“You made a complete jumble of your chances with the earl’s daughter.” Yelland chuckled as he leaned one shoulder on the doorjamb at the entrance to the engine house. He wore a superior smile, revealing several missing teeth.
“Is that so?” Jacob gave one more tug with the wrench, then stood as the beam engine started moving again. “I think that is it, Pym.”
From a floor above where he knelt, he heard Pym’s faint reply. He leaned back, watching the beam engine in its steady dance through the building, the metal arm catching the light from the rising sun.
Refusing to be ignored, the mine captain said, “While you were fixing this machine, she was out walking with the village doctor. Arm in arm, all cozy-like.”
“And you saw this with your own two eyes?”
Yelland faltered, then mumbled, “Well, no.” He rallied, crossing his arms over his chest. “I heard it from someone who saw them with his own eyes.”
“Therefore, you have no idea what the circumstances truly were.” Jacob did not want to discuss Lady Caroline with Yelland.
“But she was with the doctor.”
Jacob sighed. Yelland clearly did not intend to give up on the subject. “That is not unusual. Lady Caroline cares for the people of Porthlowen. She might have been going to visit someone who was ill.”
“With a babe and a boy in tow?”
Keeping his expression bland, he said, “You are asking me to speculate on gossip, and I will not, especially as neither you nor I witnessed the events.”
“Thought you would want to know, seeing as how you have been visiting Cothaire and the lady.” He shrugged. “If you don’t care, then why should anyone else?”
“Exactly.”
His terse answer cracked Yelland’s arrogance. The mine captain had not expected Jacob to agree with him. It was a skill Jacob had learned when dealing with recalcitrant students and his family. During their youth, his brother, Emery, had often refused to give up on an argument even when it clearly should have been over. As soon as he could, Jacob would concur with one of Emery’s less outrageous statements, and the quarrel would have to end.
Yelland opened his mouth once, then twice and a third time before he stamped out. The door slammed so hard in his wake the wood panel vibrated.
Jacob paid it no mind. Yelland was becoming more troublesome with each passing day, always looking for the opportunity to incite a brangle with Jacob or to cause foment among the miners. Why? Jacob had no answer.
As he turned to see the beam rocking overhead, he frowned. The many breakdowns raised his suspicions. He looked past the rail. The pumps brought up water from the mine shaft again. The system was simple. To have it fail over and over was infeasible.
Unless someone was damaging it intentionally to create trouble.
A troublemaker like Yelland, perhaps.
Pushing away from the rail, he turned to his assistant. “We did it again, Pym. You have a real nose for finding what ails this engine.”
The shorter man preened. “Glad to be of help.”
“Nobody knows this engine as well as you and I do.” He clapped Pym on the shoulder.
“Not Yelland, that is for sure.” Pym’s mouth contorted as he spat out the mine captain’s name. “No matter how much he loiters around here, he will never be able to learn everything about this beam engine.”
“I agree, but I also want you to start training someone else in keeping the beam engine going.” When his assistant’s face blanched, he added, “Not Yelland. Find someone with an interest in machinery.”
Did Pym suspect the mine captain was involved in the engine’s failures, too? Jacob wanted to ask, but, until he had more information, he needed to keep his suspicions to himself.
“But I can handle her as well as anyone else,” Pym argued. “Better!”
Jacob did not smile at how Pym always called the engine “her.” Instead, he nodded as he picked up a discarded cloth and wiped his hands on it. He threw the rag in the barrel with the other trash. It was tempting to think of doing the same with Yelland.
“Let me know if there are any more problems,” he said, grabbing his greatcoat.
“Are you returning to Warrick Hall?”
He was about to say yes, then shook his head. “I need to stop at Cothaire first.” He owed Lady Caroline an apology for missing his lesson yesterday.
Pym nodded before turning to watch the beam engine.
As he pulled on his coat, Jacob realized he needed to change out of his clothes that were covered with stains from his long hours of work. He could not appear before an earl’s daughter covered with oil and sweat.
