Jo Ann Brown (15 page)

“You have done the best you could do,” Sophia said. “There is nothing else any man can ask of you.”

“But God can.” He looked away. “I promised Him that if He let me survive, I would be the best possible father any child ever had. He brought me back to them, and now I must do as I vowed.”

She put her hand on his cheek and turned his face toward her. His face was rough with low whiskers, and her voice was unsteady when she said, “God knows when we try, and He does not love us less when we fail. As a Father Himself, He knows what an impossible task it is to aspire to His perfection.”

“I am relieved that you understand, Sophia.”

She wanted to shout that she understood too little. He had said nothing about why he had pulled away from her on the beach. Or was
this
the reason? She was utterly confused.

“I cannot avoid them today,” she whispered. “Not unless I leave before the festivities are done.”

Charles wanted to take back his request as soon as he heard Sophia’s sad words. This had gone wrong. He had hoped to spare his children from grief, and he was creating more for Sophia.

“I never meant to suggest that you avoid them,” he said. “Only that you limit the time you spend with them. You have been kind teaching them new games and taking them on adventures by the sea, but I need to do those things with them.”

“I will do as you ask.”

“Thank you.” He had gotten what he wanted, so why did he feel dreadful?

She lowered her eyes that were bright with unshed tears and turned away. “If you will excuse me...” Trembling, she hurried to where her sister talked with Miss Fenwick and two other women.

Charles stamped away in the other direction. He had made a shocking mull of the whole conversation. He had never intended to hurt Sophia, but he knew he had been bamboozling himself when he had thought he could explain without causing her more heartache.

He took no note of where he was walking. If someone spoke to him, he nodded or gave a terse reply. The only conversation he paid attention to was within himself.

Isn’t this what I wanted? To keep my children from being hurt again. It should be the only thing that matters. I abandoned them once, and I will not let them feel abandoned again. This is the right choice.

Isn’t it?

He gave a wordless growl under his breath. Now he sounded like Herriott, questioning every decision. During battle, there had been no time for second thoughts. Now he had too much time for second thoughts and third and fourth and...

Lord, help me see if I made a mess of the whole of this. I am doing the best I can, but I need Your guidance.

It was a prayer he had repeated many times in the past two years, but never as often as since he had brought the children north.

“Watch where you are walking!” ordered a familiar voice.

Charles stepped aside before he plowed into Bradby who held an armload of branches and twigs even bigger than the one Charles had earlier. His friend’s bright clothing glowed in the sunlight. His black boots had lost their usual shine, and his expertly tied cravat was loose.

“Sorry, old cuff,” Charles said. “Why are you doing this now? I thought you would be eating.”

“I figured I would let the crowd thin.” He set the branches on the ground. “Maybe we should move these branches to the top of the cliff. We don’t want to burn down the church, because this fire is going to outdo any on Guy Fawkes Night.” Bradby put his foot on the pile of branches, ignoring how they cracked beneath his boot. “Why are
you
looking for an excuse to leave the celebration?” His face became serious, reminding Charles of the man he had been when they first met. “Did you have a squabble with Miss Meriweather?”

“No.”

“I saw her on my way over here. She looks upset.”

“She
is
upset. At me,” he quickly added to forestall his friend’s next question. “I asked her to spend less time with the children, so I could spend more time with them.”

Bradby plucked a long piece of grass and twirled it. “Why not spend time with the children
and
her?”

“It is not that simple.”

“No? When you were helping your children with their food, you looked like a happy family.”

“She should be spending time with Herriott. Isn’t that the reason we came to Sanctuary Bay? To help him settle in with his new estate and his new bride?”

Bradby looked across the churchyard. “Maybe that is what you and I understood, but I am not sure
he
did.” He shook his head with a wry grin. “Herriott seems to be avoiding Miss Meriweather whenever he can. Maybe he doesn’t want to be with her while she is with your children, because that might lead the conversation to the topic of
their
children.” He put the long piece of grass between his thumbs and blew on it. A sharp whistle cut through the quiet afternoon. Tossing away the grass, he added, “No wonder he is no place to be seen after the charming
tableau
with your children and Miss Meriweather.”

“You are reading too much into things.”

“Come now, Northbridge. You must have noticed how people have been watching you and the statuesque Sophia. Most of them were smiling.”

“If I took note of it, I tried not to think about it.”

“That is not like you, Northbridge. When we were on the Continent, you prided yourself on thinking of every possible ramification of any move the French might make.”

