Silence held the moor in its thrall when Carrie drew in her horse. She had come out on the cold day in an effort to clear her head. At Cothaire, preparations for the holidays kept the staff busy. The most delicious smells came from the kitchen. Many of the dishes were being put into cold storage to await the feast on Christmas Day or to be given to their neighbors for their own celebrations. The house was being cleaned from top to bottom, the wood polished, the brasses shined, and the windows in unused rooms opened to air any last heat from the summer out.
She felt as if she were in everybody else’s way. She had never guessed she would experience such a feeling in the house where she had lived her whole life, even during her marriage. Maybe it was because everyone else seemed to be moving forward, and she spun her wheels in the same rut. She did not understand why she felt as she did, so she had no idea how to change.
Taking a long ride to sweep the cobwebs from her brain had always served her well, but today, not even riding her favorite horse, Marmalade, across the bare expanse of the moor helped.
Carrie scowled as she cocked her head so the wind did not rush beneath her bonnet. She heard nothing but the crackle of dead growth beneath Marmalade’s hooves and the distant crash of the sea against the shore in the wake of last night’s storm.
The beam engine had stopped.
Knowing she was breaking the vow she had made to herself after church not to get further involved in Jacob’s life, she gave Marmalade the order to go in the direction of the engine house. She found a track and urged the horse even faster.
They climbed a small hill in the heart of the moor. At the top, she drew the horse in. Shading her eyes, she looked across the open landscape to where the beam engine building rose high above everything else around it. She smiled when she saw a distant motion coming from the building. Straining her ears, she could discern a steady thump.
Not from the direction of the mine but from behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see another rider coming at a neck-or-nothing speed, his cloak rippling wildly behind him. Recognizing the rider, she was astonished the always careful Jacob Warrick was riding at such a pace. She was about to wave to him when he took an abrupt turn toward her. His black horse made the change easily.
Carrie waited for him to draw even with her. She was about to greet him when she saw his scowl.
“What are you doing out here by yourself?” Jacob asked sharply.
“Good morning to you, too,” she replied.
His frown eased only a smidgen before he asked again, “What are you doing out here alone?”
“I was riding, and I realized the beam engine had stopped. I thought I would come and see if there was anything I could do to help.” She hurried on when his eyebrows shot skyward beneath his windblown hair. “I know you don’t need me tinkering with the engine, but I thought I could get you and Pym something to eat. I halted when I heard the engine start up again.”
“Pray this time it will keep working.”
“Have you discovered what is wrong with it?”
“Yes. It is a worthless piece of junk.”
She laughed, then quickly apologized when his frown deepened even more. “I am sorry. I know the situation isn’t funny, but I did not expect you to say that.”
“Why not?” he asked in the same irked tone. “Just when Pym and I have the beam engine working well, it stalls again. My family is beginning to think I am avoiding them. I have spent more time at the mine than with them at Warrick Hall.”
“I am sure they understand more than you believe.”
He edged closer, and Marmalade suddenly seemed as small as a pony beside his magnificent horse. Looking at her, he said, “You never answered my question. You should not be out here alone.”
“You fret too much, Jacob. I have told you I have been riding across this moor since I was a child.”
“But you are no longer a child. Any man, including those with evil intentions, would notice that fact immediately.”
Heat slapped her cheeks, but she did not lower her eyes as she fired back, “You need to stop being overprotective of those around you.”
“I don’t see why when you do dangerous things like riding alone.”
“There are no highwaymen lurking about when the sun is high and there are no trees to hide them.” To halt his next comment, she said, “I do appreciate your concern.”
“Even if you think I am overreacting?”
“Yes.”
It was his turn to laugh. “Now that is an answer I did not expect.” He motioned for her to follow as he set his horse to a walk along the track. “I will ride with you to Porthlowen. The parson sent a message yesterday asking if there were any additional blankets in the attic. The need is great with winter cold arriving early. I want to let him know there are several more crates full.”
“Why did your uncle have all those blankets?”
“You met the man. I never did. If you cannot answer my question, there is far less chance that I can.”
“We probably will never know the truth, but it is wonderful the blankets are being put to good use now.” She smiled up at him. “I brought Marmalade out here to let her stretch out at a speed faster than this.” Her horse nodded as if in agreement. “Shall we?”
“Shall we what?”
“Give them their heads and see what they can do.”
His eyes grew wide again. “Are you challenging me to a race? Shadow is a very powerful horse.”
“So is Marmalade.”
“I think you are misguided in your assessment, my lady. Your horse is a fine animal, but she cannot compare with Shadow.”