He knew better, even before his first lesson in deportment. Yes, that was the reason he wanted to look his best when he appeared at Cothaire. He wanted to believe it, but could not ignore how something gnawed at him each time he imagined Lady Caroline and the doctor strolling with only a toddler and an infant for chaperones. Not that they would have a chance to do anything untoward, because they were on the oft-traveled path between Cothaire and the village.
He was being absurd. Lady Caroline was a diamond of birth, and she would not do something to risk her and her family’s reputations. He must not allow Yelland’s words to poison his mind.
* * *
The house was busy with its usual routine when Caroline reached the ground floor after leaving Gil in the nursery to have breakfast with Bertie. When Irene had offered to look after Joy as well, Caroline had agreed. Trying to eat while keeping small fingers off her plate was a futile exercise. Aromas of breakfast urged her to hurry to the breakfast-parlor, and she gave into temptation. Something to eat and a steaming cup of coffee would fortify her for the day ahead of her.
No one else was in the breakfast-parlor. She was glad to see the windows now had glass in them. The room had been dark with wood put over the windows in an attempt to keep out the cold November air. Food waited on the sideboard, steaming and smelling delicious. As she entered, a footman appeared to fill a cup with coffee and place it where she usually sat each morning.
She selected what she wanted from the covered servers. Eggs, sausage and some toast. Perhaps a bit of jam, as well. As a young woman, she had starved herself in order to look like the illustrations in pattern books. She had given up before she met her husband, and John had never complained she was not as thin as a stick. To own the truth, her clothes would soon need to be taken in if she kept losing weight. Chasing after a baby who could crawl unbelievably fast and a little boy who was even quicker had melted inches off her.
She had seated herself at the table when Baricoat opened the door and walked in. He no longer carried his left arm at a stiff angle, and she was glad it had healed despite his insistence he would not take any time away from his duties. After one attempt to suggest he rest, the household had given up, knowing he found the very idea he could not fulfill his duties while he had breath in his body inconceivable.
“Lord Warrick wishes to speak with you, my lady,” he said.
Caroline hid her shock. “Show him in.”
If the baron had come to apologize, she would remind him the lessons had been his idea. He was welcome to change his mind, but she expected him to let her know. Her whole afternoon had been planned around his visit.
And if he had been here, I would not be the source of speculation about Mr. Hockbridge courting me.
She silenced the thought. She could not blame Lord Warrick for others’ misconceptions...or even her own. Had Mr. Hockbridge intended his escorting her and the children to the village to be the first step in a courtship? No matter how many times she replayed the events in her mind, she could not be certain. If he truly thought she was interested in him, she must let him know immediately he was mistaken. To speak of it before she was certain, however, could lead to embarrassment for both of them.
The doctor vanished from her mind when Lord Warrick appeared in the doorway. Her breath caught as she took in the sight of him. His navy blue coat was so dark it appeared black. The yellow waistcoat he wore beneath it was embroidered with white and green in an intricate pattern. Pale cream nankeen breeches ended in the brightly polished boots that rose to his knees. From his well-tied cravat to the tips of his toes, he looked every inch the peer he was.
The very handsome peer he was.
Realizing she held a piece of toast partway between her plate and her mouth, she lowered it. She looked away, aghast. She should not be staring at him like some awestruck miss gawping at her first soirée.
“May I come in?” he asked.
“Of course. Would you like some coffee?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Rising, as a footman poured a cup and set it in front of Lord Warrick, she went to the sideboard and spooned a generous portion of food on to a plate. She let the steam from the serving pieces wash up over her face. If she appeared as flushed as she felt, she could blame the food’s heat.
She returned to the table and handed him the plate. After he thanked her, she sat again. “Please, sit.” She smiled her appreciation to a footman who replaced her cup of coffee with a fresh one. “Go ahead and eat, my lord. I suspect you have not broken your fast yet this morning.”
