She Must Marry for Duty

Sophia Meriweather will—if all goes as it should—marry the heir to her father’s estate. If she’s to secure her family’s future, Sophia must put her would-be groom’s best friend from her mind. But keeping the darkly handsome widower and his two young children out of her heart is proving nearly impossible.

Charles Winthrop, Lord Northbridge, doesn’t believe in love. Lovely Sophia may have charmed his normally silent children, but, for a man of honor and duty, she was a wife he dared not wish for. Yet nothing is as simple as it seems—especially when it comes to matters of the heart….

Sophia was overtaken by her reaction to the earl.

Had she lost her mind? Not only was it assumed she would marry another man, but Lord Northbridge remained in mourning for his late wife. She should help him become closer with his children, not closer to her.

“Can we play draughts?” his son asked, pointing to an upper shelf. “I see a board right up there.”

“Of course,” Sophia said. “I will bring it over to the table, and we will set it up there.”

Michael ran away, calling to his sister to come and play the game with him.

Sophia rose on tiptoe to take down the board and the round draughts. Her hand bumped into Lord Northbridge’s as he reached for the board, too.

“I can get it,” she said.

“I know you can, but allow me to do so in an effort to atone for my son’s intrusion.”

“There is nothing to atone for.”

“For him or for me?” His low voice was almost as warm as his touch.

“Neither of you.”

“I am glad to hear that.…”

JO ANN BROWN

has published more than one hundred titles under a variety of pen names since selling her first book in 1987. A former military officer, she enjoys telling stories, taking pictures and traveling. She has taught creative writing for more than twenty years and is always excited when one of her students sells a project. She has been married for more than thirty years and has three children and two spoiled cats. Currently she lives in Nevada. Her books have been translated into almost a dozen languages and sold on every continent except Antarctica. She enjoys hearing from her readers. Drop her a note at www.joannbrownbooks.com.

The Dutiful Daughter

Jo Ann Brown

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Everlasting joy shall be upon their head:

they shall obtain gladness and joy;

and sorrow and mourning shall flee away.

—Isaiah 51:11

For Regina Scott

A dear friend whose books always delight me.

Thanks for answering all my questions!

I’m sure there are more to come.

And, as always, for Bill.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

Chapter One

Meriweather Hall, Sanctuary Bay, North Yorkshire

September 1816

“He is here? Now?” Sophia Meriweather stared at Ogden, the family’s butler, in dismay.

Ogden nodded, his silvery hair catching the light from the book-room window. Even though he had been in service in the house since her father was a boy, the butler was not bent with age. His black livery was perfect, as always, but she noticed the slightest quiver in his fingers. And why not? Everything was going to change from this moment forward.

That was not quite true. Everything had changed when Sophia’s father took his last breath without a male heir. Without a brother or even a nephew. Only a distant cousin several times removed who had never visited Meriweather Hall on its promontory overlooking Sanctuary Bay. A distant cousin named Edmund Herriott who now possessed the title of Lord Meriweather and held claim to the estate and all it contained.

Including the previous lord’s older daughter.

Not that she was property, but it was assumed by her mother and sister and by the residents of the nearby village that Sophia Meriweather would do her final, most important duty to her father and marry the new baron and give him a male heir to keep an unbroken line at the estate.

Sophia slowly rose from the rosewood desk in the book-room. If she did not marry the new lord, she and her mother and sister would be relegated to the dower cottage where nobody had lived for more than thirty years. Her fingers curled on the edge of the desk. Papa had assured her that once the war was over, they would travel to the places on the Continent that he had visited on his grand tour before the French Revolution and Napoleon’s wars.

But her father was dead, and she was expected to marry a man she had never met.

Sophia raised her chin. She had promised Papa before he died that she would take care of Mama, her sister, Catherine, and Meriweather Hall. That was a promise she must keep. Therefore she would present Meriweather Hall in its best light and at its most welcoming. It did not matter that the new baron had not had the forethought to send a messenger ahead to alert them to his arrival so early in the day. Learning to live with how the new Lord Meriweather handled his household was something they must do.

Affixing a smile, she said, “Thank you, Ogden. I trust you had him escorted to the formal parlor.”

The barons of Meriweather Hall had received guests in that room since the manor house was built in the 16th century. But the new Lord Meriweather is no guest. She silenced that perfidious thought. She had known this day was coming, and she had prayed to be prepared for it. Now she must trust God would help her be.

“They are waiting for you there, Miss Meriweather.” Ogden’s voice was calm.

Hers was not, because it squeaked when she asked, “They?”

“Lord Meriweather has not traveled here alone.” The butler’s face was placid. Only that faint tremble in his fingers revealed that he was as on edge as she was.

Sophia squared her shoulders. Greeting the baron and his traveling companions was her duty. Mother still was not receiving because she remained in mourning.

“Where is Catherine?” she asked, for she had not seen her younger sister that morning.

“Miss Catherine is in her private chambers. Shall I let her know of Lord Meriweather’s arrival?”

“Do so, and have rooms aired for the baron and his guests.” She added as the butler turned to obey, “Ogden, my mother need not be bothered now. I will inform her of Lord Meriweather’s arrival after I have greeted him and his companions.”

“As you wish, Miss Meriweather. But if she asks...”

“Tell her the truth that I have made arrangements for the baron and our—his other guests.” She hoped she would not speak unwisely in the presence of the new baron. Meriweather Hall was no longer her home. It belonged to a man who was setting foot in it for the very first time today.

