“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?
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?”
It was not a frivolous question. Cornwall was in a precarious position in the midst of a war being fought on two fronts, Napoleon to the east and the Americans to the west. Most of the French fleet had been destroyed or captured at Trafalgar seven years before, but pirates flying the French flag haunted the Cornish coast. There were rampant rumors of Americans harassing shipping, as well.
“No ships have been sighted in the cove.” Her brother’s black brows lowered when he glanced toward their neighbor. “Warrick, you are bleeding.”
“I know. It is nothing.” Lord Warrick dismissed Arthur’s concern as he had Caroline’s. He took a step toward them but paused when glass cracked beneath his boots. “Anyone badly hurt?”
“Our butler, Baricoat, was going upstairs when the biggest blast hit the house. He twisted his wrist badly when he tried to grab the banister.” He grinned swiftly. “As you can guess, he is not letting that slow him down.” His smile faded as he added, “The house has suffered the most. Windows facing the moor have been shattered throughout Cothaire. Any that are seaward are intact.”
“The village?” Caroline whispered, her voice trembling as much as her knees.
“I sent a few men from the stables as well as the footmen to check on the villagers. They have instructions to visit the parsonage and Susanna’s house, as well.”
“Thank you.” Again she could not speak very loud. Their younger brother, Raymond, was the local parson and lived in the parsonage with his wife and a child who had been on the same rickety boat as Gil and Joy. She prayed they, along with Susanna, the youngest of the Trelawney family, and her husband and everyone at her house around the curve of the cove were safe and unhurt.
“Maris is working with Mrs. Hitchens to check that we have enough medical supplies.” Arthur’s gaze cut to Lord Warrick. “Mrs. Hitchens is our housekeeper. What of your people? Do you think you will need help? I was told several people saw a bright flash up on the moor.”
Lord Warrick handed Gil to her startled brother. The baron muttered what sounded like a curse under his breath, then added a hasty apology with a glance in her direction.
“You know what happened.” Caroline did not make it a question, because, in spite of his unpolished manners, Lord Warrick must have been furious to allow such a phrase to slip out when she and the children were nearby.
“Not for sure yet.” He ground out the words past clenched teeth. “But I intend to discover as quickly as humanly possible. If you will excuse me...”
“No.”
“No?” he repeated at the same time as Arthur asked, “Carrie?”
“I’m coming with you,” she said.
The baron frowned. “My lady, though I understand your need to ease your curiosity about what has occurred, under these circumstances, the mines are no place for a woman.”
“You said you don’t know for sure what the explosion was.” She held up her hand before he could retort. “There must be anxious families at the mine. Allow me to see to them while you investigate the explosions.”