bothering the ladies.
He noticed all that in the moment before he looked at the earl, who sat by the tall windows. The earl’s dark hair, which he had bequeathed to his children, was woven with gray. His face was finely wrinkled, especially around his eyes, which were a peculiar shade of silver. That suggested he was a man who smiled often and easily, but his expression was serious.
“Lord Warrick,” the butler intoned as if Jacob had initiated the meeting and his arrival were a surprise.
Jacob decided to ask Carrie about the butler’s actions later.
“Thank you, Baricoat,” the earl said, his voice deep and resounding.
The butler nodded and bowed his head before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.
“Sit, Warrick.” The older man chuckled. “Despite what my children may have told you, I am no ogre.”
“No one suggested you were,” Jacob said quickly before realizing that the earl was jesting. He dropped into a chair close to the earl’s.
“I can ring for tea, if you are hungry,” the earl said, “but I am told that Caroline intends to include serving tea among her lessons with you today.”
A heated flush climbed out of Jacob’s collar. With Carrie, he could forget how silly it was for a grown man to need a tutor. He heard no disparagement in the earl’s voice, but talking about the lessons made him uncomfortable.
“No need to look embarrassed, young man.” The earl leaned back in his chair and pyramided his fingers in front of his face. “Any man who stops trying to better himself is a fool. I realize your uncle did nothing to prepare you for the role you have been given. You should be commended for your efforts.”
“Actually, your daughter is the one who deserves praise. She is very patient with my fumbling attempts to absorb what she is trying to teach me.”
Once more the earl laughed, and Jacob relaxed, pushing his spectacles into place yet again.
“My children can be quite single-minded when they have a goal. If I know my eldest, she will soon have you ready for court.”
“I would rather avoid that honor.”
“I understand completely, but are you planning to attend Parliament? Your uncle stopped going long ago, even though he received many requests to make an appearance. I know you did not know Maban Warrick, but he was a man who made his own rules and cared little about anyone else’s.”
Jacob nodded. “That is what I have heard of him.”
“What I have heard about you, young man, suggests you are making excellent progress updating your mines.”
“Thank you.”
“It was sad to see your uncle pay less and less attention to the mines and the miners as his health and mind faltered. He did not leave Warrick Hall for the last decade of his life, and he received no one but his mine captain for the final five years.”
“I did not know that.” He wondered why nobody had mentioned this to him.
“From what my daughter has told me, I thought that might be the case. Your uncle was a broken-hearted man. He never recovered from the loss of his betrothed.”
“I did not know he was ever betrothed.” He thought of the cradle Carrie had discovered in the attic. Had his uncle had it made when he believed he would wed? “How did his betrothed die?”
“You would know that answer better than I because his betrothed married your father.”
His eyes widened. He had no idea his mother had chosen one brother over the other. So much about his reclusive uncle suddenly made sense. Why would Maban Warrick want to provide support for the family of the woman who had married his brother instead of him?
“I did not realize,” the earl said, “this would be a surprise for you.”
“My father never spoke of his brother, and my mother died when my brother and I were fairly young.” He wondered if his stepmother knew about the family’s past.
“If I had known that, I would have been more tactful in mentioning the rift between Maban and your father, Austol.”
“I appreciate knowing the truth.”
“Good. From what I have heard of you, I thought that might be the case. Now tell me about your plans for Warrick Hall. Caroline mentioned that you are trying to prevent its further decline.”
Jacob outlined what he intended to do. The earl interrupted him with suggestions for repairs Jacob should consider. When the earl changed the subject to the past in western Cornwall, Jacob thought of his own father entertaining them with stories in their cramped cottage. Neither he nor his brother had felt the pinch of poverty when Father had them laughing at his tales of someone he had met or something he had seen.
Not once had Jacob sensed the terrible loss his father must have felt every day of his life after he won the heart of his brother’s betrothed. How did you overcome it, Father, and live your life? He lowered his head and changed the anguished question to a prayer to his heavenly Father. Help me overcome the loss that haunts me, so I can live the life You want for me. I cannot believe You wish me to be mired in grief and guilt. Show me the way.
