The Dutiful Daughter. Jo Ann Brown
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can know.” Again he did not stray from the truth. At least the truth as his friends knew it. A truth no one else could refute, because Lydia had died from complications of Michael’s birth.
Pushing away from the window, Charles sat in a chair facing his friend. He must let go of his past failures—all of them—and think of the future and the promise he had made to his children and to God. He had vowed to be the best possible father he could be.
If he had some idea how...
“As least the children seem to be putting their grief behind them.” Bradby finished his cake and picked up his cup to wash it down. “I vow that, in the near fortnight we have been traveling north, I have not heard them laugh or talk as much as they did with Miss Meriweather.”
“Yes, she seems to have a way with children.”
“Maybe you should talk Herriott into letting you marry her. What a match you would be. Like out of an old children’s story. She is a beauty, and you easily can play the beast with your temper.”
“Amusing.” Charles used sarcasm to defuse his annoyance that Bradby was sticking his nose where it did not belong.
His friend chuckled, then clamped his hand over his mouth as he glanced guiltily toward the bedroom door. “I meant it seriously.”
“You? Serious?”
“This time, yes. Marry the inestimable Miss Meriweather, and then you would not have to worry about the children as you do.”
Charles stared at the teapot. His friend was right on both counts. Somewhere on the Continent, Charles had begun to lose his once tight hold on his temper. Now it was always ready to strike out, no matter how he struggled to restrain it. The rage that served him well in battle could hurt those he loved. Thus far, he had kept it from bursting out at the children.
And Bradby was as on the mark about Gemma and Michael. They had been almost mute on the journey to Meriweather Hall. At first he had assumed it was because he and his comrades were strangers; then they’d met Sophia Meriweather and blossomed instantly within the warmth of her smile.
How had she done that? She was unquestionably lovely, so perhaps the children had responded to that.
As he had.
Dash it!
Hadn’t he learned that a pretty smile could hide a greedy heart? He would be a beefhead to fall for such a scheme again.
Chapter Two
Sophia closed her bedchamber door and walked toward her mother’s room. She owed her mother the duty of informing her about Lord Meriweather’s arrival as well as their other guests.
When she heard rapid footfalls moving in her direction along the upstairs hallway, she paused. In astonishment she saw Lord Northbridge coming toward her at a near run.
“Miss Meriweather!” he called. “Exactly the person I hoped to find.”
“Is there something amiss?” she asked when he stopped beside her. She knew the answer. The composed, controlled man she had met a few hours before had vanished. He wore his dismay vividly on his face.
“Gemma and Michael have vanished.”
“I am sure they are somewhere in the house,” she said, relieved that the only problem was mischievous children sneaking away when their father’s back was turned.
“How can you be certain of that? If they wandered off, they could be in great danger.” He gripped her arms in his powerful hands. His dark eyes burned into her like a pair of brands.
“Lord Northbridge!” She gasped, shocked by his actions.
The sound of his name seemed to bring him back to himself. He looked down at his fingers shackling her arms. He released her so quickly that she rocked on her feet. When he put out a hand to steady her, she edged away.
“Forgive me, Miss Meriweather.” He lowered his hand to his side. “I beg your indulgence for this anxious father.”
Sophia nodded, accepting his apology. She had to wonder if there was more to his distress than two impish children. There had been a wildness in his tone that astounded her. She reminded herself she knew nothing of the earl other than the few comments his friends had made. His aura of rigorous control over his emotions might be nothing more than an illusion.
“I will be happy to help you look for them,” she said.
Gratitude eased the stress gouging deep lines into his face. “Thank you.” He took a ragged breath and released it. His voice regained its previously cool tone as he said, “I suspect you may be correct. I doubt they would have gone outside. Michael might have, if his sister went with him. I think that is unlikely because Gemma complained when we arrived that her slippers would be ruined by the puddles.”
“Then let us begin.” She would explain to her mother later why she had been delayed in bringing news of Cousin Edmund’s arrival.
“Which way?”
“If I know children,” Sophia said with a smile, “they will be looking for a sweet treat. The best place for that is the kitchen. Come with me.”
Lord Northbridge walked beside her along the corridor. She tried not to glance at the family portraits and the painted landscapes that now belonged to Cousin Edmund. She had known that nothing in the house, save for her clothing and gifts she had received, would be hers once he arrived. Still, there was a vast difference between knowing that and experiencing it firsthand.
“Do you hear that?” Lord Northbridge asked, holding out an arm to halt her.
Sophia stopped before she could bump into it. Straining her ears, she heard the familiar creak of the house as gusts struck it. Then the unmistakable sound of a childish giggle came from her left.
“This way,” she said, waving for him to follow.
As she reached an open doorway, she heard, “Michael, do you mind if I offer a sweetmeat to your sister first? It is the way of a gentleman to wait while a lady makes her choice.”
She looked into her mother’s private rooms and saw an astonishing tableau. On a bright gold chaise longue, Gemma and Michael perched. Her mother sat, facing them, and held out a plate to them.
Elinor Meriweather wore a pale pink shawl over her black dressing gown. It was Sophia’s favorite because it flattered Lady Meriweather’s coloring. Even though her black hair now was streaked with white, she had few wrinkles beyond the ones that crinkled around her eyes when she smiled at Gemma and Michael.
“You speak the truth, my lady,” said Lord Northbridge from behind Sophia.
The children froze at his voice. Gemma’s fingers hovered over a piece of candied fruit, and Michael was half out of the chair in his eagerness to choose one.
“Are you Lord Northbridge, the father of these charming children?” Sophia’s mother asked. “Forgive my informality. I am Elinor Meriweather.”
He gave a half bow. “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady. I am their father, it is true, but you are generous when you call them charming after they have barged in to disrupt your afternoon.”
Sophia watched in silence. Her mother was dealing with Lord Northbridge with her usual equanimity, but Sophia could not help wondering what her mother thought of the earl. That thought bothered her. Why should she care what her mother’s opinions were of Lord Northbridge? But she did care. Deeply. More than she was concerned about her mother’s thoughts about Cousin Edmund. That realization disconcerted her even further.
Lady Meriweather urged the children each to make their selection. Placing the platter on the table, she said, “They did not barge in, Lord Northbridge. I invited them in when I heard them outside my door.”
“As soon as I realized they had slipped out of the room, I went in search of them. I will keep a