Sophia took a steadying breath as she walked into the corridor that lead to the front of the house and the formal parlor. A few lamps had been lit to fight back the gray dreariness of the rainy September morning. She did not need light to wind her way past tables and cabinets and the pictures that were lost in the shadows. She knew each inch of the house, because except for a single visit to London for the Season, she had spent every night beneath its roof.

She heard the men’s voices before she reached the formal parlor. The sound, deep and resonant, seemed out of place in the house. One man chuckled, and she wondered if she had heard a male laugh in Meriweather Hall since her father took ill.

Taking a deep breath as she paused by the wide staircase that led to the gallery above, Sophia murmured a quick prayer that God would put the right words on her lips. If it were only her future, she might find this easier, but she had to think of her duty to her family.

Beside the doorway stood Jessup, one of the footmen, who must have escorted the guests there. She smiled a greeting, but he looked hastily away. He probably wished to keep her from seeing how upset he was by the abrupt change in the house.

Her eyes widened when she saw three men in the chamber. All wore rain-drenched brown greatcoats and mud-splattered boots. Their tall hats perched on the circular window seat in the bow window. She was glad they had not thrown their coats on the yellow settee or the marble-topped tables. But mostly, she was pleased to see they were of above-average height. Her one Season in London had been humiliating, because she had not been able to ignore the whispers about how tall she was and who would marry such a Long Meg when there were many petite dolls to choose from?

If her distant cousin shared that belief, it could be disastrous for her family. So, which of the three men was Edmund Herriott?

Was he the redhead who stood with his hands clasped behind his back by the window that offered the best view of Sanctuary Bay? Or was he the light-haired man examining a painting on the chimneypiece? That man was at least five inches shorter than the man by the window, which meant he probably would stand eye to eye with her.

Surely the new Lord Meriweather must be the third man. He was also not as tall as the gangly ginger-haired man, but was well over six feet tall with broad shoulders. He stood in profile to her, so she had an excellent view of rugged features beneath his black hair. Well-shaped mouth, aristocratic nose, firm jaw. His greatcoat was whipped back on one side to reveal an unadorned black waistcoat with silver buttons. Dark brown breeches ended in his mud-stained boots, which he wore with the ease of a man used to a rough life of overseeing his estate and tenants.

Her gaze was caught by his eyes that were as dark as his hair. Heat scored her face when she realized he had been watching her appraise him with candid curiosity. In return he regarded her with cool detachment before looking away as if she were unworthy of his time.

If he is the baron, give me patience, dear God, she prayed. She had seen men with an expression like his in London. Men so certain of their place in the world that they disdained anyone else’s. If she were to marry him... She shivered at the very thought.

“Good morning,” Sophia said as she stepped into the room. She hoped her fingers did not shake visibly as Ogden’s had. “I am Sophia Meriweather, and I welcome you to Meriweather Hall. I trust your journey here was uneventful. North Yorkshire autumns can be beautiful, even though today’s rain and chill winds off the sea are dismal.” She was babbling, but she could not halt herself as the three men focused on her. Wishing the new baron would identify himself, she decided she must guess. She turned to the dark-haired man. “We hope you soon will feel at home here as we do, Lord Meriweather.”

His eyes narrowed, but she saw something flicker within them. She was unsure what the strong emotion was. “I am not your cousin,” he said, then gestured to the light-haired man by the hearth. “Herriott, come forward and greet your cousin.”

Heat scored Sophia’s face. She wished she could leave and come back in again so she could avoid such a faux pas. Why had she assumed the man with the most powerful aura was the new baron? Her distant cousin had held no title before, and the dark-haired man exhibited the air of someone accustomed to deference.

Shrugging off his greatcoat, the new Lord Meriweather hurried to greet her. He was well-favored, but his face did not hold her gaze as the dark-haired man’s had. Who was the other man?

She could not ask that now. She must greet her cousin—the new Lord Meriweather—prettily. He had an uneasy smile as his gaze swept over her. Was he shocked at her height as other men had been? He was, now that he stood in front of her, a bare inch taller than she was. She resisted the urge to pat her blond hair to be sure it had not loosened from its chignon. She realized she should have changed before greeting the gentlemen, because she wore a simple light blue gown that had no lace or ruffles on its hem. What must Lord Meriweather think of her receiving them in such a simple gown?

“Forgive me,” he said. “I was captivated by the elegant brushstrokes in the painting and failed to keep an eye on the door to take note of your arrival.” He bowed his head to her. “I am Edmund Herriott, your cousin. I trust I may address you as Sophia since we are family.”

“Of course.” How could she say no? That would suggest that she had no interest in truly welcoming him into the family. He could then assume that, in spite of everyone’s expectations, she did not want to marry him. Even though that was the truth, insulting him now would be unwise. The dower house was in no condition for her mother.

“And you must call me Edmund. I know my proper address might be uncomfortable for you now.” Her cousin gave her a lopsided smile. She was grateful for his understanding how unhealed the loss of her father remained, even though almost a year had passed. She realized that he was as nervous as she was. For the first time, she wondered if he had brought the others with him to avoid being alone at this first meeting. He straightened his shoulders, much as she had, before adding, “Allow me to introduce my two friends, both of whom served with me on the Continent. May I present Jonathan Bradby?”

