Her Longed-For Family

by Jo Ann Brown

“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.
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  “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.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Carrie whirled to run out the door. She had been sure Gil had come to Warrick Hall because the little boy had been talking about “my friend,” as he called Jacob, since morning. If the child was not here...

  A strong hand caught her elbow and halted her in midstep. She did not have to look to know the hand belonged to Jacob, because the now familiar buzz undulated along every nerve from where he touched her.

  “Carrie, stop a minute,” he said.

  “I can’t! I need to find Gil before he wanders into danger.”

  Gently he turned her to face him. Beyond him, she saw Miss Bolton regarding them with a furious scowl that distorted her pretty face into a caricature of itself. Was it possible Miss Bolton was upset because Jacob was not paying attention to her now? A little boy was missing. Nothing mattered but finding him.

  Her attention riveted on Jacob when he said, “We need to do this logically.”

  “There is nothing logical in the mind of a child of his age.”

  “Gil is not given to flights of fancy. What makes you certain he is not at Cothaire? Your home has plenty of places for a child to hide.”

  “His coat is gone. He would not have taken it if he intended to hide in the house.”

  “I agree. Gil is very practical. But it is our logic, not his, that must be called into use here. You must have some idea of where he was going. You came to Warrick Hall.”

  “Yes! Because I can tell how he misses you because he had not seen you in several days before this morning, and then you left quickly.”

  “To search for answers to the mystery of the children’s parents. You know that.”

  “I do, but Gil doesn’t. He sees that you came and you left after a short time. He had grown accustomed to your longer visits.”

  She could not fail to notice how the other woman’s frown deepened. If the young woman was vexed because Jacob had spent time at Cothaire before Miss Bolton arrived at Warrick Hall, that was between them. Her own heart contracted painfully as she thought of Miss Bolton and Jacob as a single unit.

  Not now, she told her heart. Now she must think solely of Gil.

  “He may have gone to the mine instead of coming here.” When her face became as cold as the wind, he hurried to say, “I will send Howell there while we look through the house.”

  “Hurry! There are many dangers for a child between Cothaire and the mine.”

  Jacob turned to Miss Bolton, whose face became pleasantly blank again. “Forgive me, but I must help find Gil.”

  “Of course you must.” Her voice gave no suggestion she had ever frowned. “The dear child must be terrified if he is lost.”

  “Thank you for understanding,” Carrie said, her gratitude genuine.

  “You are welcome.” The crisp words made it clear she would not be cooperative if Carrie interrupted her time with Jacob again.

  Refusing to respond to such silliness, Carrie wanted to tell Miss Bolton she had no reason to be jealous. Jacob did not intend to wed anyone now, and, if he changed his mind, he would not be marrying Carrie.

  Not ever.

  * * *

  Jacob put his hand on Carrie’s arm and steered her to the door. He shouted for a footman. When Killigew appeared, he listened as Jacob gave him a message to take to Howell in the stable. He ran off to deliver it.

  A familiar flush of guilt rose within Jacob. Little Gil might be in danger because of him. He could not believe it was happening all over again. He had to make sure this potential tragedy had a happy ending.

  Still holding Carrie by the arm, Jacob rushed both
of them toward the entry hall. Another footman was waiting with his heaviest coat. As he reached for it, he heard a soft gasp behind them.

  He looked over his shoulder to see Beverly staring at him and Carrie in astonishment.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Warrick,” Carrie said.

  “Lady Caroline! I—” She clamped her lips closed, but her frown spoke volumes.

  “Beverly,” Jacob said, taking his coat from the footman who also held his hat and gloves, “Gil, the little boy I was playing with at church last week, is missing. Car—Lady Caroline thought he might be here.”

  “At Warrick Hall? Why would he come here?”

  Carrie did not wait for him to jump to her defense again. “Gil loves Jacob. All the children do. When I discovered Gil was missing, my first thought was he would come here.” She took a deep breath. “Jacob believes he might have gone to the mine instead.”

  “The mine!” His stepmother’s irritation vanished like lightning from a storm sky. “You must find him, Jacob!”

  “We will. Beverly, will you alert the rest of the servants and ask them to search the house and grounds?”

  With a nod, she rushed away.

  “Don’t worry, Carrie,” he said, slamming his arms through the sleeves of his greatcoat. “We will find him.”

  “Alive and unhurt.” Tears glistened in her eyes.

  “That is what I am praying for.”

  “Me, too.” She dipped her head, but he saw the tears tumbling from her eyes.

  His thumb beneath her chin raised it so he could see her face. He wiped away a tear with his fingertip. “Where is my brave Lady Caroline?”

  “She has been shown to be a fraud. I am scared, Jacob.”

  “I know. I am, too.”

  Tears rushed into her eyes anew at his admission few men would willingly make. He was not going to hide the truth from her and make her feel worse. If that was even possible.

  “We need to find him before dark,” she said.

  “Is he afraid of the dark?”

  She shook her head. “No. I honestly don’t think he is afraid of anything because he is too young to realize the danger he could face. If we don’t find him before dark...”