Jo Ann Brown (14 page)

Sophia did not reply as Charles took Michael’s hand and started down the steep path. Picking her own way with care, she was glad to see Gemma standing on the sand.

The breeze was gentle, but swirled around the base of the cliffs. Low waves rolled onto the sand. The soft sound as the water slid in and out of the bay created the perfect undertone for the squawking seabirds.

“What are they doing?” Charles asked, his hand shading his eyes as he looked across the bay toward the village.

Boats were drawn up, and men were stacking rope-draped open boxes on the shore.

Sophia smiled. “Nothing suspicious. Those are the lobstermen who have returned with their catch. Anyone with a more illicit cargo does not come ashore in the daylight.”

“What is ill cargo?” asked Michael.

“Not lobsters,” Charles answered with a wink at Sophia. “Maybe the cook will surprise us with some for supper.”

“See the sea!” Michael jumped up and down.

Holding out her hands, Sophia smiled as Gemma grasped her left one. A larger hand took her right, and she stared down in astonishment to see her fingers enveloped by Charles’s. When she raised her eyes, he gave her the smile that thrilled her. She wished he would smile more often because his dark eyes came alight, and that ever-present lock of hair falling over his brow gave him a roguish charm.

“Look how big this stone is!” Gemma ran over to the base of the cliff and slapped a rock twice her height.

Sophia laughed. “If you think that is big, you should see the Bridestones.”

“What are the Bridestones?” Gemma asked.

“Large rocks in the strangest shapes. They are on the edge of the moors west of here. Some are taller than you would be if you stood on your father’s shoulders. Others are not as tall, but look like beasts out of old stories.” She dropped her voice and slanted toward the two children. “One looks like the head of a dragon!”

Michael squealed in delight. “A dragon!”

“A fire-breathing one?” asked Gemma, as excited as her brother.

“I don’t think rock dragons breathe anything.” Sophia laughed and draped an arm over each child’s shoulders. “Maybe you will have a chance to see them while you are here.”

Charles smiled. “As I have agreed that we will not leave until after Sir Nigel’s ball, it is likely we will have time to pay the Bridestones a visit.”

The children cheered.

“And, of course, you will be here tomorrow,” Sophia said, “for the clipping of the church.”

“What is that?” Gemma asked as she skipped around them. “Do you take off a small piece of the wall?”

She laughed. “No. Clipping is an old word that means hugging.”

“You hug the church?” The little girl rolled her eyes. “You are hoaxing us.”

“No, it is really a hug, though not like one you would give your brother.”

“Ugh!” Her nose wrinkled.

Sophia ruffled Gemma’s hair, then said, “It now is the day when we clean up the churchyard before winter. The name came from when there were hedgerows around the church. Those needed clipping each spring and autumn. Now we gather together after the morning service on the Sunday closest to the middle of September. We have a cold nuncheon, then work. Afterward, we have dinner together. At the end of the night the branches and weeds go into a bonfire.”

“Can we go? Can we go?” asked Michael, not giving anyone a chance to answer. “Want to clip!”

Sophia put a finger to Michael’s lips, and Charles envied his son. How he would like that soft touch against his own lips! “You must let your papa decide,” she said with a smile in his direction.

“Papa?” asked Michael.

Charles’s heart contracted between one beat and the next as joy soared through him. He had, at last, won the hard-fought battle for his son. For so long the children had refused to call him anything but sir. To hear his son call him Papa was the answer to a prayer. He thanked the Lord.

“It sounds like fun,” Charles said, smiling at his children.

When Gemma gave him a grin as broad as her brother’s, he wondered if he had ever been happier. He chuckled as Michael grabbed his hand and tugged him around the big rock.

“Play string game,” his son announced. He pulled out of his sleeve a length of string that had been knotted together at the ends. He wrapped it around his left hand in a simple pattern, but needed Sophia’s help to arrange it on his right hand.

He dropped to the sand and sat cross-legged. With his string-wrapped hands, he motioned for his sister to join him. Gemma mirrored his position before reaching over with two fingers on each hand. She rose to her knees as she manipulated the strings quickly and ended up with them on her hand in a different shape.

With his tongue sticking out between his lips and his eyes intense with concentration, Michael looped one finger into each side of it. He paused and looked at Sophia, who nodded encouragement. A couple of deft motions, and the string was around Michael’s hand, but with a different structure.