“No?” She slapped her hand against Marmalade’s flank and shouted.
Her horse leaped forward in a cloud of dust. Behind her, she heard Jacob command his horse to run. All sound vanished beneath the pounding hooves on the hard earth.
Leaning forward, she let Marmalade pick the best path through the gorse. Carrie did not want to guide her into a chuckhole. A victorious shout rang in her ears as Jacob sped past on his horse. Beneath her, Marmalade added speed, clearly not ready to cede the race to the larger horse.
Her bonnet slid off her hair and bounced on her back, held on by the ribbons tied around her neck. Hairpins popped, unable to fight the wind tearing through her hair. She did not release the reins. Shaking her hair aside, she sped onward.
She could not recall the last time she had felt free. The cold wind scored her face, but she kept going, even though she knew her horse had no chance of catching Jacob’s.
Marmalade must have realized that, too, because she began to slow. Carrie drew her to a stop and dismounted. She threw the long train of her riding outfit over her arm before she stroked Marmalade’s neck and murmured what a wonderful horse she was. The horse’s ears pricked up each time Carrie spoke her name.
Jacob must have been watching, because he turned Shadow toward her. When he drew even with her again, he dismounted. “Shall I be a gentleman and call it a tie?”
“No! I beat you.”
He gave a mock scowl. “We left you far behind.”
“Oh, did you think it was a race to a finish line?” She shook her head with a superior smile. “It was a contest to see which horse could start more quickly.” She patted Marmalade’s neck. “We were the clear winners.”
“Clearly.”
They burst into laughter together.
“That was fun!” she declared.
“It was.” Slanting toward her, he ran his thumb along her cheek and grinned. “You look like Joy when she is working hard at trying to walk, rosy and happy and yet determined.”
“I have not ridden like this in longer than I can remember.” She was well aware they were in clear view of anyone else on the moor, but as his skin brushed hers, she did not care who saw them close together.
“Because you are the very responsible Lady Caroline Trelawney Dowling.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Oh, that sounds like the most boring person I can imagine.”
“I have to disagree. I find the very responsible Lady Caroline Trelawney Dowling extremely intriguing.”
His gaze invited her closer, but she began walking Marmalade toward Porthlowen. Again he set Shadow to the same pace beside her. He paused once, and she did, too, when she guessed he was listening for the beam engine. She did not hear it at first, then the deep rhythm reached her ears.
“Good,” he murmured as they continued on. “Pym is keeping it going this time. I had promised Beverly I would take them to Penzance this morning. Maybe I will be able to fulfill that promise this afternoon, though why she wants to go eight miles each way simply to look at the sea when she could visit Porthlowen is beyond me.”
“She probably wants to see as much of Cornwall as she can on her visit. I know I would want to explore as much as possible if I went to another part of England.”
His voice became grim. “She will have plenty of time to see whatever she wants to see.”
“Are they staying past the holidays?” She tried to halt her stomach from cramping at the thought that one good reason for them to remain at Warrick Hall longer was because Jacob had given into his stepmother’s plan to have him marry Miss Bolton.
“Long past the holidays.”
She scanned his face. “Does that please you?”
“That they will be here, yes, but not the reason why.” His gaze caught hers, and she saw uncertainty in his eyes. “May I confide in you? I told Emery I would say nothing to the family or Miss Bolton, so you must be as reticent with them.”
“I have spoken to Mrs. Warrick and your brother’s wife only that one time at church, though I know Maris plans to invite them to Cothaire.” She slowed her horse even further. “But I can keep a secret, Jacob.” I have been keeping my inability to conceive a secret for almost ten years.
When he related what his brother had told him, she listened without comment. She sensed Jacob needed to share with someone beyond his family, someone who would listen and confirm he was doing the right thing.
She was touched she was the one he had chosen, that he respected her insight and opinion. If their situations were reversed, she easily could imagine herself seeking him out to get his point of view on an important matter.
“I wish,” he said after outlining his brother’s situation, “Emery had come to seek my advice before he was imprudent.”
“He may not have wished to give you an additional burden, especially if he knows about the troubles you have had with the mine.”
He looked at her directly for the first time since he had begun speaking of his brother. “He knows. I have poured out every bothersome detail in my letters to him. Maybe I should not have.”
“Don’t be absurd. He is your brother, and he would want to know how you fared. Aren’t you upset with him because he did not confide his problems to you before now?”
“Carrie, you keep astonishing me with your insight. How do you do that?”
