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 would 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