The children kept moving the string back and forth between their hands. Some of the patterns repeated, but more often a unique one appeared. Finally Michael failed to lift it from Gemma’s hands in the proper way, and the string tangled.

As Sophia took the string and unknotted it to shake it out into a straight line again, Michael said, “Papa, try it.”

“Can you do it?” Gemma’s words were a challenge Charles knew he must take.

“As long as Sophia helps me,” he said.

“Me, too!” Michael edged closer to him and began instructing him on what to do.

Charles tried to follow his son’s jumbled instructions and was about ready to give up when Sophia knelt by his side. She looped the string around his fingers and then drew his hands apart. He breathed in her sweet lavender scent mixed with the salt blowing through her hair, and his head grew light. Playing the game would be difficult when he was captivated by the beautiful woman beside him.

He forced himself to focus as Gemma deftly lifted the strings from his hands and settled them onto hers. She arched her brows as she held her hands out to him. He recognized the challenging expression that he had used often himself.

Looking down at the string, he had no idea where to start. He said as much, and Sophia laughed.

She rose and took his hands. If she felt how they trembled at her touch, she showed no sign. Instead she said, “Pinch the string on either side.” She guided his hands to the proper spot. As soon as he gripped the string properly, she twisted his hands and hers, and he was astounded to discover the string on his fingers in the next pattern.

“See if you can figure out what to do with the next one,” Sophia said, “after Gemma takes it from you. Watch what she does. That should give you a hint.”

He might have caught the trick to the game if he could have taken his eyes off Sophia. Instead he made a mess of the string. Happily he handed it to his son, who quickly wrapped it around his own hands with Gemma’s help. The children passed the string between them rapidly, yelping with excitement each time they created an unusual pattern.

Sophia came to her feet and, slanting against the cliff, watched the children with an indulgent smile. The breeze swirled through her hair beneath her sedate bonnet and twisted her skirt around her slender ankles, offering him a beguiling glimpse.

He put his hand on the cliff near her shoulder. An inch closer and his skin would touch hers. If he laced his fingers through hers, he could gently guide her into his arms. He could place his lips on hers for the kiss that he longed for. His breathing sounded uneven in his ears, and her eyes widened, telling him that she was aware of his thoughts as he was...because his thoughts matched hers.

Her eyes closed, and he leaned in to kiss her. Hearing an exultant laugh from the children, he discovered two sets of young eyes on them.

He drew back with reluctance. The first time when he kissed Sophia would be precious, and he wanted it to be the two of them, sharing what they both yearned for without his children as an audience.

When her eyes opened, surprise filled them before she looked down. Instantly he knew he owed her an explanation, but that, too, must wait until the children were not listening.

As soon as we get to the house,
he vowed.

But that was impossible. As soon as they stepped into Meriweather Hall, Herriott met them at the door. His friend monopolized the rest of his day and evening. By the time Charles finally got a moment alone, Sophia had gone to bed. He would speak with her the first thing in the morning. That was a pledge he was determined not to break.

* * *

Charles sat up in bed as a shriek echoed through the house. Was it the nightmare back to plague him? He threw off his covers and jumped out of bed. He took a single step and jammed his toe against a chair. He yelped, knowing he was awake. Grief and sorrow preyed on him in his nightmares, never physical pain.

Another cry sounded. He ran to his door and threw it open. Who was screaming? He rushed to his cupboard and pulled out the gun he had carried with him while riding north. On the road, highwaymen were the threat, but by the sea, it was smugglers. Had one or more invaded Meriweather Hall?

He ran into the corridor and looked both ways. At the next scream he hastened toward the central staircase. His gut cramped. The cries were coming from the direction of the nursery.

As he took the stairs two at a time, candlelight broke the darkness in the hallway below him. A single candle moved rapidly along the corridor above him. He chased after it.

Two other candles lit the nursery, but he followed the single candle into the room where the children slept. On the small cot his son sat up, his eyes wide as he stared sightlessly across the room and screamed.

Charles pushed past Sophia who stood in the doorway. He would apologize after he comforted his son. He knew, all too well, the devastating power of a nightmare.

“Michael,” he said gently. “Papa is here.”

“No!” Michael screeched. “I want Sophia!”

“Son—”

“I want Sophia! Sophia!” His scream ricocheted through the nursery.

Charles stepped aside so his son could see Sophia. With her hair mussed around her shoulders and her eyes heavy with sleep, she looked more beautiful than ever.

