by Jo Ann Brown
Lord Warrick opened his mouth to reply, then nodded. “You must promise me, my lady, you will not allow your fervor to entice you to enter the mines.”
“There is nothing in the world that would compel me to go even a step into the mines.” She shuddered at the thought of creeping into the deep shafts, leaving light and fresh air behind as the fear of rising water stalked every breathing moment.
“Good.”
She looked at Joy, who clung to her shawl. For a moment, she considered remaining at Cothaire to soothe the children. Irene, the nursery maid, loved them, and they returned her affection. She would ease the children’s fears.
“I will be only a few minutes,” she said. “If you don’t mind waiting, my lord, so I may ride in your carriage...”
“I came here by horseback.” He took a step toward the door, clearly anxious to be gone.
“I will not slow you once I have a horse saddled.”
Her brother said, “I will arrange for horses, Carrie, and get the supplies gathered while you settle the children. Give me a hand, Warrick?”
She followed them out of the damaged room. In the hallway, where paintings were askew on the walls, Arthur put Gil down. She took the little boy’s hand and went as quickly as his short legs could manage toward the stairs. She glanced back to see her brother and Lord Warrick hurrying in the other direction.
She wondered what they would find when they reached the mine high on the moor. Please, God, watch over us especially closely today.
* * *
Halting his horse in the shadow of the beam engine house, Jacob looked at the scene in front of him. The three-story tall building with its brick chimney was not silent, a good sign, because the pumps worked to lift water from the mine shafts deep below the ground. The rhythmic thud of the beam engine was unbroken. If a shaft had collapsed, the area would have been filled with desperate relatives and others trying to make a rescue.
The miners’ wives and daughters swept glass in front of the terrace houses where they lived. He had repaired rotten roofs and cracked foundations, then had both the exteriors and the interiors whitewashed. New floors had been put in where needed, along with strengthening unsteady staircases. Now, every window he had replaced after his arrival at Warrick Hall was probably broken.
When he frowned, it felt as if a hot poker pressed to his skin. He ignored it. What could have gone wrong? Had he made another mistake that had led to the explosion? He pushed that thought away, not wanting to imagine someone else dying from his failure to pay attention to what was going on around him, as Virginia Greene had because he did not notice the road was icy.
A child shrieked.
Lady Caroline jumped down from her horse. She reached up to her brother for the bag of medical supplies he carried. He handed it to her. She called to a nearby lad to take her horse’s reins.
The boy, his eyes wide, scurried to obey.
“Can you keep my horse from wandering away?” she asked with a gentle smile. “I don’t want it to get injured.”
He nodded, then squared his narrow shoulders when she thanked him as if he were the answer to her dearest prayer. Pride and purpose battled on the lad’s face as he raised his chin, clearly ready to do his duty for her.
Jacob watched a miner step forward to take the heavy bag she carried. The man grinned broadly when she asked him to follow as she hurried to where the women had gathered around a crying child. Every request Jacob made to these stubborn Cornishmen and their women was met with reluctance and often outright defiance. A single smile from Lady Caroline, and they were as docile and eager as a litter of puppies.
“It is a gift she has always had,” Lord Trelawney said as he moved his horse closer to Jacob’s. “She cares so much about others they cannot help but care about her.”
“How did you know what I was thinking?”
“You are not the first to stare in disbelief.” He arched a brow. “I admit I envy her that ability, especially when a couple of tenant farmers are about to come to blows over a matter that could be handled by cooperation.”
“You should take her with you to ease the anger.”
Lord Trelawney smiled. “Trust me. There have been a few times when her help saved the day.” Glancing around, the viscount became serious again. “It does not look as if the explosion occurred here.”
He turned his horse past the engine house and away from the village. “I hope I am wrong, but I suspect the explosion came from this direction.”
“Why?”
“Come with me, and you will see.” He did not want to make any accusations until he had facts.
They did not have to ride more than a quarter of a mile. Across the open moor where even the gorse had lost its bright blossoms with the coming of winter, soot marked where a fire had flared. A few men stood at one side of the blackened earth, beating out low flames.
A tall, thickset man rushed toward them. As he looked at Jacob, he wore his usual sneer. He started to speak, then glanced at Lord Trelawney. Whatever he had intended to say ended in a sharp gulp.
“Yelland,” Jacob asked as he swung off his horse, Shadow, which shied nervously at the strong odors from the smoke, “what happened?” He knew, too well, from what he could see in front of him, but he wanted to hear the mine captain’s explanation.
Paul Yelland had held that prestigious title and the duties of overseeing the men and the mines since before Jacob’s arrival. Jacob let him continue, but was growing more disillusioned with the man’s character and abilities. Yelland preferred evading work. As well, he had made no secret of his lack of respect for the new baron, though Yelland was intimidated by Lord Trelawney.
“It went off,” Yelland said, staring at his feet.
“What went off?” asked Lord Trelawney as he dismounted.
“Gunpowder, my lord,” Yelland replied with an obsequiousness he never showed Jacob.