He opened his eyes and focused on what the earl was saying about long-ago visits to Warrick Hall. In his mind he could hear Carrie urging him to have faith. He must while he waited for an answer to his prayer. He hoped it would come soon.
* * *
Carrie admired the arrangement on the bedside table. A trio of books were stacked next to a glass lamp. Draperies of the same green hung beside the two windows that reached from the floor almost to the ceiling. The books were histories of Cornwall she had found in a musty book-room. If Jacob’s family was anything like him, they would enjoy reading such titles. She was pleased the tomes had aired out enough so she could place them in the bedroom.
Even a week ago, in spite of her words to bolster Jacob’s hopes, she could not have imagined how Warrick Hall would be ready by the time his family arrived. The servants she had hired on Jacob’s behalf had been a huge help with shifting furniture and cleaning. She had found other workers willing to paint the handful of rooms that had to be finished in time for Jacob’s guests.
The gold parlor, a small dining room, a withdrawing room for the ladies and enough bedchambers were ready for Jacob and his family. Along with the corridors connecting them, the rooms had been emptied, scrubbed and redecorated. New mattresses had had to be obtained, because, despite the three cats’ best efforts, mice were found nesting in every one.
The past fortnight had passed in a blur of getting Warrick Hall ready for guests, continuing Jacob’s lessons, and spending time with her family enjoying the first weeks of Advent. She was relieved that Maris was handling the preparations for the annual New Year’s Eve open house at Cothaire. Her sister-in-law had fewer and fewer questions for her each day, and Arthur was stepping with far more ease into the role as Cothaire’s host as he prepared to take on that task for the open house as he had many of Father’s other obligations.
“Ah, here you are.” Jacob came into the bedchamber. He nodded to the maid who was folding freshly laundered blankets and placing them in the chest under the window, then smiled at Carrie. “You have worked wonders.”
“I hope you don’t mind that I took some paintings from the attic and brought them into the bedrooms. With the new bedcoverings and draperies, the bare walls looked stark.”
“You didn’t bring any of the grim ancestors, did you? I fear they will give guests nightmares.”
Laughing, she said, “No, I selected ones I thought would be soothing rather than frightening.”
“The smartest thing I did was to give you carte blanche. Without your help, I would probably still be standing in the attic trying to decide where to begin.”
“I doubt that.” She adjusted the lamp, then appraised the tableau again. “What do you think?”
“It looks fine to me.”
“I thought the books would appeal to your family because they are not familiar with Cornwall. The county has had an interesting history.”
“Beverly is not much interested in history.”
“I shall look for something else to put on the bedside table for this room.”
He waved aside her words. “That won’t be necessary. I doubt she will do much reading anyhow. She prefers conversation to words on a page.”
“Of course, it is necessary.” She wagged a playful finger at him. “Jacob, as the host, your only thoughts should be on the comfort and needs of your guests. Every minute of their visit.”
“Is that what you do when I call?”
She laughed. “You are at Cothaire enough now to be considered a family friend. I noticed you addressing my siblings by their given names after you joined us for dinner last week.”
“These ‘Lord This’ and ‘Lady That’ started getting tiresome.”
“Wait until you go to London. You shall have ‘Lord This’ and ‘Lady That’ and ‘Sir So-and-So’ and ‘His Grace’ as well as ‘Her Grace’ everywhere you turn.” She paused, then asked, “Are you going to London for the Season?”
“I doubt it. As I am not looking for a wife now and I have pressing duties here, I see no reason to go. Are you thinking of going up to London yourself?”
“Me?” She shook her head vehemently. “No, thank you. I am beyond that nonsense. I prefer spring in Cornwall.” Appraising the room again, she said, “This is set. The maids will keep dust out. If you allow the cats to continue to wander in here, they should make sure none of the mice return.”
“Beverly would not appreciate that.” He smiled. “My stepmother is a tolerant woman. Of most things, but mice are not among them.”
“I am looking forward to meeting her.”
“You will when they arrive.”
“No, not then.” When he started to protest, she hurried on. “Jacob, this is your first time being the host for your family since you became Lord Warrick. You don’t need me nearby to make you nervous. You have learned so much, and it is time for you to put those lessons to work. In addition, you have not seen your family in many months. You will want time to be together.”