She glanced at Charles, her lips tightening. She said nothing as she handed him her candle. Michael held out his arms to her, and she sat on the edge of the low bed. His son threw himself against her, wrapping his small arms around her neck. He sobbed as she murmured into his hair and stroked his back. She urged him to tell her what he had dreamed, and they whispered together.

Charles fumed.
He
was Michael’s father.
He
should be the one comforting his son, not a woman his son had not even known a month ago. Why had Michael chosen Sophia over his own father?

A hand clasped his shoulder, and Herriott murmured, “Let her calm him.”

Charles growled a protest and started to sweep his friend’s hand away.

“Give her a chance,” Herriott said. “How many times did you tell us that a wise man makes use of the tools at his disposal?”

“Especially,” added Bradby, who stood beside Herriott and tried to hastily tuck his shirt into his unbuttoned breeches, “when he is in unfamiliar territory.”

Charles had never expected to have his own words repeated in such circumstances. Yet they were right. His son needed Sophia now.

But what would happen next time his son had a nightmare and Sophia was not there?

Earlier, on the beach, Charles had congratulated himself for winning an important battle when his son had called him Papa. Now it appeared he was in danger of losing a very different battle—the one to fulfill the promise he had made to God to keep his children from being hurt again.

But he was not a man accustomed to defeat, and he would not surrender without a fight.

Chapter Thirteen

“T
his Sunday morning is truly living up to its name,” Catherine said as she reached for her gloves and bonnet on her dressing table. “After so many blustery days, it is wonderful to see the sun shining brightly.”

Sophia tried to smile, but failed. Everything around her seemed gray. If she had an excuse to stay home, she would. She would sit in Papa’s favorite chair in his book-room and try to guess why Charles had pulled away from her on the beach. He had worn such a peculiar expression, and she had seen him glance uneasily at his children.

From the beginning, he had made it clear his children were his first priority. That was how it should be, but she wondered what the children had to do with him kissing her or not.

Maybe the children had nothing to do with it,
whispered the small voice of her insecurity. That voice had been silent until Lord Owensly cast her aside publicly. It had followed her home to Meriweather Hall and gradually faded.

Until now.

Charles must have known that she wanted him to kiss her. Though he had mentioned her height, it had been with apparent admiration.

Lord Owensly had been complimentary until he told you that he no longer wanted to be seen with you.

Oh, how she loathed that small voice! Especially when she had no arguments against it.

“I wish Mother was coming with us.” Catherine’s words drowned out the accusatory ones in Sophia’s head. “Both she and Papa always looked forward to the clipping of the church. It will not seem the same without Papa there.”

Sophia blinked back tears as she faced Catherine. “It is a beautiful day, and Papa would want us to enjoy it. Every day is a gift from God, and we should rejoice in it.”

Catherine wrapped her arms around herself, but bristled. “Why must you sound like the vicar?”

“Mr. Fenwick has helped me understand that I cannot know all the answers.” She did not want to argue with her sister, especially when nothing else was right. “I simply must have faith.”

“There is nothing simple about that.”

“No, there is nothing simple about faith. It is both a gift and a challenge. A gift when everything is going well, a challenge when it is not. But I accept it gladly in both its forms.”

Her sister did not reply, which was just as well. Sophia had to keep Catherine from guessing that her cheerfulness was only a mask today.

Sleep had been elusive last night after Michael’s nightmare had woken the whole household. Sophia had lingered in the nursery after Michael had gone to sleep. She had reassured Alice that Michael’s nightmare was not as a result of something the nursemaid had done or said. The blame was completely Sophia’s. The little boy had dreamed of a ferocious dragon chasing him in a runaway carriage, and she was the one who had mentioned the Bridestone that resembled one.

She had assumed Charles would wait outside the nursery, but no one was there when she had emerged. This morning his friends told her that he had eaten a very early breakfast and gone for a ride. He would meet them and the children at church.

At least Lord Owensly had had the decency to end their relationship to her face instead of avoiding her.

* * *

Sophia’s cheeks hurt from keeping a false smile in place as she walked out of the church. For once she could not recall a single word Mr. Fenwick had preached. Her attention, through the service, had been riveted on where Charles sat in the rearmost pew after arriving a few minutes late. He was the first one out the door at the service’s end.