Lord Trelawney rounded on Jacob. “You are making gunpowder this close to your mines and village? Are you mad, Warrick?”
Jacob kept his voice even. “We are not making gunpowder here. I would never put the miners and their families in such danger.”
“Then what—?”
Knowing he was being rude but determined to deal with the matter himself, Jacob looked at Yelland as he said, “If you will excuse us, Trelawney...”
“Yes, certainly.” Curiosity burned in the younger man’s eyes, but he nodded. Patting his coat as if making sure something important was beneath it, he added, “I need to check the nearby farms and Porthlowen. I trust you will share what you discover with Carrie before she returns to Cothaire, so she may inform Father.”
“Yes, certainly,” he said, using the viscount’s own words. “I will see she arrives safely home.”
Trelawney startled him by laughing. “She has been riding along this moor and the seaside since she could walk.” He glanced toward Yelland and the other men who had gathered to listen. “However, I appreciate you escorting her to Cothaire.”
Wondering what the viscount had sensed from the miners, Jacob nodded as Trelawney mounted and rode across the moor in the direction of the ancient farm foundations. Nobody in the area could be unaware of the multitude of troubles with the mines. His attempts to update them had brought more problems. The beam engine required constant vigilance and failed time after time. Whenever it stopped, water had to be pumped out of the shafts before the miners could return to work. Was it simply the new beam engine had inherent faults, or was there a more sinister scheme behind its many problems?
Jacob shook that thought from his head along with his curiosity as to why Trelawney was riding in the opposite direction of his closest farms. He had enough to deal with right now. Being distracted was something he could not afford again, not after a young woman had lost her life because of his inattention.
“Tell me what happened, Yelland,” he said with the stern tone he imagined Trelawney would use. “Now and quickly.”
The mine captain stiffened but replied without his usual, self-important tone, “We decided to test the gunpowder to see how useful it would be when we next need to cut new shafts.”
“Without alerting anyone?”
“We figured we were far enough away.”
“You blew out windows at Cothaire.”
Faces paled on the men behind Yelland, but the mine captain stood with his chin jutted toward Jacob, as if asking for a punch to knock him off his feet.
One of the men, a miner named Andrews, whispered, “The old earl? Was he hurt?”
“As far as I know, no.” Jacob knew the miners esteemed the Earl of Launceston, who had provided for the miners and their families when his own uncle had failed to in the months leading up to Uncle Maban’s death. “The house was damaged, and the family and their servants were terrified.”
Yelland folded his arms over his chest. “A few broken windows seems to be the worst of it.”
Jacob was irritated by the man’s attitude. Remembering the horror on Lady Caroline’s face and the children’s fearful cries, he fought his rising temper.
“How much did you detonate?” he asked.
“All of it.”
Shock stole every word from Jacob. He was tempted to ask Yelland if he had lost his mind, but the answer was obvious. “Was anyone hurt here?”
“We took shelter in the old stone circle.” Yelland fired a glance at the men behind him. A warning, no doubt, not to complain of any injuries.
One man was cradling his left arm in his right hand. Another was trying to staunch a bloody nose. Several pressed a hand against their ears, and he suspected they rung from the explosion’s concussion. The fools who had assisted Yelland could have easily been killed, and he could see they knew it.
“Clean up this mess. Make sure the remaining fires are put out. Once you are done here, come to the village. There are a lot of windows to be boarded up as well as plenty of shattered nerves to be soothed.” He glanced around at the scorched moor. “And don’t forget to thank God you are alive. He has been merciful today.”
The men behind Yelland nodded, knowing what Jacob said was true. They hurried to follow his orders. After glaring at Jacob another moment, even the mine captain walked away.
Remounting, Jacob did not have to urge Shadow toward the village. The horse was eager to put the stench of fire and destruction behind him. The fine-boned Arab, a gift from Jacob’s brother to commemorate him becoming a baron, could challenge the ever-present wind from the sea. It had been too long since Jacob had found time to ride neck-or-nothing on Shadow, but he could not give the horse his head now. He must return to the village to examine the damage more closely.
He sighed as he drew in Shadow near the engine house. Before he had come to Cornwall, he had envisioned his life at Warrick Hall would be one of ease, where he could enjoy racing his powerful horse any time he wished. What a witless air-dreamer he had been!
Jacob scanned the crowd. In its center, Lady Caroline was tending a little boy’s hand while a long line of others waited for her attention. She spoke softly to the child, too softly for Jacob to hear her exact words as he dismounted again and lashed the reins to the building’s railing. Her tone was clear, however. She was offering comfort as well as trying to win a smile from the child. She succeeded before a woman took the little boy’s uninjured hand and drew him aside so another hurt child could take his place.
As he walked toward the crowd, no one paid him any attention. Every eye was focused on the earl’s daughter.
Even his. Lady Caroline’s round face was alight with caring. Strands of her ebony hair curled along her cheeks and accented her gentle smile. She wore a patched apron she must have borrowed from a miner’s wife, but it could not detract from her elegance. Somehow, she combined grace with a warmth that made the villagers feel comfortable around her.
As he did.