“Miss Bolton will be here, and she is not part of my family.”
“She is part of your brother’s family. Also, Jacob, your family will be fatigued after their long journey. They will not wish to be put on display for your neighbors.”
“You are right.” He gave a terse laugh. “As you always are on these matters. Do you have any advice on making them feel at home?”
“Act as you always have with your family, and that will put them at ease. As for Miss Bolton, you must let her direct the course of your conversations. That is what a gentleman does when he is spending time with a young lady.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before? I have not always let you lead the direction our conversations go in.”
She slapped his arm with a chuckle. “Jacob, you and I are friends. We talk about what we talk about. It is not as if you are courting me.”
Walking out of the bedroom so he had no chance to reply, she pointed out the changes she planned for the corridor. She was relieved when he approved each one, including the pale yellow she wanted to paint the walls above the wood paneling that probably had been installed when Queen Elizabeth ruled Britain.
“How is Gil?” Jacob asked, abruptly changing the subject.
“Did you see him and Joy downstairs?”
“No. I didn’t realize they were here.”
She peeked into a room as they passed and was glad to see it had been painted the light blue she had picked. Turning to Jacob as they continued along the hallway, she said, “Gil asked to come because he hoped to see you and thank you for the tool board you made for him. He has been having a wonderful time with it.” She had been almost as delighted as Gil when Jacob had brought him a gift on his most recent visit to Cothaire. On the board, Jacob had affixed bolts and nails connected with twine. “He loves loosening the nuts, and I found him using a shoe to pound on the nails.”
“He is supposed to pluck the twine to make sounds.”
“He prefers loud noises like the smack of a heel against the nails.”
“That sounds like a boy.”
“Several times,” she said as they continued along the corridor past the other bedchambers, “he has asked if we could visit your engine house. He has heard everyone talking about it, and he wants to see it.”
“Is he interested in science?”
She paused and faced him. “Maybe he is, but he wants to spend time with you. Perhaps we could arrange a time for him to visit.”
“I would be honored to give the children a tour.” His expression darkened. “Carrie, I must admit that I have done little to help in your search for the children’s parents. I have asked some of the miners, but they have not been able to tell me anything new.”
“I appreciate you talking to them. Someone knows the truth, and if we keep asking, someone may err and reveal it.”
“I will do my best.”
She almost reached out to put her fingers on his arm as she would have to anyone else she wanted to thank, but kept her hand by her side. “I know you will. Jacob, may I ask another favor of you?”
He rested one shoulder against the wall. “After everything you have done to help me, I would be a cad to say no. What can I do to help you?”
Had he moved away from her slightly because he had sensed she was about to touch him? Or had he guessed that she had restrained herself? Either way, she needed to change the subject to one less personal than her children.
“Would it be possible for you to bring the children from the mining village to the Porthlowen church so they can be part of our Christmas pageant? We are sending a wagon from Cothaire as well, but it won’t be big enough to hold all the children who want to come.”
His easy expression faded. “Won’t they want to join in the celebrations at the church closer to the mines?”
“There is nothing being planned for children this year there. Mr. Minden still is feeling poorly, and spending extra time in a cold, damp church could make him sicker. Raymond offered to have the children come to the Porthlowen church, so Mr. Minden can concentrate on regaining his health before the worst of the winter cold arrives.”
“I think that is wise. Do you think I should give Mr. Minden a look-in to see if he needs anything?”
She shook her head. “He would feel obligated to play host because you control his living. If you want to send him your good wishes, ask Mr. Hockbridge to deliver them. He mentioned to the Winwood sisters that would be the best way to let Mr. Minden know we are praying for him. The sisters spread the word.”
“Mr. Hockbridge and the Winwood sisters have created a very efficient communications system.” His words sounded clipped. Was he bothered about rumors about her and the doctor? The talk would not stop, and she had felt everyone’s eyes on them when she greeted Mr. Hockbridge after church yesterday.
Jacob should know better. She had made it clear in every way that she had no interest in remarrying. Even if he failed to remember that, he should have seen for himself that she had no time for wooing while helping him and overseeing the children.
Her own voice was taut when she replied, “But you have not answered my original question. Can you provide a cart to bring children from the village to the Porthlowen church to practice for our Christmas pageant?”