She gave him a supportive smile. “It is simple. I think how I would feel if I had to deal with the quandary. Like now, I know I would be distressed if one of my siblings faced such circumstances and I hadn’t known about it. Maybe I could not have done anything to change what happened, but I could have been there to stand by their sides and to hold them up in prayer.” She shook her head. “But I don’t understand one matter. You said the horses he bought were as fine as your Shadow. If so, I don’t know how he lost his money so quickly.”
“Nor do I, but dealing in horses is a complex and tricky business. There are, as I have heard, very unscrupulous men who will take advantage of a man as unfamiliar with horse breeding as Emery is. None of that matters now. However he managed to let the money slip through his fingers, it is gone. I am grateful he could not use the entailed property as a stake to start over and try again to succeed.”
“What will he do at Warrick Hall? He sounds like a man who wants to be useful.”
“I have asked him to learn how to work with Pym and me to oversee the engine house. I want to replace the ancient machinery at smaller mines with new steam ones, and I will need more eyes and hands to keep them running.”
“Amazing!”
“What is amazing?”
“That you plan to replace the old engines with new ones after you have had such trouble with the steam engine you already installed.”
He gave her a crooked smile. “Maybe my brother and I are not different after all. He risked everything on a line of racing horses while I invest in modern equipment to make the mines more productive and safer.”
“No one is trying to assign blame, Jacob.”
“I see now, even though I have assured him and my family—and you—I sympathize with his situation, I have been blaming him for being careless. I need to rethink this.” He gave her a smile and reached out to take her hand and squeeze it. “Carrie, thank you for opening my eyes.”
“I am glad for any help I could give you at this difficult time.” The words were trite, but the emotion behind them was not. Nor was her delight as they continued to hold hands while they followed the road to Porthlowen.
* * *
Gil and Joy were playing with Irene on the day nursery floor. Carrie was not surprised to find them alone in the nursery, because Maris had taken Bertie with her on a call to the parsonage. Raymond had been pleased to hear Jacob’s tidings about the extra blankets and arranged to send someone to Warrick Hall to collect them.
Jacob had asked to see the children, and she knew he missed spending time with them as much as they missed him. That was confirmed when Gil dropped his toys and clambered to his feet. He ran past the sleeping kitten and threw his arms around Jacob’s legs. He began firing questions at Jacob about where he had been and when he was going to take Gil to see the mine and how his cats at Warrick Hall fared.
Jacob swung the little boy high in the air. Gil crowed with excitement and begged him to do it again. Tossing him up, Jacob caught him and settled him gently on the floor.
“Do again!” Gil cried in excitement.
Irene interjected softly, “He ate not too long ago.”
“Later,” Jacob said with a conspiratorial wink.
When Gil started to pout, Carrie put an arm around his shoulders. “Have you been having fun with Irene today?”
The question diverted him, and he began talking about every toy he had played with since Carrie left him and the baby in the nursery so she could ride on the moor.
“Ac-oob!” Joy chirped as she held up her arms and bounced on her bottom in her excitement.
All of them, even Gil, turned to look at the baby.
“Did she say what I thought she said?” Jacob asked.
“Ac-oob!” Joy’s tone was more insistent as she waved her tiny hands.
Carrie chuckled. “If you thought she said your name along with a request for you to pick her up, then I would say you are right. You should be honored, Jacob. Your name is her first word.”
Wonder lit his face as he bent to scoop the baby up in his arms. Joy patted his coat before grabbing a lapel. She began to chew on it, leaving a line of drool along the dark green wool.
When Carrie reached to take his lapel gently out of the baby’s mouth, he said, “She cannot hurt it.”
“You are spoiling these children with fresh toys and fresh teething surfaces.”
“I spoil them no more than you do, I dare say.”
“Children need to be loved and to know that no matter what they do, they will remain loved.” She looked from Gil to Jacob, who held Joy tenderly. “Most especially these children who have lost so much.”
His mouth hardened before he said, “You are assuming they were loved before you found them.” He put Joy on the floor where she picked up a block and stuck one side of it in her mouth to chew on. Waiting for Gil to scurry to sit next to the baby, he took Carrie’s arm and drew her out of the nursery and beyond the children’s earshot. She understood why when he asked, “How could anyone have loved them and put them in a boat that could have sunk at any second?”
“They were loved, Jacob. I know that for a fact.”
“How?”
“There was a note pinned to Joy’s shirt. It must have been written by one of the parents.”
“You cannot assume that. I have discovered only a few of the adults in the mining village know how to do more than read and write their own name, and I doubt it is different elsewhere along the coast.”