She glanced around the churchyard. If he stood somewhere among the weathered stones or beneath the trees that stretched over the low stone wall and lych-gate, she saw no sign of him.

But she kept smiling, because the churchyard was filled with excited children and the parishioners who were eager to enjoy such a beautiful day. Grief further weighed Sophia’s heart when she thought of how many years she had spent this day with her parents. Maybe next year her mother would participate again.

Charles and the children will not be here, and you may be married to your cousin
. Bother! That small voice was becoming even more annoying with every passing hour. It now prattled almost nonstop as if trying to rival Michael’s chatter.

Catherine put her arm around Sophia’s waist. “Vera said we could help stack the cuttings so they can dry for tonight’s bonfire.”

“I thought I would help with the food.”

“She already has enough volunteers for that. Cousin Edmund has offered to set up tables, so she is set.” She scanned the churchyard.

“Are you looking for someone in particular?”

Catherine’s cheeks turned a brighter shade of pink. “Cousin Edmund was wondering where his friends were. I said I would keep an eye out for them.”

“There is Mr. Bradby. Over by the back wall.” She did not add that it was impossible to miss him in his bright green coat and scarlet waistcoat.

As if she had shouted his name, the tall man strode toward them. He greeted them warmly, then said, “Everyone is bustling about. Will you show me where I can help, Miss Cat—Catherine?”

Sophia’s hope that her sister had not guessed he knew her nickname was buoyed when Catherine answered with a broad smile, “Come with me, Mr. Bradby. Cousin Edmund was looking for you, because he has a task that suits you.”

“Dare I ask what?”

“You can ask.” Catherine dimpled. “However, I cannot answer, because I don’t know. He asked me, if I saw you, to tell you and Lord Northbridge to come to the parsonage.” She motioned toward the flint house behind the church.

“Northbridge?” He looked around, then at Sophia. “Is he here?”

Sophia shrugged. “I see Gemma and Michael with the other children, so he must be nearby.”

“He does lurk around them.” Mr. Bradby gave an emoted shudder. “Poor lambs. Guarded by a grumpy old ram.”

Catherine chuckled, but Sophia managed no more than her feigned smile.

As her sister and Mr. Bradby walked toward the parsonage, Sophia pondered whether she should ask her cousin more about his tall friend. Her sister seemed quite taken by Mr. Bradby. But Catherine and Mr. Bradby had done little more than chat and laugh together. That was hardly reason to worry that a betrothal was forthcoming.

But you still expect your cousin to ask you to marry, and you and he have talked even less than your sister and Mr. Bradby.

Sophia hoped work would silence that vexing voice, but no matter how many times she gathered up the branches and leaves being cut off the hedges and trees near the church, the voice pursued her. Maybe she should go to the parsonage. Once she was among the other women, conversation might drown out that little voice.

A huge armload of branches walked toward her, so large that she could not see the man carrying them. From behind them, she heard, “I was told to bring these over here. Where do you want them?”

Charles!

Sophia considered scurrying away. He must not have seen her through the branches. She pushed the thought aside and said, “Toss them on top of the others.”

He halted in midstep, and some of the branches tumbled to the ground. She said nothing while she picked up the branches and tossed them onto the bonfire stack.

“It is a perfect day for these tasks, isn’t it?” he asked as he dropped the rest of the branches on top of the others.

“Yes.”

There was silence as he looked everywhere but at her.

She longed to ask him why he had turned away from her yesterday, but feared the answer would be no different from Lord Owensly’s rejection. Would it be worse to hear that or to have him keep avoiding her while that dashed little voice taunted her?

“Charles,” she said.

“Sophia,” he said at the same time.

“You first,” they said together.

A fleeting smile raced across his lips, and he offered his arm. She put her fingers on it. Some sensation that had no name rushed through her. The only way she could describe it was that touching him felt right and yet risky, as if she were setting off on a journey she had dreamed of forever but had no idea of the destination.

He led her to a section of the wall where nobody was working. Seating her on it, he clasped his hands behind his back. She recognized the pose as the one he assumed when he had something uncomfortable to say. She prayed she would not cry.

“I have a favor to ask of you,” Charles said.

“If I can, I will be glad to comply.” Oh, trite words had never tasted so disgusting on her lips.

Suddenly Gemma and Michael ran to them. The children chattered at the same time, and it took several repetitions to understand that they wanted Sophia and their father to come with them. She saw the other children lining up by the church.