The redhead stepped forward and gave a half bow to her. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Meriweather. I must say your family chose the most desolate location possible for a house. I have never visited North Yorkshire before, but I now understand its reputation for putting even the strongest man to the test.” He raised his head, making her tilt hers to look up at his smile, something she seldom had to do. His grin told her that he was attempting to put her at ease. “Crags and storms.”

“But you cannot fault the view, Mr. Bradby,” she replied, appreciating his efforts. “It is spectacular.”

“I shall let you know once it stops raining.” He laughed, and she realized it had been his laugh she had heard earlier.

She would have enjoyed engaging Mr. Bradby further in conversation, but her gaze was drawn back to the dark-haired man. Unlike his now smiling friends, he remained somber. She wondered if she could ever be unaware of him when he stood nearby.

Her cousin glanced from her to his friend before saying, “May I also present Charles Winthrop, Earl of Northbridge?”

Sophia’s breath caught as the earl lowered his head in a gracious greeting. Light played across his sharply sculpted face, and her eyes riveted on the white puckered line of a scar that ran from the middle of his left cheek to his temple before vanishing into his black hair. She could not regain her composure before he straightened and caught her reaction. Any hint of emotion vanished from his face while hers grew warmer with each passing second.

Oh, bother! She was making a difficult situation even worse by gawking at Lord Northbridge like an untutored child. Whether he had been injured in the war or elsewhere, she should not stare. Had she learned nothing from being stared at herself? She must say something to atone for her rude behavior.

She chose the first words that popped into her head, praying they would be the correct ones. “I apologize, Lord Northbridge, for mistaking you for my cousin. I hope I did not discomfort you.”

His ebony brows lowered. “Quite to the contrary, Miss Meriweather. I would venture that you are the one who has been put to the blush.”

“A most flattering shade it is,” Mr. Bradby said with another friendly grin. He pulled off his greatcoat to reveal a peacock’s attire. His green coat was worn over an eye-searing blue waistcoat and ruddy breeches.

Jessup rushed in to collect the coats. The footman’s eyes almost popped from his head as he stared at Mr. Bradby’s garish clothing. Then he recalled himself and held out his arm for the other men’s coats. Cousin Edmund handed over his coat, but Lord Northbridge did not remove his. Jessup waited a few seconds, then took the two coats where they could be cleaned and dried.

“Allow me to add, Miss Meriweather,” Mr. Bradby said, “that your home was a welcome sight on such a stormy day.”

“We have rooms ready for you,” Sophia said, her aplomb in place once again. “I trust you will find them suitable for your needs, and I can assure you that each has a splendid view of the sea.” She allowed herself the slightest smile. “Or they shall once the sky clears. If there is anything special you require, please ask, and we will do our best to provide it.”

“Thank you, Sophia,” said her cousin, who then looked at the earl. “Northbridge, don’t you have something special to ask of our hostess?”

Sophia stiffened, unsure what the earl would say. Her cousin had treated her with respect and kindness, but she knew none of these men. Would they hoax her for their amusement?

“I do have a unique request, Miss Meriweather.” His face softened, and she was startled by the change in his austere expression. Something fluttered in her middle, something she was unfamiliar with. Something delightful, something that had appeared the moment his gaze held hers. “You see, I am traveling with my young son and daughter.”

“Of course they are welcome here, as well.” She spoke the words automatically, still unable to look away from his mysterious eyes that seemed to hide so much.

“You are very kind,” Lord Northbridge said, “when we have arrived without giving you a warning that the children would be with us.”

Sophia blinked, breaking the connection between them, as she understood the significance of his words and looked around the room. Where were the children? She did not ask the question aloud, but the earl answered it as if he were privy to her thoughts. A most discomposing idea.

“I had your cousin ask the staff not to mention this to you immediately or to tell you that the children are being taken to the chamber where I will be staying,” Lord Northbridge said. “I thought one shock at a time was enough for you.”

Sophia nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her cousin was already exerting his place in the household. No wonder Ogden had been aquiver. It was not his way to keep secrets from the Meriweather family, and he must have been deeply distressed to be put into such a position. Had Jessup been avoiding her eyes because he feared she would guess his part in the deception?

The staff was doing exactly as they had been trained. She should be proud they were making the transition to the new Lord Meriweather with such skill. She wished she could do the same.

Sophia forced a smile. “I shall have the nursery rooms aired out immediately, my lord. Your nursemaid and—”

“The children shall stay with me. There is no nursemaid.” His stern words left no room for debate. “If you will excuse me...” He strode toward the door as if he were lord of Meriweather Hall.

The moment he opened the door, two small blurs rushed into the room. Jessup followed, then brought himself up short before he ran into Lord Meriweather. The footman started to mumble an apology, but Sophia walked to where two small children were clambering onto the curved window seat.

“Where is it?” asked the little girl, who appeared to be about six or seven years old. Her dark red hair was trying to escape from beneath her cap. “Where is the sea?”

“Want to see the sea.” The toddler boy beside her, his hair as black as Lord Northbridge’s, jumped up and down on the cushions.

Sophia put her hands on his waist before he bounced off and hurt himself. “The sea is out there all around us.”

“Where?” the little boy demanded.

“In the rain. The rain is filling up the sea. Once the clouds are empty, you will be able to see where the raindrops have landed.” She sat beside the children who regarded her with uncertainty. “Then the sea will be as beautifully blue as the sky.”

