Drops of Gold(8)

“Will my hair ever be like yours?” Miss Caroline asked, her eyes plastered to Marion’s ruler-straight fiery red hair with something akin to envy.

“Why would you wish for hair like mine?” Marion asked amusedly. “Especially when yours is so lovely.”

“Harriet said it was fuzzy.”

“Harriet?”

Miss Caroline shrugged. “She left. She said my hair was fuzzy every time she brushed it.”

“Curly hair can be fuzzy when it’s brushed.” Marion remembered vividly a childhood friend plagued with the same problem. “One must comb curls.”

The child pouted. “I do not have a comb.”

“Perhaps your mother does.”

“Mama is gone too,” Miss Caroline said. “Papa said she won’t come back.”

Had Miss Caroline’s mother passed on? Or were her parents estranged? She would not question Miss Caroline on such a potentially delicate subject.

“Well, I have a comb. It belonged to my papa. I think it will work well until we can ask your papa for one of your own.”

“Oh, could we really?” Excitement lit her eyes.

Marion nodded.

One half hour later, Miss Caroline was dressed, her hair carefully combed, the cobalt-blue ribbon tied in an adorable bow over one ear. Over the course of the ministrations, Marion learned that Miss Caroline had experienced the departure of at least six nursemaids (she being the only governess so far), none of whom stayed long, by a child’s reckoning, at least. Her father, though away at the moment, had been present enough to make a favorable impression on his daughter. Miss Caroline spoke highly of him and the time they spent together. Such a contrast to the less-than-flattering description Maggie had offered earlier.

“Papa is wonderful!” Miss Caroline explained as they crossed the schoolroom to the child-sized table. “He doesn’t call me Miss. I like that.”

Marion attempted to explain. “Your father need not call you Miss. The servants do so because they respect you.”

“Couldn’t they like me instead of ’specting me?”

Marion hated to disappoint her, but the girl needed to understand how these things worked. “I do not think that would be a good idea.”

“Can you not call me Miss? I don’t want you to. Please!”

Marion sensed an aching loneliness behind the protest. “Perhaps when no one else is present.”

Caroline nodded eagerly. “What should I call you?”

That was a good question. If she were a nursemaid, which would be more fitting, she would probably be called Mary. As a governess, she would be Miss Wood. But Caroline was so young and so obviously lonely.

“Perhaps ‘Mary’ would do when there is no one else around. But Miss Wood otherwise.”

“I like you, Mary.” Caroline smiled so brightly, Marion had to smile back.

“And I like you, Caroline.”

“You will stay, won’t you?” Caroline looked quite intensely at Marion. “You won’t run away?”

“Why would I run away?” Marion asked with a slight smile.

“All the others did.” Caroline was perfectly serious.

As Caroline ate her breakfast, Marion pondered her words. All the others ran away. Ran away. Why would Caroline believe her other nurses, for surely that was who she kept referring to, had fled and not simply left? And what exactly would have driven them away?

Curious. Very curious.





Chapter Four



After three days on the road, Layton desperately wanted to be home. He’d opted to ride from Newark-on-Trent. A few hours on horseback was precisely what he needed after the confinement of the carriage.

As he approached Farland Meadows, the scent of pine hung heavy in the air, an aroma he would always associate with his childhood. It was strongest at that time of the year since everything else was stripped bare by the cold of winter.

Bridget had left him in the summer when the smell of flowers mingled with grasses and herbs, when one scent was impossible to distinguish from the rest. So many aromas were now associated with her. Pine was one of the few that did not immediately bring to mind that horrific summer. It made Farland Meadows bearable. Pines and Caroline.

As he turned onto the carriageway that led to his home, Layton heard a squeal, a childish, delighted squeal. His mouth turned up ever so slightly. Caroline. Layton pressed his mount to a fast trot. He’d missed her terribly. She was the sunshine in his dark existence.

As he emerged from the thicket of trees surrounding the carriageway, a second squeal met his ears, followed by the most wonderful sound he could imagine.

“Papa!”

In less than a moment, Layton dismounted and wrapped his gelding’s reins around an obliging branch. Two long blonde braids beneath a knitted woolen cap bounced across the snow-covered lawn toward him. Smiling as only his little angel could make him, Layton held his arms out and scooped Caroline off her feet, her joyful giggles filling his ears.