Jo Ann Brown (11 page)

“Show me.” He went in without waiting to see if she would follow.

She did, easing past him to open the shutters again. The light surrounded her like an aura, setting her hair afire like pure gold. He had to use every ounce of his willpower to look away from that beguiling sight.

He examined the scratches on the floor. They were spaced far enough apart to be made by a crate of smuggled goods. He knelt and ran his finger along one of the deepest depressions. Holding his finger up to his nose, he sniffed.

“Salt,” he said.

“I thought it might have been blown here by a storm wind.”

Charles stood and wiped his finger on his travel-stained breeches. “That is possible, but it is also possible it fell off smuggled goods.”

“I hope you are wrong.”

“As I do, but the facts are clear.” He leaned one hand on the door molding. “Did you really think that once your father died the thieves would honor any agreement they made with him to stay off these lands?” He waved his other hand toward the sea. “Why would they not make use of a place that is both convenient and easy to guard?”

Her face again became as gray as the ashes on the hearth. “They must be stopped.”

“By whom? Are your constable or justice of the peace brave enough to face down the smugglers?”

“If I uncover the identity of the leader—”

“Sophia, you must let Herriott handle this.”

“How? He cannot decide whether he wishes fowl or beef for dinner. How will he devise a plan to keep the smugglers off our land?”

Hearing her frustration, he could not offer her some trite words of comfort. “Let me talk to him about this. If you do, he might overreact in his determination to protect you and your mother and sister.”

“Play the hero, you mean?”

He fought not to flinch as he nodded. “In so many words, yes. Promise me that you will say nothing to him.”

“I promise if you speak to him about it immediately.”

“That is a deal, and I will do what I can to help while I am here.”

She could not disguise her flinch. “Are you leaving soon?”

“My own estate has been neglected too long. I had planned to be gone for no more than two fortnights. With the time needed to travel here and then south with the children, it has been nearly that long already. I am eager to return to my home. I have traveled too much in the past few years, and, once I am home, I intend to stay there for a long time.”

“And never travel again?”

“If I never leave my estates again, I would be a happy man.” He watched emotions flicker across her face: shock, sorrow, dismay.

“I see.” She turned to latch the shutters again.

“You did not think I would be staying much longer, did you?” He waited until she looked over her shoulder at him. “But I promise you, Sophia, I will do everything I can to persuade your cousin not to continue disregarding his obligations as lord of Meriweather Hall.”

“All of them?”

He understood what she meant. Would he urge her cousin to ask her to marry? He almost demanded that she explain why she thought he wanted her to marry another when he dreamed night after night of holding her and kissing her. He halted the words he had no right to speak. He had made a jumble of one marriage by letting his heart mislead him. He would not do that again, not even with Sophia.

Hoping he was not breaking her heart as he was his, he said, “All of them.”

Chapter Ten

H
e had not asked her to marry him.

Not yet.

Maybe because, since Sophia had come into the small parlor to take tea with her cousin, Edmund had not spoken other than to comment on the weather and the delightful flavor of the cakes.

Exactly like each day when they had tea together.

So they sat, while she tried not to show her discomfort and frustration. Had Charles spoken to him yet about fulfilling his obligations as Lord Meriweather and banishing the smugglers from the estate? It had been two days since she and Charles had spoken in the dower cottage. Since then Charles had seldom been in the same room with her. Even when he was, other people were around so she could not ask.

Yesterday, she had had one of the footmen bring her father’s old trunk down from the attic. The battered wooden box with its worn leather straps sat in her room, ready to be filled with everything she would need to tour Europe. She had pushed it into a corner, then spent half the night staring in its direction.

She had planned how she would pack it before she slipped out of the house with a much smaller bag and made her way to London. She could book passage to the Continent and arrange for her trunk to follow. Once it arrived, she would visit the places her father had told her about. It would not matter that she was so tall.

And she no longer would be tempted by Charles’s touch that urged her to soften within his arms as his lips found hers. The more miles she put between them, surely she would think of him less and less.

She hoped.

Sophia sighed under her breath as she looked across her cup to her mum cousin. As captivating as that fantasy was, she could not leave Meriweather Hall until she was assured that her mother and sister would be able to remain within it.

Lord, please help Charles find the right words when he talks to Cousin Edmund. If that conversation could happen soon, I would be grateful.

Or would she? Would she be accepting of God’s will if it was for her to marry her cousin and remain at Meriweather Hall?

Cousin Edmund shifted on his chair.

She had to break the silence. “Oh, I forgot to mention that the Fenwicks will not be joining us this evening.”

“Why not?” Edmund sat straighter and looked directly at her. He had not done that since she’d handed him a cup of tea. “Miss Fenwick accepted my invitation when I saw her after we returned from York.”

“A pastor’s life is filled with many tasks and obligations.”