“Of course, I will have someone drive the children to Porthlowen.”
“Oh, I thought you might want to bring them yourself. We could use some help with making a stable to put in front of the altar.”
Color slapped his face, and he looked out the window beyond the stairwell. Was he trying to avoid her eyes? “I will help where I can, but I don’t want to make promises I cannot keep. If I am needed at the mines, I will be unable to help you. It would be better if I have Howell drive the children and help you at church. He is a good lad.”
“Thank you. I appreciate you finding someone else when you will be busy with your guests here.” She said the words automatically, but not the ones she wanted in order to ask further questions. What about driving the children from the mining village to Porthlowen had set him on edge? And why was he trying to hide the truth?
* * *
Jacob sensed Carrie’s disappointment, and he yearned to tell her that the idea of him handling any vehicle filled with passengers made his stomach roil with guilt and shame. What if something went amiss as it had when he had driven out with Virginia on that ice-slicked road? Recently, a cart from Cothaire had lost a wheel on the road between the mines and the cove. Fortunately, no one was hurt.
“However,” he said, as if his thoughts remained sanguine, “I do hope you don’t mind if I pay a visit to watch at least one of the practices.”
“That would be delightful. Gil and Joy will be there, and, as you know, Gil is always eager to see you.”
Only Gil? he wanted to ask, but refrained. Carrie had been wonderful helping him with Warrick Hall and teaching him what he needed to know to fit in with the Beau Monde. He needed to respect her desire to spend time with the children and her family.
“They are in the parlor,” she continued when he said nothing. “Do you have time to see them?”
“Go ahead. I have to check one thing, and I will meet you there.”
When she nodded and went down the stairs, he curled his fingers into a fist on the banister. Frustration burned inside him like a torch. He ached to tell her the real reason why he could not bring the children to the Porthlowen church, but he could not endure the thought of her regarding him with the disgust that twisted his gut.
He was still waiting for an answer to his supplication. He had lost his way since the night Virginia died. He could see that now, but he had no idea how to find his way to the life God expected him to live. Would he stumble through the rest of his days without being able to come to terms with the past?
The sound of the children’s happy voices drifted to Jacob, and he stepped away from the banister and his dark thoughts. Going to the room where he had discovered Carrie working, he sent the maid to the kitchen with a message for one of the footmen. She curtsied and rushed off to do as he bid.
By the time Jacob reached the parlor, Lawry, one of the recently hired footmen at Warrick Hall, was waiting with a crate from the attic. He motioned for the footman to follow him into the parlor.
Carrie sat with Joy on her lap and Gil at her feet. The picture of a happy family in front of the hearth. When had that last been seen at Warrick Hall?
Lawry set the box on the floor and handed Jacob the pry bar balanced on top of it.
Nodding his thanks before Lawry took his leave, Jacob smiled at Carrie and the children. “Who wants to see what is in here?”
Gil let out a squeal and jumped to his feet.
“What is it?” she asked, putting her arm out to block Gil from running to the box.
“It is marked toys. I found it in an area near the eaves which we have only begun to explore. As most boxes in that area have been labeled accurately, I assume this one is, as well.” He slipped one end of the pry bar beneath the lid.
Pressing, he gritted his teeth when the top refused to move. He shoved again, and the top rose with the squeal of nails reluctantly pulling out of the wood.
“Wait,” Carrie said as Gil tried to slip past her.
Grinning, Jacob said, “You are as curious as the children are about what is in the box, Carrie.”
Relief ironed out the threads of stress in her forehead. He wanted to apologize for upsetting her, but doing so would require him to explain the reasons he acted as he did.
“Aren’t you?” she fired back.
“Yes!” The word became a shout of triumph as the last nail gave way, and the top came loose. It spun into the air before falling onto the crate. “Stay away. I will get whatever is inside out.”
Gil started to protest but halted when Carrie pointed to the rough edges and reminded him about a splinter he had gotten earlier in the fall.
Jacob leaned the lid against the wall. He knelt by the box and pulled out the straw on top. It was not, he was glad to see, filled with mold. If there truly were toys in the crate, they might not be ruined.