He bowed his head for a moment to say grace, then reached for a fork and pushed a generous portion of the eggs on to a piece of toast. Taking a large bite, he repeated the motions twice more in rapid succession. He closed his eyes in obvious appreciation. Opening them, he hesitated as he was about to take another bite.
“Do not let me keep you from eating,” Caroline said with a smile. “With two brothers, I am accustomed to hearty appetites.”
“I did not come here to eat but to apologize for failing to arrive for my first lesson yesterday. I hope you understood why from the message I sent.”
“Message? I received no message from you.”
He set his fork beside his plate. “You didn’t? I asked for a messenger to come here and explain why I would not be able to call as we had planned. I should have checked and made sure the messenger was sent. My only excuse is the same as the reason you were supposed to hear from the messenger—the beam engine continues to fail.”
“More problems with your new steam engine?”
“Both Pym, my assistant, and I have plenty of knowledge of such engines, but neither of us have been able to ascertain why it fails to run as it should. We fix each problem after we find it. I am thankful that Pym has a real ability to pinpoint the trouble.”
She heard his frustration in every word. Lord Warrick was not averse to hard work. He could have left the day-to-day running of the mines to the miners, as his uncle had, but instead, he spent long hours, week after week, ensuring their safety.
“Do you think you have solved the problem now?” she asked.
“One disruption does not seem related to another. Random failures, but nothing bad enough for me to make the decision to replace the unit.” He sighed. “That would be a last resort, requiring me to close the mine for at least a month while a new steam engine is shipped here and installed. I find...” Emotions flashed through his eyes so quickly she could not gauge them.
“You find what?”
“That I am prattling as if I had enough tongue for two sets of teeth.” He shook his head. “I despise silly clichés, but it fits me today.”
“But what did you find, my lord?” she asked again.
“If this is a lesson in manners, you can change the subject as you did with the Winwood twins at church. I know I am obsessed with machines and how they function or don’t. I find most people fall asleep if I talk too long about my work.”
“But you should talk about it. Father taught us it did not matter which topics interested us. Whatever they are, we should pursue learning more about them, no matter what.”
A sincere smile edged across his expressive face. “You are very kind, my lady.”
“Not simply kind. I am being honest. Who knows what I might learn if I listen to you? The teacher can be a student, as well.”
“True.” He began eating again, then looked up. “I hope your father is well.”
“Why do you ask? Oh, you heard about Mr. Hockbridge walking the children and me to the village.” She shook her head with a wry smile. “Even though I have lived my whole life in Porthlowen, I am amazed at the speed of gossip. Mr. Hockbridge was here to check on Father, who is doing well, and—”
“You do not owe me an explanation.”
“My words were not intended as an explanation, but a recital of the facts. Repetition can wring any truth out of gossip.”
He flinched, even though she had answered him in her gentlest voice. In many ways, this intelligent man was naïve. Living in his academic world had meant him failing to learn about how other people acted.
As if she had spoken her thoughts aloud, Lord Warrick said, “Thank you for reminding me of what I have learned too well. A small town has nothing on a university where young men can spread gossip more swiftly than they do an ague.”
“That is fast.” She laughed.
When he chuckled, too, he changed the subject to the work underway at Warrick Hall. He planned to hire artisans to do the final work, but some of the miners and their families were glad to do the necessary demolition in exchange for a fair wage.
At last, he pushed aside his empty plate. “Shall we start?”
“On what?”
“My lessons.” He gave her a teasing smile. “I have not given up on the idea of bettering myself.”
Caroline nodded. “If you have time after our lesson, I know the children would be pleased to see you. Gil has drawn a picture he wants to give you. He tells me it is a kitten, so, please, act as if you can see exactly that.”
“I appreciate knowing ahead of time. I would not want to hurt his feelings.”
“So, which aspect of etiquette do you wish to start with?”
