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“As did I.”

They rounded the bend, and suddenly, the whole vicarage was before them. Caroline’s father appeared at the front gate.

“Grandpapa!” Meg called. “Look! I’m riding Saxon.”

“Bless my soul, so you are!” He waited until they’d reined their mounts to a halt. “I was on my way to hitch up Daisy. You’ve been gone long enough that I was starting to worry.”

“We raced boats, and I fell in the water, and then Lord Benting carried me, and then I knocked over the peas and banged my head.” Meg’s words tumbled over each other, and Caroline was quite sure that had Meg been upright, she would have been hopping. “Oh, and Lord Benting’s mama says regards.”

“That’s very good of her,” Caroline’s father said, seemingly interpreting the garbled message without difficulty. “I did not realize she had returned to Farwell Hall.”

“She and my father arrived only this afternoon,” Benedict said. “My mother was pleased for the opportunity to speak with Caroline and Meg, but I fear I cannot blame our late return on her.”

“No, indeed,” her father said. “It sounds as though it was a dunking in the river and some spilt peas that are culpable.”

Benedict chuckled. “Just so. And I am happy to report that neither incident will have a lasting adverse effect.”

“I am very glad to hear it.” Her father stepped up to Saxon and extended his arms to Meg. “Come along, young lady. Nora left some soup on the stove, and I daresay you’re ready for some supper by now.”

Meg leaned forward so that he could lift her off the saddle and onto the ground. The blanket trailed behind her like a peacock’s tail, but Meg appeared oblivious to it. “Is it pea soup?”

“I believe we should go to the kitchen together and find out,” he said.

She nodded enthusiastically before looking up at Benedict. “Thank you for sharing your horse with me, Lord Benting.”

“It was my pleasure, Meg.”

She smiled and then half hopped, half stumbled through the gate.

Benedict dismounted. “If you’d be good enough to see to Meg, Reverend, I shall assist Caroline off her horse so that she may join you.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Gathering the portion of the blanket dragging along the ground, Caroline’s father wasted no time in following Meg down the short garden path.

Benedict circled Saxon and came to stand at Poppy’s side. “Are you ready?” he asked.

Caroline lifted her right leg over the upper pommel of the sidesaddle and drew her left leg out of the stirrup. “Yes.” She swiveled slightly so that she was facing him.

He raised his arms, carefully placing his hands on either side of her waist. An unexpected awareness pulsed through her. She took a short breath, attempting to ignore the sensation.

“Set your hands on my shoulders,” he said.

She took another breath. Not long ago, Benedict had helped her to her feet in the kitchen. Then, his fingers had felt strong and reassuring. Not at all like they did now. Now his touch felt . . . She swallowed. It felt intimate.

“Caroline?”

She met his eyes. They were filled with questions. Questions she did not wish to answer.

“Forgive me,” she whispered, hurriedly placing her hands on his broad shoulders.

Beneath his jacket, his muscles tightened, and suddenly, she was airborne. And then, just as suddenly, her feet were on solid ground again.

Yet to release his hold, he searched her eyes. “Was the ride too much for you?”

“Not at all.” He was too close. She took a small step back, immediately running into Poppy. The horse shifted, and Caroline stumbled.

Benedict tightened his grip. “Allow me to walk you to the door.”

She shook her head. “There is no need. Truly.” Indeed, the sooner there was some distance between them, the sooner she could reclaim some semblance of normalcy. “It has been some time since I was in a saddle. That is all. My legs simply needed a moment to adjust to standing again.”