“Charles, can this conversation wait until the ceremony is over?” Sophia asked.

He hesitated, then nodded. “If it must.”

“C’mon!” shouted Michael. “Want to clip.”

Sophia did not wait for Charles to offer his hand to bring her to her feet. She hurried with the children to the end of the line. Telling Gemma to make sure her brother stayed on his feet, Sophia stepped back. She waved to her sister and Cousin Edmund and Mr. Bradby. Vera and Mr. Fenwick were moving along the line, giving last-minute instructions to the children.

The children clasped hands, but there were not quite enough to reach around the church. Shouts went out for family members to step in and complete the circle. When several children called to Sophia, she motioned for her sister, Cousin Edmund and his friends to come with her. Cheers went up as her cousin joined the circle. Herriott flushed, but looked pleased at the enthusiastic welcome for the new Lord Meriweather.

Sophia was unsure if it was by chance or design that she ended up standing between Michael and his father. When Charles took her hand, her resolve to remain cool and aloof melted like butter on a hot pan. He gave it a quick squeeze. Or did he? Maybe he only shifted to take a better hold as the circle contracted, and everyone ran forward toward the church as if to embrace it. They backed away, then repeated the motions twice more. With cheers, the circle broke to surround Mr. Fenwick while he spoke a benediction on the revelers and the church and the parish.

Food was brought out, and the children were allowed to go through the line first. Aromas of freshly cooked chicken and mutton mixed with scents from bowls of vegetables and loaves of steaming bread and a variety of jams and cheeses.

Sophia helped Gemma with her plate while Charles did the same for Michael. As soon as the children were settled on the ground, Charles asked again if he could speak with Sophia.

She nodded. She doubted she could eat because her stomach roiled more with each passing second.

Again he offered his arm. Again, she put her fingers on it, trying not to think that this would be the final time she touched him. Again they walked toward a distant spot along the churchyard wall where nobody was enjoying the feast. Again he sat her on the wall and faced her. Again he clasped his hands behind his back.

She waited.

He cleared his throat, started to speak, then cleared his throat a second time.

“Say what you must,” Sophia said, unable to stand the tension any longer.

“All right.” His gaze locked with hers. “I don’t want you to spend so much time with my children.”

She jumped to her feet. “What?”
That
was the last thing she had expected him to say. She had been certain he was going to explain his peculiar actions on the beach. “Have I done something wrong?”

“Quite to the contrary. You have done so much that is clearly right. The children are becoming very attached to you, and that concerns me.”

“I never would undermine—”

When his hands took hers between them, everything else she had intended to say fell out of her mind. He stroked her fingers lightly in rhythm with his own words.

“I did not mean to suggest that, Sophia. You have brought smiles to their faces, and they heed you as they heed no one else. But Gemma and Michael have been hurt too many times already in their short lives. First, they lost their mother and then I returned to rip them away from their home.” He sighed. “At the time, I only thought of getting them away from the influence of my late wife’s family.”

“Because they have prejudiced the children against you.” She did not make it a question.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Yes, but you should not let that bother you, because you can teach them right from wrong. They are small children who only repeat what they have been taught.”

“I regret that they had to listen to such rancor. If I had been there, I might have been able to spare them, but I could not be there and do my duty at the same time. I thought I could make up for the lost time, but I am no longer sure. Not when my son calls out for you after a nightmare.”

“Charles, he is a child. You should not let one incident make you think you have failed. Michael calls you Papa now, and it is clear he adores you.”

He shook his head and turned away. “But he called for you, and my daughter wants as little to do with me as possible. I need to take my children home where I pray that they can learn to love me as I do them.”

Sophia’s tears welled at his deep pain. He longed to protect his children from more hurt. Did he suspect that she felt the same about him? The three men seldom even referred to what they had endured on the battlefield, but their silences spoke more eloquently than any words.

She tried to persuade herself that this was for the best. Once she had Cousin Edmund settled in his duties, she would take that grand tour she dreamed of. She had waited so long for a sojourn amidst art and sculpture and beautiful vistas. But recently she had thought little about that journey. Instead her days had been filled with the children and with Charles.

“Are you leaving soon?” she asked.

“I told Herriott that I would stay until after Sir Nigel’s assembly. I will not break my word to him, even if it delays us returning home.”

His words drove a painful spike through her, but he was being honest.
Would you want him to be any other way?
She wished the little voice would stop.