“But that does not mean Miss Fenwick cannot join us.” Hope filled his voice.

“I suggested that, and Vera sent back a note that while she was grateful for the invitation, it is her habit to wait at the parsonage in case her brother needs her to assist him.”

“Oh.” Her cousin lapsed into silence except for the clink of his spoon against his cup.

“Maybe we can visit them the next time we go into the village,” Sophia said to keep the conversation going.

“That sounds like a fine idea. I should have visited the village much more before now, but with the tasks here and so much to decide... Too much to decide...” His face flushed, and he clamped his lips closed.

“Cousin Edmund,” she said in the same gentle tone she used with the children, “you need only ask, and Catherine and I will be glad to help in any way we can. Since Papa became ill and Mother spent much of her time with him, we split their duties, so we are more aware of what it takes to run this estate than you may guess. I know I speak for my sister when I say that we are eager to show you around the estate and teach you how we have overseen it. I am sure you have ideas of your own to implement, and I can assure you that neither of us will be hurt by any changes you wish to make.”

“That is most kind of you. However, you handle everything with such efficiency and skill that I doubt there will be much I wish to change.”

“When you are ready, I will be glad to give you a tour of the estate so you may meet the staff beyond the household one.”

“Thank you. I will let you know when it is convenient.” He paused in his stirring. “Unless you would rather to let me know when it is convenient for you.”

Sophia had sympathy for her cousin who was growing more agitated with every passing second. Did he suspect why she was eager for him to assume full control of the house and lands and the staff? Did he guess that she hoped to grasp her long-delayed dream of traveling?

She offered her cousin more tea. He declined with a curt wave. A groan of frustration bubbled up within her. She could stand no more of the silence. She had tried to be patient, but she could not any longer.

“If the day is pleasant tomorrow,” she said, “I would be glad to give you a tour of the tenant farms.”

“That sounds fine.”

She waited for him to add more. He did not. Was this how their married life would be? A few comments about the business of the estate and then silence. With his friends, he prattled almost as much as Mr. Bradby. With her mother and sister he was reserved, but even then he spoke more freely than he did with her.

“It is necessary,” she said, desperate to keep the conversation going, “to decide which buildings will have repairs done before the winter storms set upon us and which can wait another year.”

“The buildings are in such a poor state?” He again looked at her, and her sympathy returned. For both of them. It was clear that neither of them was eager to do their duty.

“The sea winds show no mercy to thatch or wood or even stone.”

“I have much to learn.”

“Papa always said that the most important asset any Lord Meriweather could possess is the ability to admit that he would never know everything necessary to be the perfect baron.” She smiled, hoping it did not look as wobbly as it felt. “Because no such man has ever held title to this estate.”

Edmund chuckled, and his shoulders eased from their stiff pose. “Then I suspect I shall follow the tradition well, because I am far from perfect.”

“Do not worry. You will feel more at ease once you are familiar with the estate.”

“Thank you,” he said again. Those were the last two words he spoke during the rest of the uncomfortable tea.

* * *

Charles put down his soup spoon as he heard Bradby eagerly accept Herriott’s invitation to join him and Sophia for a ride around the estate tomorrow. When Miss Catherine chimed in as well, everyone’s eyes turned with expectation toward him, including Sophia’s. Each time she blinked, her golden lashes brushed her cheeks, and he was reminded of how he had touched her face too briefly at the dower cottage.

He should back out graciously. He had the excuse that he needed to spend time with his children. His short visit to the nursery earlier in the day had been a blatant reminder of how he had let himself be drawn away from them again.

“Shall we walk by the sea tomorrow?” he had asked.

Gemma had replied, “Sophia took us there yesterday.”

“We could go to the village again.”

His daughter had rolled her eyes. “We went there twice with Sophia while you were away with Lord Meriweather and Mr. Bradby.”

“We were pirates,” Michael said, looking up from the tower of blocks he was building. He had slashed his arm through them so they toppled atop the soldiers. “Bad, bad pirates.”

“
You
were a pirate,” Gemma had corrected in her primmest tone. “
I
was a princess escaping from my tower.”

Charles had listened as his children began describing the outings they had with Sophia. It seemed as though even a mere walk along the cliffs or a visit to the sweets shop in the village was turned into an adventure. They repeated the stories she had told them of Vikings and Scottish raiders and Romans.

“You can come with us tomorrow,” Michael had offered.

“I thought we would go out by ourselves, so you can show me what you have discovered,” he replied.

“I want to go with Sophia,” Gemma had insisted.

When Michael agreed, both children had refused to consider going for a walk without Sophia. He had struggled to restrain his temper as they continued to whine that he did not want them to have any fun.

He had pushed himself to his feet and reminded them sternly that, as their father, he made such decisions. That had brought more protests and then tears. Vexed, he had snapped an order to the nurserymaid that the children should be ready to go tomorrow after breakfast.

