Her Longed-For Family

Gil took advantage of her silence to go to Lord Warrick and, grinning, hand him a wooden horse.

“Thank you, young man,” the baron said.

“You welcome.” Running to the other toys, Gil began piling blocks one on top of the other.

“You have taught him well,” Lord Warrick said, drawing her gaze to him. “Would it be any different to teach me?”

“Of course, it would be different. He is a child.”

“And I am as a child when it comes to etiquette. You have seen that yourself.” He held up his hand. “You need not be polite and try to deny it, my lady. I saw the truth on your face when I made blunders upon my arrival today.”

“If I made you feel uncomfortable or appeared judgmental, I am sorry.”

He crowed, “There!”

“There what?” she asked, confused.

“What you said.” He set the toy horse on the floor near Gil, and the little boy pretended it was galloping along a road of blocks. “Gracious and kind. I want to learn how to be as eloquent and cordial in social situations. Will you help me?”

“I will try.” She did not hesitate before she went on, “May I ask you for a favor in return?”

“Whatever you wish.” His words were casual, but she sensed an undertone of tension in them. What was he hiding?

“You know we are searching for the children’s families and are desperate to discover why they were left in a wobbly boat.”

“And by whom, so you know who was heartless,” Lord Warrick said, his voice as serious as a magistrate handing down justice. “I will be happy to do whatever I can to help in the search.”

She nodded, glad he understood. She could not imagine leaving six small, very active children in a tiny boat. Any of them could have tipped it over, and they would have drowned.

“Thank you.” She was happy to have someone else involved in the search that had been fruitless for more than four months.

“So?”

Caroline was startled by Lord Warrick’s abrupt question. “Pardon me?”

“Which lesson shall you give me first?”

“You want to start now?”

“Why not?” He gave her a grin that reminded her of Gil when the little boy was trying to wheedle her into reading him another story before bed. “Perhaps you can begin with what I should have done when I came into the room today.”

“As you wish.” She bent to put Joy down, but halted when the floor rocked under her feet.

Thunder erupted around her. So loud she could not hear the baby cry, even though the little girl’s open mouth was close to her ear. Gil threw himself against her. His small hands grasped her skirt again, holding on as if for his very life.

Broader hands tugged her to the floor that spasmed beneath her. Lord Warrick! He gripped the chair beside her with both hands. His arms surrounded her and the children.

The cacophony receded enough to let her hear the children’s frightened shrieks. She gathered them both closer to her, wanting to shield them from whatever was happening.

A warm breath brushed her ear. She started to turn her head, but a firm hand clasped her chin, holding her in place as Lord Warrick warned, “Wait. It may not be over.”

Was he shouting or whispering? She could not tell.

“What may not be over?” she asked.

His answer vanished beneath another swell of chaotic noise. The glass in the garden doors exploded inward into sharp splinters. She ducked, pulling the children and him toward the floor with her.

What was going on?

Chapter Two (#ulink_68e69ab1-6a78-5620-8e28-8da5bd62c06a)

The din rolled away, fading like distant thunder. Beside Caroline, a lamp slid off the table, cracking and spreading oil into the rug. A pair of painted porcelain spaniels bounced across the mantel. One shattered as it hit the hearth, the other remained, hanging precariously, on the very edge of the mantel. Books crashed to the floor.

Joy shrieked in her arms, and Gil babbled in terror. She cuddled them close. Their heartbeats were as rapid as her own.

“Lady Caroline?” asked a taut voice.

She raised her head slowly and looked around. Every book had tumbled off the shelves along the far wall. Ornaments set on shelves or hanging on the walls were now on the floor. Most were broken. Paintings had fallen, too, and frames were chipped and awry. Glass from the garden doors lay splintered on the floor or glittering on the furniture.

“Lord Warrick, please take Gil,” she said.

“Where?” He lowered his arms from around them and drew back.

“Pick him up and keep him away from the glass.”

The little boy yelped when he was tugged away from her, but Lord Warrick said, “Come and help me save that dog on the mantel, young man.”

Caroline rose as far as her knees while the baron went with Gil to push the porcelain spaniel from the edge of the mantel. The room was a mess. What about the rest of the house? Had anyone been hurt?

As if she had asked aloud, Lord Warrick asked, “Are you unharmed, my lady?”

“Yes. You?”

“Relatively.”

She faced him and gasped when she saw blood trickling down his left cheek.

“Lady Caroline, what is wrong?” he asked as he rushed to her side. “Are you injured?”

“No, but you are!”

“Ouchie,” Gil said, poking at the baron’s face.

Lord Warrick gently took the little boy’s finger and moved it away from his cut cheek. Pulling out a handkerchief, he ripped off a piece and pressed it to the laceration where drying blood would hold it in place. “I was nicked by flying glass. Nothing to worry about.”

The door flew open, and her older brother, Arthur, burst in, shouting, “Carrie, are you in here?”

“Over here.” She stood, careful not to put her hand out to steady herself when her knees wobbled beneath her. Broken glass covered every surface. She felt the oddest need to weep as her brother used the nickname he had given her when he was unable to say her name as a youngster. She had not realized how fearful she was for her family’s safety. “Are we under attack again?”