The Dutiful Daughter

“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.”