He kept her on his lap, suffering the heat from the fire and blanket, making sure she did not need more warmth and that her rest was a normal sort. The hands he cupped no longer had icy cold skin. He untucked the blanket a bit so he could see if any damage had occurred.
Nice fingers. Tapered and long. Not especially delicate. They showed the results of months of labor on this farm. Knit gloves would never spare her that. When he returned to London he would buy leather ones and send them to her. If he had the fortune for it, he would send the men to do the work instead of her.
Once she recovered he would scold her severely for venturing onto that ice. It was not something to try when alone, no matter what she might have seen her father or Tom do in the past. When Adam had not seen her at first, only her horse, when he had realized what Guinevere was trying to tell him, his blood had run as cold as the pond’s water. It would be wrong for such a remarkable woman to meet such an ignoble end.
She stirred, and he thought she would waken. Instead she nestled closer. He held her closely while the flames subsided and both took and gave warmth with the body in his arms.
* * *
Caroline opened her eyes to streaks of rose and orange outside her window. The sun must have come out and now set with a splendid display. She watched the colors peak and dim, then turned her mind to why she was in bed at dusk.
It came back to her in a rush. The pond. The ice giving way and the cold water claiming her. Lord Thornhill finding her and bringing her back.
Other memories joined the worst ones. Being held on the saddle. Being undressed. Being held in front of the fire.
She sat up and looked around. He must have put her in bed once she fell asleep. She needed to thank him for all of it. After the way she had spoken to him while he was here, she wondered if she would find appropriate words.
She rose from bed and padded to her little dressing room. She checked herself in the looking glass. Lord, she looked a fright. She wrapped herself in a long and heavy woolen shawl, slipped on some shoes, and made her way down to the kitchen to find some food.
Mrs. Hoover bent over the cauldron. She looked over when Caroline entered.
“You are to stay in bed until tomorrow,” she said crossly.
“No one told me that.”
“I’m telling you now. And His Lordship told me, so he is telling you, too.”
“Where is he?”
“Out with the wagon. Feeding the horses. He left almost an hour ago, so will be back soon. I’d be in my chamber by then if I was you.”
“I am grateful to him, but please remember that while he is a lord, he is not our lord or lord of this manor.”
Mrs. Hoover straightened and waved her ladle in Caroline’s face. “You could have died. What then? What of this manor and of us and your sister? How often did Tom tell you never risk going on the ice, no matter what?”
“I have seen him do it.”
“You are not him. He’s had over sixty years to learn how to do it right. And if you saw him, he was not alone. If Lord Thornhill had not been here . . .” She turned away and lifted her apron to wipe her eyes.
Caroline embraced her. “How did you learn about all of this?”
“He came and got me, didn’t he? Said you needed hot fluids, soup and such. Suggested tea, but we’ve none of that, of course. He asked Tom what needed to be done with the horses besides bringing them hay.” She spoke between sniffs. “He may be terrible about women, but I’ll not hear a word against him after this.”
“Do you have any of that soup made yet? I could use something. I am hungry.”
Mrs. Hoover pointed to the table and took a bowl off the shelf. “Chicken soup from the bones out of the stew. Should be hot enough.”
Caroline spooned the rich liquid into her mouth. It warmed all the way down.
Mrs. Hoover sat beside her. “I was thinking just as you came in that he might be a good husband for Amelia after all.”
Memories jumped into Caroline’s mind, of a kiss that should never have happened. “He is a rake. He will break her heart.”
“Yet he seems to know about horses. That would be a help here, it seems to me.”
“He isn’t a farmer or horse breeder. He is a gentleman by birth and a peer and more likely he will return to London with or without Amelia. I would not build a lot of hope about him.” She spoke to her own heart more than to Mrs. Hoover’s ears.
The temptation to become sentimental about Lord Thornhill was strong right now and Caroline knew she had to fight it. Yet he had saved her and taken care of her and perhaps even worried about her. Itemizing all the ways he really would not do under other than dire circumstances did not change the softness she felt toward him, much as she counted on it doing so.
