The Dutiful Daughter. Jo Ann Brown
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father was a baron, too.”
Michael lowered his thumb. “Like me?”
“Just like you.”
He grinned and gave a laugh that seemed too deep for a young child.
Sophia wondered if he had inherited that laugh from his father as he had his coloring. At the thought of Lord Northbridge, she glanced over her shoulder.
The earl was staring at them with a taut expression. His eyes snapped with strong emotion. Anger? But what had she done to cause him to regard her with such an expression? Surely he could not be distressed because she had spoken with his children in hopes of making them feel welcome.
She was about to ask what she had done to incite his fury when, beside her, the children grew as quiet as Cousin Edmund and Mr. Bradby. She did not lower her eyes until the earl looked at his children and motioned toward the door. They slid off the seat and edged past him before following Jessup out of the room.
Lord Northbridge said, “The children are tired from their long trip. If you will excuse us...”
Sophia swallowed the questions battering her lips, not wanting to ask them when Gemma and Michael could hear. No one spoke as the earl let Jessup lead him and the children across the foyer. The heels of the earl’s boots struck the stairs while he climbed to the upper floor. Sophia knew she should say something, but she could not think of a single word that would not reveal her dismay at Lord Northbridge’s actions. She could understand his urgency in wanting to get his children settled in, but not why he had looked daggers at her when she had spoken with the children.
At a throat being cleared behind her, Sophia realized she had been staring after Lord Northbridge like a puppy eager for its master’s return. Oh, bother! Why did she have to think that?
“Do not take his attitude to heart,” Cousin Edmund said as he moved to where she could see his strained face. “He is gruff with everyone, including us. The road God gave him to travel since his beloved wife’s death is not an easy one.”
Mr. Bradby added, “But you will seldom hear him complain. Rather, he moves ahead like a stag racing through a wood. Woe be to whoever is in his way.” His smile returned. “I would advise you, Miss Meriweather, to keep out of his path.”
“We have learned on the Continent that is the wisest course, and I hope you will learn from our experience. If you will excuse us as well, I believe it is time for us to stop dripping on the rugs.” Cousin Edmund started to walk away, then turned back to her. “Your kindness is more appreciated than you can guess, cousin. To own the truth, I was uncertain what welcome I would find here.”
“You are Lord Meriweather.” She fought to ignore the sorrow that clutched her heart as she spoke those words. Ten months were not long enough to ease the grief of her father’s death. She should be glad that he was in heaven and out of pain—and she was—but she missed his booming laugh and the way he’d always teased her and her sister, Catherine, when they came in windblown from walks along the cliffs. And she missed the evenings when they would sit in his book-room and talk about the places they would visit once the war was won.
Cousin Edmund took her hand and bowed over it politely. Yet she could not mistake the question in his eyes. He was curious if she was willing to do as everyone expected and become his wife. Did he feel the weight of duty, too?
What a pea-goose she was! Many marriages among the ton were based on matters that had nothing to do with love. She should be grateful that Cousin Edmund was treating her with kindness and not acting as if he would never consider marrying a woman who could look him directly in the eye. Another man might have tossed her and her family out of the manor house without a backward glance or insisted that the vicar have the first reading of the banns at the next Sunday service.
He released her hand. Walking past her, he went toward the stairs.
With a quick nod, Mr. Bradby followed.
Sophia remained where she was. Even as the two men spoke their warnings, she had heard their genuine admiration and friendship for Lord Northbridge. She could not help wondering what bound three such different men together and how their presence was going to change Meriweather Hall and everyone who lived within it.
* * *
Charles Winthrop smoothed the bedding over his children who were asleep in the large tester bed. Gemma, even at seven years old, showed hints of her mother’s lustrous beauty. His three-year-old son resembled him—not just physically. Michael had inherited that stubborn streak that had led Charles into trouble too many times.
He walked into the sitting room where Bradby sat by the tall bay windows. His friend was pouring himself a cup of tea from the pot that had been waiting when Charles had arrived with the children.
“What are you doing here?” Charles closed the bedroom door partway, so he would hear if the children were awakened by his conversation with Bradby.
“You know I get bored when the only company I have is my own.” His friend poured a second cup and held it out to Charles. “And Herriott is meeting with his new household staff.”
Waving the cup aside, Charles went to close the green draperies. The wind off the North Sea rattled the windows as rain crawled down the glass. He paused and looked out through the storm at the volatile ocean. From the house’s location at the edge of the promontory he could see the whole bay. Boats rocked violently in the waves crashing along the bases of the cliffs where huge boulders had fallen in previous squalls. Through the rain he caught sight of a small village perched almost vertically at the inner curve of the cliffs. The weathered stone buildings with their red-and-gray-tiled roofs clung close together on the steep streets, but offered scant shelter from the tempest.
In the open fields at the top of the cliffs, the parish church stood firm against the wind. Its square tower was almost the same color as the gray sky. Sheep grazed around it, oblivious to the showers. The stone outbuildings set closer to Meriweather Hall had been built to withstand storms, because the buildings slanted away from the wind, better to absorb its buffeting.
“Whoever named it Sanctuary Bay must have done so in jest,” Charles said.
“I didn’t come here to talk about the view.” Bradby set his cup on the tea tray and picked up one of the iced cakes from a plate. Taking a hearty bite, he mumbled through his full mouth, “What do you think of Miss Meriweather? They raise tall ones up here in the north.”
Charles frowned at his friend. “I prefer not to gossip about our hostess.”
“I am not asking you to gossip. I am asking your opinion. Herriott is your friend, and you must have seen how shocked he appeared when she walked in like some mythical tawny-haired Amazon.”
He had not noticed Herriott’s astonishment because he had been struck by Miss Meriweather himself. An Amazon? No, he would not describe her that way. There was something ethereal about her golden beauty. On the other hand maybe Bradby was not wrong, because Charles had also sensed a will of iron. Her bright green eyes had met his gaze steadily, and he had found himself in the peculiar situation of being the first to look away.
He was not going to say that to Bradby, but he would not lie either. He continued to look out at the sea as he said, “I have to own that I was not watching Herriott or Miss Meriweather at that moment.”
“All you think about are your youngsters. Maybe that is because you have an heir, and you are not worried about making a match as Herriott and I must be.” His mouth twisted in a wry grin. “I know you never expect to find another woman like Lydia. Not even the heroic Major Winthrop can have a second once-in-a-lifetime love.”
“No,” Charles said, “I am not seeking for that.” His hands clenched on the lush draperies. He yanked them closed so hard that he heard the material creak. Quickly he dropped his hands to his sides. He had not come to Meriweather Hall to destroy his friend’s inheritance, but he wished Bradby would talk about something other than Charles’s supposed heroics or his marriage.
Bradby instantly