“But you built a school for the children. They are learning to read and write. Maybe one of them wrote the note.”
He gave her a dubious frown. “Do you think any child could keep the secret of where these youngsters belong? Many people have asked. Certainly a child would have revealed the truth by now.”
“True, but if one of the parents didn’t write it, who did?”
“Do you still have the note? May I see it?”
Telling him to wait there, she went to her private rooms. She retrieved the note from her desk and took it to where Jacob now sat in the middle of the floor, much to Irene’s amusement as well as the children’s. He was trying to get Joy to say his name again, and the baby was staring at him as if he had lost his mind.
“I warned you she is stubborn,” Carrie said as she entered the nursery.
Jacob got to his feet, his smile fading. She held out the many times folded page to him. The holes where the pin had gone through it to attach it to Joy’s clothing showed more signs of wear than the rest of the page.
“Careful,” she cautioned. “This is the original one. We made copies, but I thought you might be able to discern something we overlooked by seeing the actual note.”
He unfolded the page and read the few words on it:
Find loving homes for our children.
Don’t let them work and die in the mines.
“It is very specific,” he said as he handed the note to her. “Very specific about everything but who wrote it and why.”
“The why seems obvious to me. The parents wanted the children to have a better life than they were living, and, in their desperation, they believed such an outrageous method was the way to get it for them.”
“They have achieved that goal, because your family has given the children loving homes.” He sighed. “If the parents are among my miners, I wish they had come to me before doing something drastic.”
“We can’t know where they are from until we discover who they are.”
“I promised you that I would help with your search, and I meant it, Carrie.”
“I know.” She looked at the note and the words she had memorized and scrutinized time and time again in the hope of discovering something she had overlooked before. She was unshaken in her belief it was written by the parent of one or more of the children, but she was beginning to wonder if they ever would find the children’s families.
Or, if after almost six months, they should even be trying any longer.
* * *
Jacob yawned widely as he walked into Warrick Hall. Handing Killigew his hat, he pulled off his gloves and gave them to the waiting footman before shrugging off his coat. Hours in the saddle, riding from one mine to the next and talking to anyone he chanced to see, had gained him nothing. Either nobody knew the truth about the children, or they were not telling. He was unsure which.
As the footman took his coat, Jacob turned to climb the stairs. It was an hour until tea, and he had paperwork that needed doing as well as correspondence to answer. Several peers he had never met had already invited him to functions in London after the beginning of the new year. Parliament was open, and he had a duty to be there, but did not want to leave Warrick Hall until the beam engine worked consistently.
“Jacob!” called his stepmother.
He paused as she swept into the entry foyer. When she held out her cheek, he gave her a kiss. “How are you today, Beverly? I hope you are enjoying your time here.”
“I would enjoy it more if we saw more of you.” She gave him the stern expression she had when he, as a child, had done something that disappointed her. “We did not travel here simply to be waited upon by your servants.”
“Tomorrow I should be able to spend the whole day with you.” He explained about the work awaiting him in his rooms, but did not tell her that he had spent more than an hour at Cothaire with Carrie and the children before he had set out to try to discover the truth behind the cryptic note.
“Having these obligations is why your father never wanted to be burdened with the family’s title. He always hoped his brother would marry and have a son, so neither he nor you were saddled with the duties that come with this estate.” She smiled sadly. “But you have always been the dutiful son, and I expected you to be very serious in assuming the responsibilities here.”
“Thank you.” He was unsure what else to say. Had Emery spoken to Beverly and his wife yet about them moving permanently to Warrick Hall? He wished he had never promised his brother to say nothing of the matter until Emery had a chance to talk to them. That vow made every conversation more difficult than it should be.
“But you have another obligation,” his stepmother said. “No, obligation should not be used to describe what you should see as a pleasurable interlude. Faye is waiting for you in the parlor.”
“Will you offer her my apologies? I must—”
“No. She has been patient for too long while she waits for you to spend an hour or two with her, so you can get to know each other better. You must spend some time with her.” She tapped one foot against the floor, a familiar sign she was distressed and disappointed with him. “You have not, since we arrived, and it has been almost a week. She will think you have no wish to know her better.”
He was not interested in courting the young woman, but Carrie had taught him a host must set aside his own needs and ensure his guests’ needs were met. That did not include an offer of marriage, he knew, but it behooved him to spend some time with Miss Bolton.
“Very well,” he said, earning a bright smile from his stepmother. “You are right, Beverly. I have neglected my duties to my guest.”
