The Dutiful Daughter

“Miss Sophia,” his father corrected quietly.

Michael ignored him. “It cannot be the same sea. We rode days and days.”

“Yes, ’tis the same one,” Gemma retorted.

His face tightened, and Sophia was astonished how his eyes sparked as his father’s had in the book-room. “Not true!”

Sophia took Michael’s hand and then Gemma’s. Looking from one to the other, she said, “Michael, your sister is being honest with you. The sea goes around England.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Sophia nodded as the anger eased from his face. “And do you know what is even more amazing than that? Your father and his friends have gone across the sea.”

Both children spun away from Sophia and faced their father.

Excitement brightened their eyes, startling Charles. He could not recall a single time they had regarded him without suspicion or anger. This was a welcome change. A very welcome change. Wanting to thank Sophia, he kept his focus on his children.

“Is that true?” asked Gemma, mistrust creeping into her voice.

“Yes.” He pointed toward the eastern horizon. “Over there is Europe, just past the point where the sky and the sea meet. There are cities and fields and...” He faltered, not willing to speak in the children’s hearing of what he had seen there.

“And,” Sophia said quickly to fill the silence, “perhaps a boy and girl like you standing on that shore and wondering about us. Wouldn’t it be grand to travel across someday and visit them?”

Charles listened as his children grew more excited while they spoke with Sophia. They vied with each other for her attention. Envy taunted him, because he could not help wondering if he would ever be as natural with his children as she was. No walls stood between her and Gemma and Michael.

Herriott arched a brow, and Charles shrugged at his friend’s unspoken question. He had no idea how she brought about the change in his children.

Moving to stand next to his friend, Charles said beneath the children’s babbling to Sophia, “I hope we are not interrupting anything important.”

“No! Of course not!” Herriott said so quickly that Charles fought back a laugh. “Just chitchat. She seems far more interested in what the children have to say.”

“And they in what she says.” He watched as Michael bent and picked up a stone, which he held up to Sophia. “Once they took note of her, they made a beeline here.”

Michael’s shout rose over Herriott’s answer. “Want to see the sea. Want to touch the water.”

Sophia stood and asked the children to wait for her. As she walked to where Charles stood, he found himself wondering if she was being propelled by a gentle breeze. Every motion was as fluid and graceful as if her feet had wings.

Beside him, Herriott mumbled something under his breath. Charles could not discern what his friend had said, but he hoped his own thoughts had not been vivid on his face. He had no place admiring the woman who was meant for Herriott.

“My lord,” she asked, her voice like a song in his ears, “would you be willing to let me take the children down to the shore? There is a path down to the beach that is not too steep. Even Michael could manage it, though holding the children’s hands would be the best idea.” She faltered, then said, “The choice is yours. I did not tell them what I planned to ask you.”

“I see no reason not to let them get closer to the water,” he replied, “as long as this path is as gently sloped as you say.”

She drew herself up to her full height, and he was amazed anew how pleasant he found having her eyes close to his own. Even when they snapped with green fire as they did now.

“I would never put your children in danger.” Her voice was as cool as a winter morning.

“I know that. If my words suggested otherwise, it was never my intention.” He folded his arms over the front of his greatcoat. “I have become accustomed to being blunt in the company of men. I see I need to watch more words with more care in a lady’s company.”

“Oh, no!” Her icy facade fell away as she looked from him to Herriott and back. “Please do not fret about each word you speak. If we feel we must do that, our conversations will consist of pleasant nothings.”

Charles was taken aback at her fervor, and he wondered what she and Herriott had discussed. Not that it was any of his bread and butter, but he clearly had touched a nerve.

When Sophia returned to the children to tell them what had been decided, Herriott said, “I am wearing my new boots, which I have no interest in ruining along the shore. I trust you will escort my cousin to the house.”

“Certainly.”

“Good.” Herriott turned on his heel to leave, but stopped when Charles spoke.

“Are you all right? If we truly were intruding...”

“It is nothing, Northbridge, but concern for my boots and some work I delayed doing earlier today.” His tone was bleak.

Charles nodded, though he guessed his friend was still wrestling with how he would balance a business enterprise in London and an estate in North Yorkshire. Herriott seemed utterly overmastered by the obligations that had become his. Charles hoped Herriott would find a way to handle both with the ease he once had shown in business.

So much had been easier before they went to war...

Shaking the dreary thoughts from his mind, Charles went to where Sophia waited patiently and his children far less so. He quickly explained that Herriott had excused himself. Sophia had questions in her eyes, but she did not ask them, and he did not offer further explanation.

“Shall we go?” she asked in the mirthful tone she seemed to reserve for the children.

She held out her hand, and both children reached for it. They glowered at each other, but she quickly defused their competitive spirit by saying she would hold Michael’s hand going down and Gemma’s on the way up. Gemma started to protest, but Sophia halted her with a smile.

“Do let me hold your brother’s hand while it is relatively clean,” Sophia said. “You know how boys are.” Her nose wrinkled as if she had smelled something bad. “Digging in the dirt.”

Gemma nodded. “I know! He is always dirty, Sophia.”

“Miss Sophia,” Charles corrected gently.

His daughter scowled, then smiled when Sophia said, “If I hold your hand on the way up the cliff, I shall have an excuse not to hold his dirty fingers then.”

“He can hold Father’s hand on the way up.” Gemma shot him a triumphant glance.

Charles kept a smile from his face. Even though that was not the expression he longed to see on his daughter’s face when she looked at him, anything was better than the frowns she usually aimed in his direction.

When Sophia had taken them to where the narrow path led down the cliffs, Charles thought she had been overly optimistic about the children managing on their own. It cut down the cliff at sharp angles. Yet, as they went slowly along the path, he discovered it was actually simpler than it appeared from the top. Boulders edged the path, so there was less chance of someone toppling down to the shore. At only one spot, where the path dropped more steeply down, did Charles have to pick up his wiggling son and carry him. He set Michael down as soon as the grade eased again.

Sophia did not release Michael’s hand when they reached the bottom. She swung their hands between them while they walked to a large boulder that had either fallen or been thrown up on the shore by a storm.

With a shout, Michael broke away from her. His sister took after him as they raced along the shingle beach, running close to the water and then fleeing toward the base of the cliff as the breakers washed over the stones.

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