“Really?” asked the little girl as her brother popped his thumb into his mouth and regarded her with wide brown eyes.

“Really.” Sophia smiled, relaxing for the first time since she had come into the drawing room. “My name is Sophia. What are yours?”

“I am Lady Gemma Winthrop,” the little girl said with a dignity that seemed too old for her age, “and this is my brother, Michael. He is Lord Winthrop.”

“I am a bearing,” Michael said around his thumb.

Sophia silenced her chuckle because she did not want to hurt the little boy’s pride. “My 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 said, “I am sorry. I should not have mentioned Lydia. I know how memories of her must afflict you.”

“More than you 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 closer eye on them, so they do not disturb you again.” He stepped aside as a maid entered with Lady Meriweather’s tea. “Gemma, Michael, it is time for you to leave now. Thank Lady Meriweather for her hospitality.”

“Must we go?” asked Gemma, looking from Sophia to her mother.

“For now,” Lady Meriweather replied with a smile. “When you return, be sure to let your father know where you are bound.”

Gemma and Michael exchanged a glance, then nodded with clear reluctance.

Sophia took each child by the hand and led them into the hallway. She released them, turning to go in and sit with her mother. Lady Meriweather shooed her toward the door as she had the children.

“You have guests.” Lady Meriweather’s eyes twinkled. “I can entertain myself, and Lord Northbridge could use your help.”

“Mother, I came here to have a nice coze with you.”

“And what would you have talked to me about other than our guests?” She waved toward the door again. “Go and help the earl get his children settled before supper. You shall need to use all your wits to keep those two lively children out of trouble.”

Sophia knew arguing with her mother would gain her nothing. Giving her mother a quick kiss on the cheek, she hurried out into the hallway where Lord Northbridge was walking in the direction of his rooms.

The children lagged behind, and he looked back. His eyes widened when he saw her following. He halted to allow her and the children to catch up with him.

“Yes?” he asked when she reached where he stood.

Sophia bit back her sharp retort. He did not need to act like a martinet again now that the children had been found. When his gaze shifted, she realized he was embarrassed that she had witnessed his raw emotions earlier.

He was hiding something, something more than grief at his wife’s passing. She was as sure of that as she was of her name. For a moment when he’d rushed up to her in the hallway, his eyes had been wild with fear. A fear that far surpassed what a father should feel when his children wandered away in an unfamiliar house.

She could not ask him about it. His cool demeanor prevented that, but she could pray that he would be able to come to terms with that fear and whatever else he was hiding.

“Miss Meriweather, did you have something you wished to say to me?” the earl asked impatiently.

“Yes.” She watched the children’s faces alter from unhappiness to tentative smiles when she said, “I do hope you will allow Gemma and Michael to pay a call on my mother each day during your stay at Meriweather Hall. I can see that they have brought a happiness to her that has been lost. Thank you.” She locked her fingers together in front of her because her hands suddenly seemed awkward. She must not reach out to place a hand on his arm to express her gratitude as she might have with her sister or mother.

“I am glad she sees their exuberance as a blessing rather than as a burden.”

“Is that how you see it?” she asked, shocked.

His brows lowered in a familiar scowl. “No. Don’t be absurd. They are no burden for me. I am pleased to have them with me.”

“I am glad.” She was proud she had not let his frown overmaster her again. “Mother has asked that I offer to help you with the children while you are guests at Meriweather Hall.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I know, but my mother believes that one’s Christian duty should be acted upon, not merely spoken of.”

“That is an excellent way to live one’s life.”

Sophia met his eyes steadily. “And do you live your life to that Christian ideal, too, my lord?”

“I try. I may not always succeed, but I do try.” He looked past her as one of the upper maids came around a corner. He motioned for her to come over to them. “Please escort the children to my rooms...”

“Mary,” Sophia supplied in a near whisper.

As if she had not spoken, Lord Northbridge continued, “And I would appreciate if you would wait there with them until I return, Mary.”

She curtsied. “Of course, m’lord.”

He bent toward the children. “Go with Mary. There are some cakes on the tea tray, but have a sandwich first. Remember to walk. No running.”

“Running is better suited for the shore.” Sophia was rewarded by wide grins from the two children.

“At the sea?” asked Michael as he rocked from one foot to the other in excitement. “Will you take us there, Sophia?”

“Miss Meriweather,” his father corrected.

“Will you?” the little boy asked again.

Sophia hesitated, looking from Michael to Lord Northbridge.

The earl asked, “Miss Meriweather, may I have a word with you?” Not giving her a chance to answer, he added, “Gemma, make sure your brother heeds Mary.”

“But Miss Meriweather didn’t say if we were going to the sea,” Gemma protested.

With a glower in Sophia’s direction that suggested she had caused the whole of this on purpose, Lord Northbridge said, “Right now, I need to speak with Miss Meriweather. We will discuss tomorrow’s plans later, children. Please go with Mary.”

Gemma and Michael exchanged a glance as they had in Sophia’s mother’s room, then walked away, every step radiating with fury. Michael looked back, and Sophia gave him a bolstering smile. How sad that the children deflated like balloons whenever their father spoke to them! He was a daunting man, but he must love the children dearly if he had brought them north with him so they could have time together.

And how could she forget his raw fear for them when he discovered they were missing? He loved his children. She knew that, but she wondered if they did.

Sophia wiped her face clean of any expression when Lord Northbridge asked, “Is there a place where we might talk?”

