His Compromised Countess. Deborah Hale

on the island, she feared they would desert her. ‘How is your ankle?’

      ‘Getting worse by the hour, ma’am,’ Albert replied in a reproachful tone as if he blamed her for his misfortune. ‘Swelled up and paining like the devil.’

      ‘How much longer until we get there?’ Wyn asked yet again. ‘I miss Greggy. Why could she not come with us on this holiday?’

      Caroline had asked herself that same question. How much easier would this journey have been for both of them if Wyn’s capable nurse were there to look after him and answer his endless questions? But Mrs McGregor’s presence would have been a double-edged sword, she reminded herself. How could she hope to make good her vow to become a more attentive mother to her son while his nurse lurked about, always coming between them and subtly criticising everything she tried to do?

      ‘Mrs McGregor is long overdue for a holiday of her own.’ It was the truth. Caroline strove to stifle her protesting conscience. The woman did deserve a holiday, whether or not she chose to take one.

      ‘What about Papa?’ asked Wyn. ‘Why didn’t he come with us?’

      Her son’s question tore at Caroline. She wondered if Wyn would ever ask for her after she had been wrenched from his life. And if he did, how would Bennett respond to his son’s pleas? Would he even care?

      ‘I’m sure your father would like to be with us.’ She uttered that well-meant falsehood with all the sincerity she could rally. ‘But you know he is terribly busy in the House of Lords, passing laws for the good of the country.’

      That part was true, at least. Unlike some of his fellow peers, the earl took his duties in Parliament very seriously. Because he did not align himself on every issue with one particular faction, he was often able to cast a deciding vote or broker a compromise. But there was one matter on which he would never compromise—the abolition of slavery. Much as Caroline resented her husband’s mistrust and feared his threat to divorce her, she could not help but admire his integrity and his devotion to such a noble cause.

      ‘How much longer until we get there?’

      Fortunately for Caroline, she was spared the need to answer. At that moment, from the deck above, came the distant muffled call, ‘Land ho!’

      Those were two of the most welcome words she’d heard in weeks. ‘Very soon, my love. Before long we will be warm and fed, with solid ground beneath our feet and no more miles to travel tomorrow.’

      Wyn gave a cheer while Parker and Albert exchanged a look of relief.

      An hour later, they found themselves ashore on a dark, moonless night. It might not have been so very cold, but the damp wind gusted hard enough to penetrate every layer of clothing, chilling the flesh beneath.

      ‘Where are ye bound for, ma’am?’ asked the young man who heaved their luggage into a cart pulled by a small dark horse. ‘Dolphin Town? The inn at New Grimsby?’

      How large was this island? Caroline wondered. On a globe it had looked like one of a cluster of pebbles kicked into the sea by the long-toed boot of Cornwall.

      ‘We’ve come to stay at a house that belongs to the Earl of Sterling. Do you know the place? Is it far from here?’ She was beginning to sound like Wyn.

      ‘Please?’ the carter asked in a tone as if begging her pardon for not having understood. ‘There’s no earl that lives on Tresco, ma’am.’

      ‘The earl doesn’t live here.’ Caroline shushed Wyn who was dancing about, pestering her with more questions. ‘I’m certain he has not been here in the past seven years at least. But he told me he owns a house on this island.’

      The young man shook his head slowly. ‘Only local folk lives here, ma’am. Unless… you mean the old Maitland place?’

      Caroline’s sinking spirits rebounded. ‘That’s it, to be sure! Bennett Maitland is the Earl of Sterling. I am his wife.’

      How much longer would she be able to make that lofty claim?

      ‘How far is the house?’ she asked. ‘Can you take us there?’

      ‘Not but a step, ma’am. Over yonder.’ He pointed into the darkness.

      Caroline strained for a glimpse of lights shining from the windows, but could make out none. ‘Is there a carriage I might hire to take us there?’

      ‘Sorry, my lady, there’s only my cart and Steren, here.’ The young islander patted his pony on the rump. ‘You and the lad are welcome to ride if you can find a perch among your baggage.’

      Wyn ran over to the cart and the young man hoisted him in. Caroline was about to climb after her son when a cough drew her attention back to Albert. Even if it was ‘not but a step’, the footman would never be able to hobble that far on his injured ankle. One look at the brimming cart told her it had room for only one more person.

      ‘Get in.’ She beckoned the footman. ‘I don’t want to be out on a night like this any longer than we have to.’

      They were soon on their way. Caroline had never thought the day would come when she would walk so a servant could ride. At least the exertion of trudging behind the cart made her somewhat warmer, while the gusts of salty air helped settle her queasy stomach.

      But even they could not blow away the sense of guilt that nagged at her for dragging Wyn off on such a miserable journey. If she’d had more time to anticipate the consequences of her actions, perhaps she might have left him to his familiar nursery routine and the competent care of Mrs McGregor. But the dread of never seeing her child again, and her desire to be a more attentive mother during the time they had left, had overridden every other consideration.

      ‘Are you all right, Wyn?’ she called to him.

      ‘Y-yes, Mama.’ He sounded cheerful enough under the circumstances. ‘I’ve never been allowed outdoors after dark before and I’ve never ridden in a cart. It’s like an adventure!’

      Parker muttered something under her breath that Caroline did not catch.

      ‘Here we are,’ announced the islander as his cart came to a halt. ‘This is the Maitland house.’

      ‘There must be some mistake.’ Caroline surveyed the rustic stone dwelling by the wildly flickering light of their guide’s torch. The place was no bigger than the groundskeeper’s lodge at Sterling House. All the windows were shuttered and not even the faintest gleam of light escaped through the slats. ‘It looks quite abandoned. Are there no caretakers living here?’

      ‘Not for ten years, ma’am.’ The helpful reply demolished all of Caroline’s hopes. ‘Mag and Jack Harris used to keep the place for the lady who owned it. But after Jack passed on, Aunt Mag went to live with her daughter on Bryher. The house has been shut up ever since.’

      ‘Does anyone have a key?’ Caroline’s voice grew shrill with desperation. ‘So we can at least take shelter from this wind.’

      ‘No need for locks and keys on Tresco, ma’am.’ The carter assured her. ‘Off-islanders think we’re all smugglers, but we’re honest folk and there’s few enough of us that we’d soon know if anybody was making away with what didn’t belong to him.’

      To demonstrate, he lifted the latch and pushed the door open. The hinges gave a painful-sounding squeal.

      Wyn scrambled down from the cart and followed his mother into the house behind the carter, who lit the way with his torch. As her anxious gaze swept around the parlour, Caroline’s heartening visions of warm fires, chocolate and a hot bath crumbled into cold dust like the kind that covered every surface in the room. Cobwebs draped the ceiling corners. Dead insects littered the floor.

      ‘What is that smell?’ Parker fanned her nose. ‘Did someone set fire to a load of rotten fish?’

      ‘Oh, no, miss.’ The carter inhaled. ‘That’d be smoke from the summer kelp fires. I reckon