No one had uttered another word, but his children’s resentful glares had followed him out of the nursery. He had not been able to put them out of his mind since.

As Charles looked around the dining room table where the others waited for his answer, he was caught by the sympathy in Sophia’s eyes.

She knew.

She knew what had happened in the nursery that morning. It should be no surprise because he guessed Alice had sought her out as soon as he had left the nursery floor.

“You need not come with us,” she said with a half smile that chipped away at the ice around his heart.

“That is right,” Bradby quickly added. “We can get along fine without a grouchy bear stumbling along with us.”

“Perhaps that is true,” Charles said, “especially when Herriott and his cousins are going to be saddled with a braying donkey.”

Herriott laughed and slapped the table. “Well said, Northbridge.”

Miss Catherine chuckled behind her hand. “It is clear that Mr. Bradby is not the only one in a jollifying mood tonight.”

When the conversation turned to other subjects as the other courses were served, Charles was relieved. Sophia’s glances in his direction during the meal warned him that she had noticed he had failed to give Herriott an answer. Once dessert was finished, she and her sister excused themselves as they always did.

Herriott and Bradby showed no signs of being in a hurry to leave the table. Both of them wished him a good night’s sleep when Charles rose to take his leave.

A good night’s sleep? He could not recall the last time he had enjoyed that. The faintest sound woke him, setting his heart to pounding like cavalry riding into battle. Another skill from the war that he wished he could unlearn.

His steps were heavy as he climbed the stairs. He considered checking on the children, but it was likely they were asleep by now. Maybe he should come to the evening meal late so he could be there when they went to bed.

He grimaced. Bradby would tease him about being such a hovering father. It would not bother him if it was just Bradby. Others among the
ton
would find his behavior odd, and the gossip might reach his children’s ears. They had been hurt enough, and he would not let that happen again.

Show me,
he prayed as he opened the door to his bedroom suite.
Show me, Father, how to be a good father. Help me see their needs and let their hearts know that I love them enough that I would gladly lay down my life for theirs.

He closed the door, his hand tarrying on the latch, as he looked around his empty room. Sophia had been right to suggest having the children use the nursery, but that had dashed his hope of getting to know his children better.

A knock sounded right behind him.

Charles opened the door to find Herriott on the other side.

“Can I come in?” his friend asked.

“It is your house.” Charles’s attempt to copy Bradby’s humor fell flat.

“
That
is one of the things I would like to talk to you about.”

Stepping aside, Charles motioned for Herriott to enter. His friend walked in, scanned the room and then chose a chair that had its back to the bay window. Herriott could not have made it clearer if he had shouted that he did not want to look out over the lands he had inherited.

Another knock came at the door seconds after Charles closed it. He opened it again, expecting to see Bradby. Instead a footman carried in a tray with a steaming pot of fragrant coffee and two cups. Whatever Herriott had come to discuss was going to take some time.

Charles followed the footman to where his friend sat. In quick order, the tray was set down and coffee served.

As soon as the door closed behind the footman, Charles sat and asked, “Only two cups?”

“We can speak easier without Bradby.”

Charles nodded. Poor Bradby seemed incapable of having a conversation without turning it into a jest.

“Besides,” Herriott continued, “he wanted to finish the book he was reading.”

“A book on the law?” asked Charles. If his friend had selected such a topic, it could be a good sign that he might be becoming the man he once had been.

Herriott’s nose wrinkled. “It was some absurd novel that he found in the book-room. Something about a castle in Austria and a madman whose very presence tainted the family line and the chances of the young prince to marry the heroine. Silly thing.”

Charles agreed, but said nothing as he waited for Herriott to get to the point. Taking a sip of his coffee, he set it on the tray and leaned back in his chair.

“Northbridge, I want you to join my cousins and me on the tour of the estate tomorrow,” his friend said.

“Why? You don’t need me tagging along like the tail on a dog. This is between you and your family.”

“I want you there to make sure I don’t do something foolish.”

“Like?”

“I don’t know.” Herriott came to his feet. “Maybe I am worried that I will annoy my cousin enough that she will wash her hands of me, although that would make the whole of this far simpler.”

Hope erupted out of his heart, but Charles quickly dampened it. Yes, Sophia treated the children with affection and fairness, but he could hire a nurserymaid to give them the same. Yes, she was lovely, and her lips tempted him to taste them, but the cost of trusting a woman again was far too high. He would spend the rest of his life watching over his shoulder for her to betray him.

But Sophia is not Lydia.

He paid no attention to the small voice. He no longer trusted it either.

“Are you leading up to asking me to help you decide whether to marry Sophia?” Charles asked.

“Maybe I should court her as everyone expects,” Herriott said, dropping into the chair.