“Yes.” She understood what he sought. A place where they could speak without being overheard, but where they could be seen so there was no suggestion of impropriety. “There is an alcove at the end of this corridor by the window that overlooks the front garden.”

“Excellent.” He offered his arm.

Sophia put her hand on his sleeve and hoped he did not feel her trembling. The powerful muscles beneath her fingers contracted, and she thought he was going to pull away. Then they relaxed, and his stern face did, too, as they continued along the hallway toward the front of the house.

Her gaze traced his straight jaw. It was shadowed by a low mat of a day’s whiskers. None grew around the scar along the side of his face. His hair was in need of a cut, for it dropped over his high collar. His clothing had been made by a skilled tailor. The coat did not pull at his shoulders, and his waistcoat fit well against his chest. There was nothing foppish about the way he tied his cravat. He was no dandy. She looked higher at his firm chin and his expressive mouth. He was a man of rapidly changing moods. She already had seen that in the short time he had been at Meriweather Hall.

When Lord Northbridge stopped, Sophia blinked. She had been lost within her appraisal and was astonished that they had reached the large Palladian window at the corridor’s end. A tufted bench was set on one side of the window next to a mahogany longcase clock. The soft ticking of its pendulum matched the splatter of rain against the glass.

“I appreciate the offer extended by you and Lady Meriweather,” the earl said, “but I do not want to add to your other duties by putting two rambunctious youngsters in your care.”

“They have been kept closed up in your carriage during the trip north and now within the house because of the storm.” As if to stress her words, the wind threw rain against the window. “Tomorrow, when the clouds have blown out to sea, I can give your children a tour of the grounds. There are many things that they will find interesting.”

“You don’t need to go to that trouble.”

“It is no trouble, 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 came up the stairs, drawing the eyes of everyone in the foyer after her. She smiled as she took Sophia’s hand and said, “What a party we shall be tonight! When I invited the Fenwicks to join us, I never had any idea our numbers would grow so.” Under her breath she added, “I am sorry. With the uproar today, I forgot I had invited them after church on Sunday.”

“Did you inform Mrs. Porter?” asked Sophia as quietly, not wanting to chide her sister who took every opportunity to invite Vera, her dearest bosom bow, to Meriweather Hall.

Catherine blanched. Sophia knew her sister had not remembered to tell the cook that the Fenwicks would be joining them tonight. Catherine, who was four years younger than Sophia, had no head when it came to details.

“I will tend to it,” Sophia said. With a smile she hoped did not look forced, she raised her voice and added, “The more the merrier.”

When she saw Lord Northbridge’s eyes narrow at her banal answer, she wondered if there was a way to keep her gaze from shifting toward his often. She pretended she had not noticed him looking at her and hurried down the stairs to greet their pastor and his sister. There was no question that the Fenwicks were closely related. Both Mr. Fenwick and his sister Vera were of average height and with open faces that invited one to stop and talk. Mr. Fenwick’s dark hair was thinning on top, but Vera’s was a lush mass of curls pulled back with silver combs. She was dressed in her best gown, a pristine white with pale pink ribbons decorating the modest bodice. Did she hope to make a positive impression on one of Meriweather Hall’s guests?

Sophia scolded herself as Vera laughed at some sally her brother must have said. There was nothing calculating about Vera Fenwick. She was a sweet soul and served the church and its parishioners as wholeheartedly as her brother. Why was Sophia looking for hidden motives where she knew there were none? Simply because she had been overset by her cousin and his unsettling friends was no excuse for being ill-mannered herself, even in her thoughts.

“Good evening, Mr. Fenwick,” Sophia said, offering her hand to the vicar. “And, Vera, you look lovely tonight.”

Vera threw her arms around Sophia and gave her a quick hug. The motion said more than words could.

When Sophia stepped back, the foyer went uncomfortably still. She understood why when she saw Cousin Edmund and Mr. Bradby stop in midstep as she had on the stairs. Her cousin’s gulp when his eyes focused on Mr. Fenwick’s clerical collar echoed through the open space.

Mr. Bradby gave him a clap on the shoulder and kept coming down the steps. The redhead had sought out Sophia earlier to express his apologies. That did not make her any less uncomfortable with him, even though she could not fault the man when he had done no more than speak the truth. But did her cousin believe that she intended to force his hand by inviting the vicar to Meriweather Hall tonight?

“Oh, dear,” said Catherine under her breath. She was clasping and unclasping her hands, a sure sign of her anxiety.

Sophia had to do something, so she smiled up at her cousin. She hoped her expression did not look as bizarre as it felt. “Lord Meriweather, do come down and meet our dear pastor and his sister. Mr. Fenwick and Miss Vera Fenwick have long been regulars at our table. If you want to know anything about Sanctuary Bay, he is the man to ask.”

“Yes, yes,” Cousin Edmund said, continuing toward them. He offered his hand to the vicar. “I look forward to our conversation, Mr. Fenwick.”

“As do I, my lord.”

From behind her, Sophia heard, “Well done, Miss Meriweather. You seem to have set your cousin somewhat at ease.”

She looked back to see Lord Northbridge’s faint smile. “High praise coming from you.”

“Indeed.”

Resisting the urge to laugh, Sophia asked, “Shall we go in to dinner? Cousin Edmund, we are informal here at Meriweather Hall. If you do not mind, I would ask you to follow Catherine while I confirm one matter with Ogden.”

