Her Longed-For Family. Jo Ann Brown
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Lord Warrick offered his arm to Caroline, surprising her.
When she put her gloved hand on his coat sleeve, her fingers sparked as if she had grabbed a bolt of lightning. She almost jerked her hand away. Somehow, she kept her fingers on his sleeve, so she did not call attention to her reaction. If he felt it as well, she saw no sign, because his smile did not waver.
Bits of hay crunched beneath Caroline’s boots, releasing the aroma of dried grass to mix with the ancient dust dancing in the sunlight. She wondered how long it would be before the new stable at Cothaire smelled like this instead of freshly cut wood and paint.
Comparing this stable with Cothaire’s kept her from thinking about how Lord Warrick’s greatcoat brushed against her legs on each step. She could not ignore his masculine scent. She told herself she found that fragrance intoxicating because she had not stood close to a man other than her father or brothers since John’s death.
When the baron withdrew his arm to allow her to precede him up a trio of stone steps, regret flooded her. She chided herself. A lack of sleep after trying to soothe Joy most of last night was no reason to act witless today. Lord Warrick was a gentleman to offer his arm, and he was being polite stepping aside to let her go first.
But, for those few moments, it had been pleasant to be on the arm of a man again.
Stop it! She turned the scold into a prayer for good sense. She was no longer a young miss who blushed and tittered whenever a man stood beside her.
Caroline looked around the haymow, which was almost full. When she saw a bright ray of sunlight aimed at the stone floor to her right, she headed in that direction. Cats, whether they lived in a barn or in a house, always sought out a sunny spot for a nap. She smiled when she saw a half dozen felines stretched out in the warmth.
As she approached, they scattered except for one, which arched and hissed. She smiled and squatted an arm’s length from the calico. She held out her hand as she murmured, “Don’t be afraid, Miss Cat.”
The animal snarled again, her white, black and brown hair standing on edge.
Behind her, Caroline heard Lord Warrick say, “Be careful. She will scratch you. Step aside, and give her a chance to escape.”
“She would have fled before if that was her choice. She must have a litter hidden in the hay behind her.” She rose and edged forward, then around the hissing cat. It raced away only a few feet before turning to glare at Caroline, who had not given chase as the cat had hoped. Bending, she shifted the hay and smiled as she heard small mews.
A pair of heads popped up, curious about the noise. One was black with a white blaze on its nose. The other was a gray tiger. They bounced out, ready for battle, though they could not be more than two months old.
“This one seems bold enough.” Lord Warrick picked up the black-and-white kitten. As he balanced it on his hands, the kitten batted tiny paws at him and gave a warning growl.
She scooped up the other kitten who began to purr as loudly as a cat twice her size. “A mother cat and two kittens will be perfect, assuming the mother cat can be caught. These kittens are the right age for her to teach them to catch prey. While they learn, they will be ridding your house of vermin and insects.”
“I will have Howell bring the mother cat to the house, but will she stay?”
“You may have to keep them in a box for a few days, but if you provide food and water and milk, she will realize quickly she is better off in the house. Cats are smart that way.” She stroked the satiny fur on the kitten’s head. “What are you going to name them?”
“Name them? Do they need names?”
“How will they know to come when you call for them?” Smiling, she asked, “Did you never have a cat or dog?”
He shook his head. “My mother said cats made her sneeze, and dogs eat too much.”
Caroline turned away to pat the tiger kitten, not wanting him to see her shock. It was easy to forget Lord Warrick’s upbringing had been different from her own. She thought of the rumors she had heard. How could Maban Warrick hoard his fortune at Warrick Hall and allow his brother’s family to struggle in poverty?
“What name would you suggest?” he asked.
“Something simple.” She saw the mother cat skulking toward them and her kittens. “Mam is the Cornish word for mother. How about that for the calico?”
“Good. What about this bold black-and-white kitten?”
“He appears ready to chase the mice already, so Helhwur would be a good name. It means hunter.”
“And the tiger? What is the Cornish word for tiger?”
She laughed. “Tiger.”
“I think we can do something better than that.”
“Tegen would be a good name for her, because the word means pretty thing.”
He rubbed the kitten’s head. “Would you like that name, Tegen?” A tiny pink tongue brushed his wrist, and he chuckled. “I will take that as a yes.”
She watched as he continued talking to the kittens as if they could comprehend every word he spoke. His hands, calloused from his work at the mine, were gentle on the kittens. Exactly as they had been with the children. Lord Warrick would be a caring and loving father. A twinge of envy twisted her heart at the thought of him holding his own son and teasing him as he had Gil.
Envy was an ugly emotion, but she could not pretend she did not feel it. She was envious of Lord Warrick and his future wife and their children. How many nights had she silently cried herself to sleep, knowing she had failed—again!—to give John a child? He had tried to act as if being childless did not bother him, but she could not forget how often he spoke, in the months after they were first wed, of the family they would have together.
She had to leave before the tears burning her throat reached her eyes. Telling Lord Warrick she needed to hurry to Cothaire, she handed him the tiger kitten. She rushed through the stable, even though she knew she could never escape her greatest failure.
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