“I ordered a nice tea for the two of you.” She patted his arm, then gave him a gentle push toward the gold parlor.
Miss Bolton was sitting in a pose of perfect patience and elegance when Jacob entered the room. Her gown was the delicate pink of the first light at dawn, and it accented her cheeks, which were a similar shade. She had chosen, he noted, the very same chair where Carrie had sat on her first visit to Warrick Hall. Now the room was a pleasure for the eyes instead of a part of a house filled with discarded furniture and trash.
Thinking of Carrie was the wrong thing to do, though he had no idea how not to think of her.
“Good afternoon, Miss Bolton,” he said, taking the hand she held out to him and bowing over it exactly as Carrie had taught him. He sat across from Miss Bolton, exactly as Carrie had taught him. He waited for Miss Bolton to speak, exactly as Carrie had taught him.
If Miss Bolton was disappointed he did not sit beside her as a beau would, he saw no sign of it in her serene expression. He realized he seldom had seen any emotion on her face. But, he reminded himself, he had not spent any time with her.
“Thank you for taking the time to share tea with me, my lord,” Miss Bolton said in her wispy voice.
He missed the straightforward warmth of Carrie’s voice. Confound it! He owed Miss Bolton the courtesy of giving her his full attention.
“It is my pleasure,” he said. “Are you enjoying your visit to Cornwall?”
“Yes.” She folded her hands on her lap. “I would guess it is far prettier in the spring than it is now.”
“It is. Once the moor flowers in shades of bright yellow and green, it is like walking on the largest carpet you could imagine. You must come to Warrick Hall in the spring to see it.”
“Thank you. I would like that.”
Hoping she had not read more into his words than he intended, he asked if she would like to pour the tea. Carrie had instructed him about that, as well. He kept his laugh to himself. It was futile trying not to think about Carrie, because she had become so much a part of his life as Lord Warrick.
He took the cup Miss Bolton held out to him and thanked her. Silence fell between them. He searched for something to say, but what? The weather? He had tried once before, and his questions had fallen flat because Miss Bolton seemed to have little interest in what was happening outside the window. What about the young miss’s plans for the holidays? He knew them already, because the family planned to spend Christmas and Boxing Day at Warrick Hall and New Year’s Eve at Cothaire. Letting Miss Bolton direct the course of the conversation did not work when she said nothing.
What do I do now, Carrie?
He got his answer when Miss Bolton began a long story about friends and what they were doing for the holidays. As he never had heard of any of the people she mentioned, his participation was limited to nods and the occasional, “Oh, I see.” She seemed to require no more from him, and he listened with only half an ear as he began to make a mental list of the tasks he needed to do after he finished this obligatory tea.
His attention was drawn to Miss Bolton when she said, “I trust your visit to Cothaire was pleasant.” She held up a plate topped by Mrs. Trannock’s thick sandwiches. Her face was bland, but her eyes sparked with ill humor.
“Yes, it was.” He would not lie, even though her expression made it clear she was vexed.
“You visit there often.”
He took a sandwich, then asked, “Have you heard about the children who were rescued from the Porthlowen Cove?”
“Yes, it is an extraordinary tale.”
“I have become quite close to the youngest boy, who is named Gil. He has a quick and curious mind, and I enjoy his unique view of the world. Today, the baby, who may be his sister, spoke her first word. It was my name. I must say I was delighted.” He was babbling as he once had with Carrie. Since then, talking to her had become as easy as talking to himself.
“You clearly enjoy being with children.”
“Yes. Do you like children?” It was too personal a question, but he would say almost anything to keep the conversation moving forward.
“I am looking forward to spoiling my sister’s babies,” she said with more enthusiasm than he had ever heard from her.
“When the first one comes, it will be a happy day for both of our families.”
“Yes, it—” Her voice broke off, and he heard what she must have already.
Footsteps were racing along the corridor toward the parlor. He stood, curious what necessitated such speed in the house.
When Carrie rushed into the room, Miss Bolton’s brow furrowed in the hint of a frown, but her face remained as placid as before. She came to her feet as Carrie stopped and scanned the room.
Jacob’s greeting was interrupted when Carrie asked, “Is Gil here?”
“Here?” he asked. “What would Gil be doing here?”
“He is missing. I had hoped he came here.” She glanced around the room again as if she expected the little boy to be hiding behind a chair.
Crossing the room, Jacob grasped Carrie by the shoulders. “When did you see him last?”
“At least two hours ago. We thought he was napping, but he is gone.” She gripped the lapels of his coat. “Jacob, if he isn’t here, I have no idea where he might be.”