Catherine accepted Mr. Fenwick’s arm while Cousin Edmund offered his to Miss Fenwick. When Mr. Bradby held out his to Lord Northbridge, everyone laughed, his antics shattering the last of the suffocating tension. Mr. Fenwick continued to chuckle as the guests walked in the direction of the dining room, but it was Lord Northbridge’s laugh that echoed lightly within her. It was like his son’s, deep and free. Suddenly there was nothing she wanted more than to hear it again.

Was she mad? Mr. Bradby had been unable to look her in the eye when he spoke his apology, and she had no idea what he thought about her and Lord Northbridge talking alone. He could not have seen her hand on the earl’s arm or Lord Northbridge’s fingers reaching out to her. Even so, she needed to take care that she was never found in such a possibly compromising position again.

Sophia waited until they were out of earshot and then spoke quickly with the butler. She saw questions in his eyes. As much as she appreciated his concern about how she was dealing with the changes in Meriweather Hall, to speak of such matters would be inappropriate.

“Ogden, please let Mrs. Porter know that the Fenwicks have joined us for dinner.”

He nodded. “I will alert the footmen who are serving, too.”

“Thank you.” She was glad she could depend on the household staff to make food prepared for five serve seven without any of the guests suspecting they were being offered more vegetables with their meat than had originally been planned. The soup course would pose no problem because Mrs. Porter always made extra, and the meringue for their dessert could be cut into smaller slices.

Sophia hurried after the others to the opulent dining room. Thick rafters wove across the ceiling, and magnificent paintings of bucolic scenes were laced among them. The murals on the walls were of the moors, not far to the west. Ruined buildings and tiny villages were painted among the wild, rolling hills. Two chandeliers hung above the black walnut table that would seat twenty. Rainbows danced on the walls as the crystal prisms caught the candlelight.

Everything was perfect, except...

Sophia realized everyone else had taken their seats. Cousin Edmund sat at the head of the table, a place that was rightly his as the latest in a long line of barons. Her sister was to the left of their cousin and next to Mr. Fenwick. On Lord Northbridge’s right, Mr. Bradby talked with Vera.

A groan rushed up from deep within Sophia when she realized the only empty place was between her cousin and Lord Northbridge. There were other vacant chairs farther along the table, but to choose one of those would be a blatant insult to both men. It was very cozy...and a reminder that she should be making every effort to become better acquainted with her cousin.

The men rose when Sophia neared the table, and she gestured for them to retake their seats. As she sat between Lord Northbridge and her cousin, she waited for someone to speak, but the conversation that had been animated when she entered the room seemed dead. Footmen served the white consommé with quiet efficiency. They stepped away from the table, and the room became silent again.

Catherine shot Sophia a desperate look, and Sophia asked, “Mr. Fenwick, would you say grace?”

“Of course.” He bowed his head over his folded hands, and they all did the same. “Lord, we give thanks for this company and this food. We ask for Your grace upon both. Amen.”

After they repeated his amen, everyone started to speak at once, clearly worried that the silence would return and smother them.

Lord Northbridge picked up his soup spoon and began a conversation with Mr. Fenwick. Initially Sophia thought he was using the vicar in an effort to avoid her. After what had happened by the window, he probably thought saying nothing to her was the wisest course. He might be right. As a once-married man, he would know more about such matters than she did.

“I am pleased Meriweather Hall has such a skilled cook,” Cousin Edmund said.

“Mrs. Porter never disappoints,” Sophia replied, turning to speak with her cousin.

He said nothing more, giving her short answers when she asked his opinion of the house and his journey north. She wondered if he was as nervous as she was. And it was not solely because she sat next to a stranger she was expected to marry. It would have been simpler if the earl had not sat beside her. Was Lord Northbridge making as much of an effort as she was to keep their elbows from brushing? She had not realized he was left-handed, which made the chances of them bumping into each other even more likely. A sense she could not name made her aware of his every motion as if it were hers. She wanted to savor it, but she needed to take care. An earl could have his pick of any young lady in the ton. He might find her amusing for a short time and quickly forget her as her erstwhile beau Lord Owensly had during her Season in London. She did not want to risk such shame and hurt again.

Lord Northbridge spoke her name, and she stiffened until she realized he had said, “Mr. Fenwick, Miss Meriweather said you are an expert on the history of Sanctuary Bay and its coastline. Can you tell us how it got its intriguing name?”

Mr. Fenwick set his spoon next to his emptied soup dish. “There are many opinions about that. The most popular is that it was named because the residents hid on the cliffs to evade Viking raiders. That is probably not true. The Viking longboats could easily have navigated into our small harbor as they did in many others along the shore.”

“It sounds as if you favor a different tale,” Lord Northbridge said, then took a sip of his soup.

“I would not say that, but there is another suggestion of how the town was named.” The vicar smiled at Sophia. “It is the theory your father developed, Miss Meriweather. Why don’t you explain it to the gentlemen?” He gave a throaty chuckle. “As I disagree with some facets of it and am uneasy with others, I prefer not to repeat it.”

Lord Northbridge and his friends looked at Sophia. Honest curiosity gleamed in the eyes of Cousin Edmund and Mr. Bradby, but she read more than curiosity in the earl’s. To avoid his gaze until she was more composed, for the first time she avoided them. She looked down at her bowl and realized she had not taken a single bite.