He had not expected ever to be at ease in the company of a woman after the terrible night that changed his life. However, from the first time he had met Lady Caroline, she had treated him with kindness.
“What happened to you, sweetheart?” Lady Caroline asked the little girl standing in front of her.
The child, who could not be much more than six, held up her right hand. Tears washed down her cheeks, and her lips trembled as she spoke. “Hurt my finger.”
“I see.” Dipping a cloth into a bucket, she dabbed gently at a small cut on the girl’s finger. She spoke in a soothing tone while she bandaged the finger. Again, by the time she was finished, the child was smiling.
Lady Caroline noticed him and straightened. Asking a woman to bring more boiled water, she assured those waiting for attention she would return in a moment. Only then did she walk toward him.
“How do they fare?” he asked above the noise from the beam engine.
“There are no serious problems. Mostly small lacerations. The worst injuries are twisted ankles or wrists when someone was knocked to the floor.” She glanced toward the terrace houses. “With your permission, I would like to ask Mr. Hockbridge to pay a visit here to confirm there are no broken bones.”
“Thank you.”
She looked past him. “Where is Arthur?”
“He decided to check on some of your tenants.”
“Have you discovered what caused the explosion?”
“Gunpowder.” He explained what Yelland had admitted to before adding, “They were overeager to discover if they could use it in the mines.”
Her brows lowered in concentration, as her brother’s had, and she folded her arms in front of her. “They had gunpowder without you knowing?”
“I knew, but I intended they test only a small amount under my supervision. Before I allowed even that, I would have informed your father.”
“But such explosions are dangerous.”
“Rest assured, my lady, I have experience with detonating chemicals.”
“I thought you were at Oxford before you came here.”
He smiled for only a second as pain sliced his cheek. “Actually I was at Cambridge. I taught mathematics and physical sciences. I supervised many experiments with my students.” He clamped his lips closed, wondering why he was babbling about matters that probably were of no interest to an earl’s daughter.
“I should have known you would be cautious, even if your mine captain was not.”
He appreciated her faith in his good sense. He wished he could trust it, as well. Once, he had been sure he would make the right decision in any situation. No longer. If his brother had not come upon the broken carriage the night of the accident as Jacob fought to hold on to his consciousness, Virginia might not have been the only one to die.
Jacob realized Lady Caroline had gone on speaking and was giving him an overview of the damage inside the terrace houses. He almost groaned, because it was more extensive than he had guessed. The ones closest to the explosion were unsafe, and he would need to find temporary homes for those who lived there.
“If they do not mind,” she was saying when he focused on her words again, “we have some empty buildings about a mile from here. Not cottages exactly, but they have roofs and doors.” A grin eased the tension on her face. “Best of all, they have no windows.”
He could not keep from returning her grin, though the expression tugged at his sore cheek once more. “If those in Porthlowen who have lost windows wish to present me with a bill for the replacement glass, I will reimburse them.”
Lady Caroline unfolded her arms and nodded. “That is generous of you. I will ask Raymond to take an accounting in the village, and then we will send the list to you.”
“Thank you.” He hoped the parson woul
d be as forgiving. “And you should include any windows damaged at Cothaire.”
“That will not be necessary.”
“It is. I—” His frown sent a heated pulse of agony across his face, and his fingers went to his cheek. Foolish! Another wave of pain rushed over him as new wetness rushed beneath his fingertips.
Shock riveted him when Lady Caroline grasped his shoulders. She steered him to sit on the engine house steps. She bent and gripped his chin, shocking him again. Tilting his head, she said, “You are bleeding.”
“It is barely more than a scratch,” he asserted, even though every change of expression seared his cheek.
“Those explosions happened an hour ago, and your face is still bleeding. It is more than a scratch. Take a deep breath.”
That was his only warning before she yanked the piece of his handkerchief off his face. He yelped but bit his lip to silence any further reaction as she called for someone to bring her medical supplies to her.
She leaned toward him, one foot on the first step. “That cut is as long as your forefinger, and it runs from below your spectacles to the top of your lip. Your glasses may have saved your eye.”
A woman rushed over to them. She dipped in a quick curtsy as she handed a small basket and a pail to Lady Caroline.
Thanking her, Lady Caroline dipped a rag in the bucket of steaming water. “This will sting,” she warned.
That was an understatement. The soft fabric brushed his face with liquid fire. He clamped his teeth together and stared straight ahead as she cleaned the wound. He winced when she dabbed the skin closest to the cut. When she started to apologize, he waved aside her words and lifted off his glasses, holding them on his knee. “Do what you must, my lady.”
He drew in a deep breath of some sweet scent he could not identify. It came from her gentle fingers. He sat as still as he could while her fingers flitted about him as quick and soft as butterfly wings. Strands of her ebony hair fell forward and brushed his ear in a tantalizing caress as she spread a cooling salve on his cheek.
When she drew away to get fabric to wrap over his head and under his chin to secure a clean bandage on top of the salve, he watched her easy motions. She fit perfectly in her world. Would he ever be as confident in the role thrust upon with Uncle Maban’s death?