The Dutiful Daughter. Jo Ann Brown

and I had already planned to offer the same tour to C-c-cousin Edmund.” She hated how she tripped over her cousin’s name.

      “Miss Meriweather,” the earl said, “please do not misconstrue what I am about to say. God has blessed me with two children, and they are a gift I never want to take for granted. I would like to be the one to show them the shore. I have not been able to spend the time I wished with them during the past few years, and I would like to make up for lost time.”

      She was taken aback by his words for a moment. Then understanding flooded her. Cousin Edmund had mentioned that the three men had been on the Continent together. They must have been fighting the French, a task that would have kept Lord Northbridge far from his family.

      “Will you rethink having us open the nursery?” she asked. “Up there, they can run around and play under watchful eyes. They will not be confined within your rooms, and you can spend as much time with them as you wish.”

      He considered her suggestion, and she wished Gemma and Michael could understand how he was trying to balance making them happy and keeping them from getting into trouble.

      “I daresay you are correct, Miss Meriweather. Your reasons are well thought out, and I will give them consideration. I should have thought of them myself. You clearly have a greater insight into children than I do.”

      “I often help during Sunday School at the parish church, so I have learned much about children.” She hesitated, then said, “Believe me, Lord Northbridge, I do not mean to interfere.”

      “It is not interference.”

      She smiled. “Ah, but it is. You will learn that we speak plainly at Meriweather Hall.”

      “Then I suspect I shall feel quite at home.” A hint of smile tipped his stern lips. “May I speak as plainly?”

      “Of course.”

      His gaze swept over her again. “You are a remarkable woman.”

      Sophia quickly withdrew her hand from Lord Northbridge’s arm, abruptly aware of how alone they were. She had never guessed he would turn their conversation in such a personal direction.

      “I have embarrassed you,” he said.

      She was tempted to tell him that remarkable was not always a compliment. In London words like remarkable had been used to describe her, and there had been no question about the speaker’s intention to point out that such a tall woman was doomed to a life spent on the shelf. Not that they were right, for soon she might be Cousin Edmund’s bride. It was not the dream of love she longed for.

      Sitting on the bench between the window and the longcase clock, she said, “It is nothing. I am glad you are considering letting the children enjoy the nursery. They will have fun with the toys.”

      “Gemma may, but Michael will not be content with dolls.”

      “There are some toys for a young boy, too.” She raised her eyes to meet his. “My brother was four when he died.”

      He leaned one hand on a mullion in the large window. “I did not realize you had a brother. What a tragedy for your family!”

      “If he had survived, he would have lived in unbearable agony from his injuries. He had so many broken bones and such damage inside him after being thrown from the runaway pony cart. I was sad, but I have never forgotten it was a blessing for him to be released from that.”

      “I don’t know if I could be as accepting of God’s will.” He gazed out at the windswept garden. “I found it almost impossible to see grown men cut down in battle and continue to have faith that God had them in His hands. To lose a child...” He shook his head, and several black strands fell forward into his eyes. He swept them aside, revealing more of the scar that reached almost to the top of his skull.

      Sophia shifted her gaze to her own fingers. She clasped them in front of her to keep from combing them up through his hair. Was she mad? The scar might still hurt. After suffering such a wound, he was lucky to be alive.

      “I cannot bear to think of losing Gemma or Michael,” he went on.

      Sophia did not hesitate this time. She put her fingers on his arm to offer him comfort. He looked from her hand to her eyes. She wondered what he hoped to see, because he said nothing.

      His fingers rose slowly toward her face. She imagined her cheek against his palm. His hands belonged to a man accustomed to a hard life of riding hard and fighting hard and struggling to stay alive. What would his touch feel like against her cheek? She slanted toward him, eager to discover the answer.

      “There you are, Winthrop,” called Mr. Bradby from beyond the longcase clock.

      Sophia straightened, edging away from Lord Northbridge, who snatched his fingers back to his side.

      “You are a sight for sore eyes and sorer ears,” Mr. Bradby continued as his long legs made short work of the corridor. “Instead of Herriott being grateful that his bread is buttered on both sides, he has been lamenting that his life has become a hodgepodge of misfortune. I don’t know what is horrible about inheriting this astounding estate and a peerage. True, he will probably have to leg-shackle himself to the old lord’s long shanks daughter, but if it were me...”

      Sophia’s face burned with embarrassment as Mr. Bradby noticed, belatedly, that she sat on the other side of the clock. Mr. Bradby’s mouth closed, then opened and closed again without a sound like a fish yanked out of water.

      Lord Northbridge’s eyes narrowed as he turned to Mr. Bradby’s, whose face had turned a sickly gray. Mr. Bradby stepped back and raised his hands as if in surrender.

      She did not wait to hear what the earl might say to the other man. She rose and edged past both men before the hot tears pricking her eyes escaped to flow down her cheeks. It was appalling enough that she was expected to do her duty and marry Cousin Edmund without question. To hear her cousin’s opinion of her bandied about casually by Mr. Bradby... It was humiliating.

      She rushed away before she said something she feared she would not regret until she offended her cousin to the point he sent her family to the battered dower cottage. Up until that moment she had not realized how utterly her life was no longer her own.

      Chapter Three

      Voices rose up the stairs as Sophia came down them. She hoped that tonight would not be as much of a mess as the day had been.

      She wore one of her favorite gowns. The pale lilac cambric with darker stripes was appropriate for both receiving guests and half mourning. White chenille decorated the cuffs of the short sleeves and the three flounces at the gown’s hem. On each step the ornate ribbed design on her stockings could be seen above her white kid slippers. She dared to believe she was prepared for the evening.

      That belief vanished when she heard a familiar male voice say, “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord. This is my sister Vera.”

      Mr. Fenwick! What was the vicar doing here tonight? Oh, heavens, had Cousin Edmund invited him to make plans for marrying her?

      She looked over the banister to discover the Fenwicks stood with her sister and Lord Northbridge in the foyer. Neither Cousin Edmund nor Mr. Bradby was in sight.

      The urge to run up the stairs and lock herself in her room was thwarted when her eyes met her sister’s. Catherine had a paisley shawl wrapped over the shoulders of her gown whose glorious rich yellow was perfect for her pale complexion and dark eyes. She was as unlike Sophia as two sisters could be. Sophia was tall, and Catherine was petite. Sophia was a blonde like their father while Catherine’s curls were as black as Mama’s...and Lord Northbridge’s.

      A surge of warmth rose, unbidden, through her. By the window this afternoon she had been drawn to him as to no other man. To fancy her cousin would have been convenient, but she did not want to have such feelings for the earl. He would soon leave Meriweather Hall to resume his life, a fact she should never forget.

      Catherine