The clatter of wooden heels sounded as a boy rushed into the dining room. Sophia recognized him as Ben, an apprentice at the village baker’s shop. He skidded to a stop beside Mr. Fenwick’s chair as a maid came into the room in pursuit of the boy. She flushed as she hurried at a more studied pace toward the table.

Ben ignored the glare the maid fired at him. Instead he spoke to Sophia, but kept glancing at the vicar. “Miss Meriweather, I am sorry to interrupt.” He turned to Mr. Fenwick. “’Tis Mr. Joiner. He has taken a bad turn, and the family asks for you to come as soon as possible.”

The vicar got up, placing his napkin on his chair. “Thank you, Ben. Will you have the horse hitched to my cart?”

“I stopped by the stable, and one of the lads said he would see to it, Mr. Fenwick. I will go and help him.” He raced out of the dining room with the maid following hastily with a guilty glance at the butler. It was well-known that Ogden insisted that only footmen be in the dining room to assist him during meals.

Mr. Fenwick said, “I beg your pardon for taking my leave abruptly.”

Sophia stood, and the other men did, too. “Please don’t let us delay you with goodbyes, Mr. Fenwick, when you are needed elsewhere now.”

Vera set herself on her feet, as well. “Thank you for the invitation, Catherine. I will see you and Sophia again soon, I hope. My lords, Mr. Bradby, it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Do stop by the parsonage when you visit the village.” She took her shawl from her brother and draped it over her shoulders as she hurried with him out of the dining room.

Looking across the table, Sophia saw her sister’s dismay at the idea of the two of them being alone with the new Lord Meriweather and his friends. Sophia knew it could be worse. She and Cousin Edmund could be dining alone as he prepared to propose.

Neither Sophia nor Catherine had needed to fret, because Cousin Edmund seemed to have found his tongue, and he prattled like a chatter-box. He directed the conversation toward his friends, never to her.

Sophia saw her sister begin to relax and smile when Mr. Bradby told amusing, but silly stories. The redhead’s grin got wider each time Catherine reacted to one of his jests. Sophia was glad she had accepted his apology because he was making every effort to make the evening convivial for Catherine.

She wished she could let her guard down, too, because Mr. Bradby, aside from his unconsidered words upstairs, was both endearing and skilled with gaggery. However, the very idea of unbending when Cousin Edmund sat on one side of her and Lord Northbridge on the other was unfathomable.

Instead she watched the interaction between the three men. Even though the earl did not speak as often as the others, each time he did, the other two were quick to defer to his sentiments. It was clear they held him in the highest esteem. At the same time, Lord Northbridge was enjoying their company. When Cousin Edmund mentioned something about the war, the earl glanced at her sister and said, “Herriott, the ladies.”

His words confirmed Sophia’s suspicions that the three men had fought together against Napoleon. That would explain both the earl’s scar and his friends’ respect. She could easily picture Lord Northbridge giving calm orders in the midst of gunfire. Had he honed his ability to control his emotions under such stress?

When the last course, a sweet and light meringue, was crumbs on their plates, Sophia said, “Please allow us to withdraw so you gentlemen may enjoy your port.” She started to push back her chair to rise.

The men surged to their feet, and both Lord Northbridge and her cousin reached to help draw out her chair. The earl pulled back his hand as if the wood had suddenly burst into flame. He bowed his head slightly to her cousin who assisted her to stand, and her cousin’s eyes narrowed.

Confused, Sophia wondered what unspoken message had passed between them. She thanked her cousin, then turned to leave the table. A firm chest covered by an embroidered waistcoat halted her. Oh, bother, she should have gone in the other direction, but Cousin Edmund had been standing too close on that side.

She raised her eyes to Lord Northbridge’s, and her breath caught over her heart, which seemed to have forgotten how to beat. His eyes were no longer hooded, and she saw the powerful emotions warring within them. She should look away, but she was held by the shadows of sorrow in his eyes. He must continue to grieve for his wife, even after more than three years. Many questions begged to be asked. Many words of comfort she wanted to offer, to speak of how deeply she understood his loss.

But she was unable to speak because she could not breathe. If she drew in another breath, his powerful essence would come with it. They could not have stood unmoving for more than a moment; yet it seemed like one life she had known had ended and a new one had started. A life in which he played a role. Which role she did not dare to guess, but that brief second of connection eased the icy cocoon that had surrounded her heart for longer than she wanted to admit.

Sophia stepped away. She had to fight her feet, which wanted to take her back to Lord Northbridge. Instead she walked slowly to where her sister waited at the end of the table. Together they left the room. She saw curiosity on her sister’s face, but how could Sophia explain that she was captivated by the good friend of the man she was expected to marry?

* * *

“When I saw the vicar in the foyer, I thought I was done for, about to be caught in the parson’s mousetrap.” Herriott shuddered as he grimaced.

“Did you really believe that Fenwick was here because Miss Meriweather intended to force you into popping the question the very first night you arrive?” Bradby put down his glass and folded his arms on the table and chuckled. “Stop acting like a scared rabbit, and put yourself in the lady’s place. She knows nothing of you, save that you are a distant relative.”

“Listen to him, Herriott,” Charles said, stretching out his legs beneath the table. “Why would she command you to make an offer? From what I have seen of Miss Meriweather, she would never do something skimble-skamble.”

Herriott leaned forward. “What do you think of her?”

