The Dutiful Daughter. Jo Ann Brown
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of them could not hear.
“It matters less what I think of her than what you do,” Charles replied, hoping Herriott did not see his answer as an evasion.
Across the table, Bradby smiled tautly. Charles had given him the rough side of his tongue after Miss Meriweather had fled, and Bradby had taken the dressing-down he was due.
“You are no longer in garrison,” Charles had snapped. “You are in the company of ladies, not soldiers. You can no longer speak churlishly and expect nothing to come of it.”
Bradby had apologized, then made a joke, as he did whenever he was under stress. Had he always done that? Charles could not recall, but he seemed to be jesting more and more of late.
Just as Herriott seemed unable to make a decision of any sort. As the baron of this estate he would be forced to do so, but, for now, his indecision might be a boon for both Herriott and Miss Meriweather.
“I know what is expected of us,” Herriott said, breaking into Charles’s thoughts, “but I would like to become better acquainted with my cousin before I ask her to be my wife.”
“I am sure she shares your opinion.”
As Bradby chuckled, looking relieved, Herriott reached out to clap Charles on the shoulder. “I am glad you two agreed to come here with me. I should have guessed I would be in need of your counsel at some point. Promise me one thing. If Miss Meriweather—or anyone—mentions the words banns or wedding, you will change the subject immediately.”
Charles laughed. “As I said, I don’t think you need worry.”
“Better forearmed than unprepared, as you said often enough before we faced the French.”
“Fortunately tonight, the only enemy we face is your baseless apprehension.”
This time Herriott laughed along with them.
An hour later, Charles stood and bid his friends a good night. Before the war, he had enjoyed sitting for much longer after dinner, conversing with friends. An odd restlessness had taken over since his return to England. Should he check on the children? There was no need, because Mrs. Smith, a matronly woman and the wife of the head groom, had been sent by Lady Meriweather to sit with the children.
If the weather was not foul, he would walk off his agitation outside. Maybe something to read. Mr. Fenwick’s unfinished story about Sanctuary Bay had been intriguing. The late Lord Meriweather might have a book on the subject.
A quick question to a footman obtained him directions to the lord’s book-room. It was on the first floor, but down a corridor he had not noticed previously. The light from the lamps on the walls was enough so he could avoid bumping into a quartet of suits of armor in the hallway. On the morrow, he would bring Michael and Gemma to see the armor. He guessed they would find it fascinating. Or would it frighten them?
Sophia would know.
He stopped as if the thought had been a brick wall in the center of the hall. When had he started thinking of her as Sophia? His mouth tightened. No matter how he thought of her, he was not ready to own to Miss Meriweather or anyone else that he was unsure how to rear his children.
Charles continued along the dusky corridor and paused in an open doorway where light spilled out into the hall. The dark shelves of the book-room were packed with more volumes than could fit. More were piled on the floor, on the window seat, on any flat surface.
“Come in,” said Sophia as if she had emerged from his thoughts. Now that was a most discomforting idea. She stood at a rosewood desk set in front of a double window.
“Now it is my turn to say I hope I am not intruding,” he said, wondering if he would be wise to retreat. To be alone with her, far from everyone else in the house, might be stupid. He turned to leave. “I can return another time.”
“Of course not. You are not intruding.”
“It would appear I am.”
“Are you suggesting that I am being less than honest with you, Lord Northbridge?” A smile curved along her lips before rising to twinkle in her eyes.
“I would never suggest anything except that you are being too polite to tell me to take my congé. I should have guessed that you had sought a quiet haven here.”
She gestured to the open books on the desk. “I was doing a quick review of the estate’s accounts, so I can go through them with Cousin Edmund whenever he wishes. I am glad to say I am done and was about to douse the lamp.”
“You have many tasks within these walls, don’t you?” He entered the room, but kept a pair of upholstered wing chairs between them.
“Soon they shall be Cousin Edmund’s.” Her teasing smile would have been perfectly at home on Gemma’s face. “I will have more time to do things I enjoy.”
“And what are those things?”
She ran her fingers along a shelf of books. “Reading and maybe some traveling.” Her eyes grew distant. “I have longed to see the amazing cities on the Continent.”
Charles’s mouth twisted. “I have no wish to return there.”
“I have also thought about visiting America.”
“I have traveled as much as I wish. I came here as a favor to your cousin. I look forward to spending the rest of my life tending to my estate while I watch my children grow up.”
Her expression suggested she was as shocked as if he had suddenly announced rain was falling up. Her fingers tightened on the shelf, but he was unsure which of his comments had upset her. Reminding himself that he had come to the book-room solely to get something to read, he cautioned himself not to question too closely her reaction to anything he said or did.
Or his reaction to her.
He could not pull his eyes from her half profile as she gazed at the bookshelf. He had been wrong to call her remarkable. Magnificent was a better word.
“Read any book you would like,” Sophia said.
“Thank you.” The two words gave him time to escape his enticing thoughts of dancing with her to the sumptuous notes of a waltz, but the fantasy returned as he watched her weave through the stacks of books with the ease of practice.
She stopped by a section of shelves at the rear of the room. “This is where Papa kept his favorite books. He loved historical treatises and overly melodramatic novels.” She turned to face him, her expression once again that of a gracious hostess. “If either interests you, you will find them here.”
“Is there a history of Sanctuary Bay on that shelf?”
Sophia shook her head as she went to the desk and sat. “There is no such book, as my father lamented far too often. He always spoke of writing a history of the bay, but he never did.”
He rested his arms on the back of the wing chair. “Mr. Fenwick mentioned that the late baron had been doing some research in that direction and that you had further information.”
Her stiff pose softened. “Papa and I spent many evenings trying to trace the bay’s name to its origins. It was quite fascinating to discover that the bay might have been a sanctuary for miscreants.”
“Ah, now that is far more intriguing.” His smile broadened. “What sort of criminals sought a hiding place among the cliffs long ago?”
“Pirates.”
“Definitely more interesting.” Coming around the chair, he sat in it, pulling it closer to her. “Tell me more.”
She did, warming to the story she and her father had pieced together out of legend and dusty tomes. Charles listened intently while she explained how, several centuries before, the English pirates had preyed on trade ships going to and from the Low Countries and north toward Germany and Norway.
“They could very easily slip in and out of the bay,