“Paying calls. I made a muddle of it, I could see, when I came here the day of the explosion.”
She stood, and he came to his feet, too.
“Don’t look startled, my lady,” he said. “I do have basic manners.”
“I know that, of course. If I appeared surprised, it is because my thoughts were already moving ahead.”
When he nodded and motioned for her to continue, she was relieved he had failed to see that she was not being completely honest. Her thoughts were moving forward, but not to the lesson. As she had seen him standing across from her on the other side of the breakfast table, she had—for the length of a single heartbeat—imagined how it would be to have a handsome, intelligent, witty man like him sitting across from her each morning. No, not like him. Him.
Not that it ever could come to pass, but for a brief moment, she had savored the idea.
Caroline pushed the foolish fantasies aside and instructed Lord Warrick to pretend the breakfast-parlor door was the entrance to a London townhouse. As he stood in the corridor, she drew a chair away from the table and sat. She was, she explained, sitting in her front parlor and ready to receive guests.
He grinned uncomfortably as he knocked on the molding. “Like this?”
“Yes. The door opens. When you come into a house, a servant should greet you.”
“A footman?”
“Yes,” she repeated. “If we were in London, the footman would expect you to present a calling card.”
Lord Warrick’s gaze rose toward the ceiling as if seeking heavenly help, and, grinning, he shook his head. “A calling card? Why can’t I tell the footman my name, the name of the person I am visiting, and find out if he or she is in?”
She laughed, but halted when he frowned. Did he think she was laughing at him? In a way, she was, she realized. She swallowed the rest of her laughter. “I am sorry, my lord, but you shall find the logic of a mathematician you hold dear has little bearing on the rules governing behavior among the ton.”
“Then I am doomed.”
“Do you always give up easily?”
His eyes narrowed. “I do not give up, Lady Caroline. Neither easily or any other way. Don’t my efforts to keep the beam engine running prove that?”
Holding her hands up in a pose of surrender, Caroline said, “I retract the question.” She began to outline how he should present his card. “We will discuss more complex aspects of calling card etiquette later.”
“More complex?”
“You have no idea.”
With a terse chuckle, he said, “That is what I want you to teach me. It seems as if there is more to learn than I imagined.”
Caroline continued to walk him through what he should do. She explained how a person could be in the house when one called, but was said not to be at home if not receiving guests. She told him the days someone was at home were general knowledge during the Season. Some peers intentionally chose a time that overlapped a rival’s.
“I had no idea people were so competitive in Town,” he said, shaking his head in puzzlement.
“The Season is a race, and prizes go to those who compete the hardest. The best matches, the largest marriage settlements, the greatest prestige, the most political clout at Whitehall and beyond.” Her smile returned. “Which is the reason why I chose not to return after my first Season there.”
“And you had found a match here.”
“Yes.”
“It must have been a shock to the ton when an earl’s daughter married a sailor.”
She knew he did not mean to be cruel as some had when her banns were announced. There had been whispers she had anticipated her vows and was pregnant with John’s child. Others suggested the child belonged to someone else, and her father had bribed John to marry her to give her baby a name. Knowing those were the people who always sought the worst in any situation in order to make themselves look better, she had tried to pay the comments no mind. Still, they had hurt.
“It was.” She added nothing more.
He came into the breakfast-parlor and over to where she sat. Dismay lengthened his face. “Forgive me. I should not have reminded you of your greatest grief. I know how painful it is to lose someone you love.”
The urge swept through her to throw her arms around him and hug him as another stone fell from the wall she had built around her heart. What a kind man he was! He thought her silence was because of sorrow at John’s death.
“Thank you.” She flicked her fingers toward the door before she could no longer fight the yearning to have his arms around her. “Let us continue.”
“As you wish.”
Watching him return to the door, she wondered if he had spoken of the loss of his parents or someone else. She could not ask. Having him tell her might dismantle the protective walls they both kept around their hearts.