Bradby cleared his throat and shifted uneasily, a sure sign that Charles must not hesitate on his answer. He would not lie, but how could he say that Herriott’s future wife invaded too many of his thoughts? He had never met a woman who exhibited a grace that suggested she moved to music the rest 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, which has deep water,” she said, her hands moving as if they were ships on the sea. “Once they reached their target, they were swifter and with nothing to lose, so they often convinced the captains to hand over their cargo without a single shot fired.”

“And hied to Sanctuary Bay. But that cannot be the end of the tale. The ships’ captains must have set chase.” He wanted to keep her telling the story, because he was fascinated by how her expression emphasized each facet of it. Without the grief that too often shadowed her face, she was even more beguiling.

He started to reach out his hand to put it over hers. He drew it back quickly. Hadn’t Bradby’s interruption this afternoon taught him anything? He could not risk her reputation by giving in to the yearning to touch her.

“The ships did come to Sanctuary Bay, but the crews never found any signs of their stolen cargos in the village.”

“Tell me, where in this house did they hide their loot?”

“There is supposedly a deep cellar, more like a cave actually, beneath, but we have never found any sign of it.” Her laugh caressed him like a spring breeze. “How did you guess? Nobody outside the village ever knew of it.”

“Mr. Fenwick’s reluctance to speak of your father’s theory was a good clue.”

“There are rumors that my ancestors played a large part in the crimes.”

“That did not disturb your father?”

“Quite to the contrary. He thought it great fun to have pirates in our family line, but he was also glad that we live in a far more civilized time.”

Charles sighed deeply. “I would not say we are more civilized. We simply prey on each other in different ways now.”

“I read the dispatches in the newspaper about the battles against the French,” she said in little more than a whisper. “I cannot imagine how much more horrendous it must have been on the battlefield.”

“No, you cannot. Not unless you were there.”

“I would be glad to listen if you wish to speak of it. Mr. Fenwick has often reminded us that a problem shared is a lessened burden.”

He recoiled, shocked by her words. “Why would I wish to relive that?”

“I have no idea, but—”

“Miss Meriweather, I do not wish to speak it.” He clenched his teeth as he felt the all-too-familiar surge of heated anger rising from his gut. He struggled to dampen it, but his temper seemed to have a will of its own, wanting to lash out in every direction.

Sophia stared at him in shock. The so-very-brief connection between them was now completely broken. He told himself that it was for the best. She should be getting better acquainted with her cousin, not with him. That thought stabbed him. What did it matter? If she knew the truth about him, she would run in the opposite direction.

He stood when she rose and gestured at the bookshelves.

Her voice was polite and nothing more. “Please feel free to read any book that appeals to you.” She faltered, then said, “Some of the volumes are old and fragile. If you wish to read in your room tonight—”

“Michael and Gemma have been taught to respect other people’s possessions,” he replied crisply at the implied insult. Telling himself that she had not meant her words that way, he tried to push his anger deep within him again. It was like trying to squeeze a cannon into a snuffbox.

“As I said, I am done here.” She did not look at him. “You are welcome to stay. I hope you feel free to run tame through the house.”

“You have made us feel comfortable in your home.” He raised a hand to halt her answer when her gaze slid toward him. “I know it is Herriott’s estate, but it is your home. I daresay I would not show such equanimity if a stranger came to Northbridge Castle and laid claim to it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “We have had time to adjust because we have been awaiting Cousin Edmund’s arrival for more than ten months.”

“But to hand over your home without a protest...”

“We are fortunate he is a kind gentleman, who already is making efforts to put us at ease.”

He found her trite answer vexing. Before he could halt himself, he fired back, “Really? Are you as at ease with the idea of wedding your family to his?”

She flinched at the word wedding. “That is too intimate a question,” she said in a frigid tone, “but you would be wise to remember that I shall do what I must for my family. And I ask you, my lord, would you wed your family to another if it was for the benefit of your children?” She pushed past him to go to the door.

His fingers closed into fists. How dare she use such an officious tone that suggested she was a better person, more willing to sacrifice than he was! She sounded like Lydia. His late wife had delighted in looking down her nose at him whenever she had had the chance. Now Miss Meriweather was doing exactly the same. Had she no idea how much he was fighting to control his temper that she seemed determined to incite with her verbal attack? Cold fury pumped through him. If she wanted a battle, he would oblige.

“Odd,” he said to her back. “I may not know you well, Miss Meriweather, but I have learned to trust my first impressions.”

She spun to face him. “Which means?”

“I don’t see you as a woman willing to settle for a neat solution.”

“A neat solution?” Tears glistened in her eyes. “Is that what you are looking for in your life and your children’s lives? A nice, neat, boring solution? May I suggest, Lord Northbridge, that you deal with your family’s problems and allow me to deal with mine?”

She was gone before he could reply, but not before he saw tears bubbling out of her eyes.

He gripped his hands on the chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Was using cutting words to find a woman’s most vulnerable spot the only thing he had learned during his marriage? He thought of Bradby’s teasing about the fairy tale of “Beauty and the Beast.” Was his friend closer to the truth than he guessed?

He slammed his left fist into the oak door. It crashed against the wall as pain surged up his arm. Cradling his hand, he edged away from the door that was now stained with the blood from his scraped knuckles.

Charles turned away from the door. He hated how his temper had become a vicious monster, ready to shed any hint of humanity and leap into battle at the least provocation. He did not want to lose himself again and again to his temper, but he feared he no longer knew how to prevent it.

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