He felt fabric and brushed the straw away to reveal two handmade dolls lying side by side. What child had last played with them? His uncle and his father? Or had they been packed away even longer than that?
“What have you found?” Carrie asked.
“Two dolls.”
Gil’s button nose wrinkled. “Dolls are for girls!”
“Are you sure you don’t want to look at these?” He drew the dolls out.
One was female and the other male. Their faces were painted on leather aged to a deep tan. From the man’s hat, he guessed they had been made more than a generation ago. Both wore cloaks, the woman’s once must have been a bright red, but had faded to a shoddy pink. The man’s had weathered time better and was as deep a green as Miss Ivy wore. Their clothes were simple, as befitted peddlers. Their wares hung from their clothing, as well as a string stretched between their leather hands. Tiny pots and loaves of bread looked as real as any sold at a kitchen door.
Gil cooed with excitement when Jacob handed him the male doll. He began clicking the pots together, but dropped the doll to the floor when Jacob lifted out a handful of tin soldiers. The flat figures once had been brightly colored, but most of the paint was gone. Of the dozen Jacob set up on the floor, only one had a face.
That did not matter to the little boy. He began lining the figures up in a row. When Jacob handed him a tin horse, he giggled with anticipation. He picked up a soldier and held it on the horse. The platform at the base of the soldier’s legs kept him from straddling the horse, but Gil’s imagination clearly had taken care of that problem.
“Is there anything in there for Joy to play with?” Carrie asked.
“How about this?” He pulled out a brightly painted wooden top.
When Carrie set Joy at the edge of the rug, he spun the top. The baby bounced on her bottom with glee. She put her hands out to it, then pulled back when the top slowed and fell on to its side. Her face screwed up, but he was unsure if she was disappointed it had stopped or frightened. Hoping it was the former, he twirled the top again. She giggled with renewed excitement.
He pushed aside the remaining straw. “There is a Noah’s ark along with some picture books and, of course, blocks with the alphabet on them.” He set the toys on the rug, then picked up the crate and carried it out of the room.
Suddenly, he yelped. Two of the fingers on his right hand looked like a hedgehog with splinters poking out of them. He tried to pull the longest one out, but the fingers on his left hand were too clumsy.
Slender fingers reached past his at the same moment that a tendril of dark hair glided along his cheek. “Let me,” Carrie murmured as she tilted his hand to get a better view. “Oh, my! You grabbed those splinters by the handful, I see.”
“I never do things by halves.”
“I have noticed.” She stepped away and asked him to sit by the window where the light was best. Sending Wherry to get a needle from one of the maids, she thanked him when he returned moments later.
Jacob’s hand was throbbing from the splinters, but that pulse centered in his throat when Carrie sat beside him on the window bench, took his hand, and settled it on her lap. Grateful that she could not see his expression as she leaned over his fingers to remove the slivers, he breathed shallowly. Each breath was scented with a delicate fragrance from her hair.
“Ouch!” he gulped.
“I am sorry,” she said. “There are only a few more. Do you need a pause?”
“Go ahead.”
She bent over his hand again. In less than a minute, she said, “There. That was the last one.”
“Thank you.”
“You are welcome.” She raised her head.
His uninjured hand curved along her face as he gazed into her soft blue eyes. A man could melt into such eyes and lose himself forever. She was lovely, and her heart was giving, always leading her to think of everyone else around her before she thought of herself.
He tried to ignore a tugging on his sleeve, but it grew stronger. When a thread snapped, he tore his gaze away from hers to see Gil pulling on his shirt.
“Ouchie?” asked the little boy. “Kiss and make it better?”
How tempting it would be to answer that question with a resounding yes! A kiss from Carrie would make him forget about the pain in his fingers. He drew away, knowing a kiss would complicate everything else between them. It would suggest a promise he could not make to her or any other woman. Not when he had not come to terms with the part he had played in Virginia’s death.
He forced a smile and held out his finger to the little boy, making sure it was one that had not been sliced by a sliver. When Gil gave it a loud kiss, Jacob thanked him. He turned to say the same to Carrie, but she had already set herself on her feet and moved away.
He should be grateful that at least one of them had the good sense to recognize the danger of him giving into his craving to hold her.
But he was not.