Caroline forced such thoughts aside as she began the lesson anew. She spoke of what he could expect upon being invited into a house. When she mentioned a footman would take his hat, gloves and coat, he grinned.
“Now I understand,” Lord Warrick said, “why your footman sounded as if he were trying to loosen a clog from his throat when he followed me that day. He had expected me to surrender my outerwear upon my arrival.”
“Yes. Now...” She gestured for him to step into the room. “Let’s assume you have been brought to a lady who lives in the house. You might be calling on her, or she is receiving you if the person to whom you wish to speak is delayed. What do you do?”
He walked to her. When she laced her fingers together, making it impossible for him to take her hand, he asked, “What am I doing wrong now? I thought I was supposed to bow over the lady’s hand upon greeting her.”
“You are, but only after she offers her hand to you.”
“Oh.” His face lengthened and paled, making the healing cut on his cheek more obvious.
She patted his arm. “Don’t look crestfallen. Surely you have had students who make errors, and you helped them learn not to do so again.”
“Yes, but on paper.” He gave her a wry smile. “I dare say I cannot recall the last time a piece of paper was offended.”
“True.” Holding out her hand, she said, “Once a lady has extended her hand, you may take it and bow over it, raising it slightly if you wish. Do not lift it too high, because you don’t want to pull her up off her chair or her feet.”
He did not take her hand. “What of kissing a woman’s hand? When is it appropriate or expected?”
“You would if you were very familiar with the lady and knew that was her preference. Otherwise, you are wiser simply to bow over her hand.” She nodded toward her hand. “Why don’t you give it a try?”
He reached out, and she noticed the many scars on his knuckles and his hands. They were hands belonging to a man who used them for hard labor. For the first time, she wondered how he managed to keep fixing the steam engine at the same time he must oversee the rest of his estate. No wonder he had not turned his attention to Warrick Hall until he learned of his family’s upcoming visit.
When he took her hand in his, thoughts of his family, the beam engine or anything else vanished from her mind. She seemed surrounded by him, even though he stood an arm’s length from her. His eyes caught hers as he bent toward her, and everything else in the room faded into oblivion while sweet sizzles spread outward from his hand. He touched only her fingers, but she was as aware of every breath he took as her own.
Lowering her eyes, she drew her hand out of his. That broke the connection between them. She came to her feet and laced her fingers together in front of her.
“How did I do?” he asked, pushing up his spectacles.
“Do?” Her voice was unsteady, and she wondered if he had even felt the sensations she had.
“Did I bow over your hand properly?”
“Yes. Yes, you did fine.” She forced a smile, but it refused to stay on her lips. Glancing in his direction, she added, “I must ask you to excuse me. The children expect me.”
“I thought you wanted me to go with you to see them.”
“Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?” She was babbling, but she could not halt herself. “I forgot which day it is. We are supposed to go to Susanna’s house, so Gil and Joy can play with the twins. Forgive me for not seeing you out.”
“When should I return?”
“What?” Her brain seemed incapable of a single thought. How had an ordinary touch unnerved her so deeply?
“For my next lesson. When do you wish me to return?”
Knowing she should not answer when she had her back to him, she faced him. He wore an easy smile. He saw her as his teacher, someone to explain the intricacies of etiquette. Nothing more. She was the one whose mind had sent her spiraling out of control when he bowed over her fingers.
“It probably would be best if I talk to my brothers about what you should learn. I don’t want to make any mistakes.” As I did when I let you take my hand.
“As you wish.” Disappointment filled his voice.
She felt awful. She could not blame him for her silly reaction to his touch. “Why don’t you give me a day or two to talk to my brothers? Does that make sense?”
“Yes,” he said, though with reluctance.
Thanking him for coming to Cothaire and asking him to have any questions on etiquette ready for the next time they met, she hurried from the breakfast-parlor. A day or two? Would that be enough time to get her emotions under control? She wondered it was even possible, even if she had a lifetime.