“The war is over.”

“I noticed that.” Bradby’s smile came and went in the speed of a heartbeat. “I am glad to see that you have figured that out, too.”

The familiar anger pressed against his chest, making it hard to breathe. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You have seen Miss Meriweather as an opponent since she first talked to your children and made them smile. The day we arrived, you declared war.” He chuckled. “‘The rules of fair play do not apply in love and war,’ or so the quote goes.”

Charles stared at his friend in astonishment. “Have you lost your mind?”

“No, but I fear you have. You are asking your children to choose between her and you.” He gathered up an armful of branches. “Are you sure you are prepared to learn whom they pick?”

“We will be leaving soon, so it will not matter.”

“Do you honestly believe that?”

Charles did not. As they walked through the churchyard, he saw Gemma give Sophia an enthusiastic hug before running to join other girls her age. He knew without a doubt that his daughter would gladly go with Sophia and never look back. She truly loved Sophia, and Sophia loved her unconditionally in return.

“I seem to have backed myself into a corner that is nigh to impossible to get out of,” Charles said.

“No corner is that impossible to escape.”

“Now you sound like a lawyer. Are you going back to practicing the law, solicitor?”

Bradby smiled, but, for once, said nothing.

“What do you suggest?” Charles asked.

“Other than crawling back and begging her to forgive you?”

Charles laughed, surprising himself more than he did Bradby. “All right. I deserved that.”

“I would suggest what I have always suggested when you asked my opinion.”

“To pray for guidance and listen for God’s answer.”

Bradby tossed the branches atop the others, then motioned for Charles to follow him to collect more. “I know you are afraid of falling more deeply in love with her.”

He considered denying it, then wondered why. Bradby, in spite of his odd behavior lately, was his good friend. “Have I made myself so obvious to everyone?”

“If you are asking if Herriott knows, I have seen no signs of it.” Bradby smiled, his eyes twinkling with abrupt merriment. “To own the truth, Northbridge, I believe he would be more than happy for you to offer for his cousin, so he does not have to decide to do so himself.”

“This is no joking matter.”

“Matters of the heart seldom are.” He became somber again. “Why don’t you marry her? You are falling in love with her, and she obviously would make a good mother for your children.”

“It is not that simple.” He was not about to spill the truth about Lydia’s treachery. “I have no wish to remarry. I am only interested in protecting my children from more heartbreak.”

His friend considered Charles’s words while they carried two more armloads of branches to the stack of wood. As they went to collect more, he said, “Then you should take your leave as soon as possible.”

“I promised Herriott that we would stay until after the harvest ball.” Charles hefted a large pile. “And I will not break that promise.”

“I hope you don’t come to regret your decision.”

“I won’t,” Charles said, but why would he expect Bradby to believe his assertion when he did not himself?

Chapter Fourteen

C
harles waited in the foyer for Sophia and Gemma. Outside, the carriage was set to take them to Sir Nigel’s estate a few miles to the south of Sanctuary Bay. Michael sat on a bench, swinging his feet. His son yawned widely, then tried to conceal it by putting a chubby hand over his mouth. Charles fought a yawn of his own. Last night had been a restless one while horror stalked him through his dreams. After his shouts routed Bradby and Herriott again, his two friends had sat with him and talked about nothing important until the first gray of dawn made it seem safe to seek their beds again.

How many nights had they spent talking in hushed tones while they waited for the morning and the call to battle? He wished he could forget.

Just as he wished he could forget the past fortnight at Meriweather Hall. It had been a study in courtesy. Whenever his path crossed Sophia’s, she treated him with the cool graciousness she would any guest. As the days passed, Gemma and Michael started to complain that they missed their outings with Sophia. Those complaints had evolved into whining, and, during the past few days, into weeping. His attempt to protect them had exactly the opposite effect.

He needed to put a halt to the stalemate. The only way he knew how was to follow Bradby’s advice. Not about prostrating himself in front of Sophia and begging her forgiveness, even though the thought was tempting. Rather, he prayed for guidance to find the right words as he apologized for ruining the last weeks of their visit to Meriweather Hall.

Even though he had come to that conclusion soon after the clipping of the church, he had not had the opportunity to atone for his silly request. Herriott had insisted the children must see the medieval city of York, and that journey had taken them from Sanctuary Bay and Sophia for almost a week. If his friend thought he was doing Charles a favor, it had been for naught. As they walked through the narrow streets of the oldest part of the city and along the ancient walls, he had been unable to stop thinking how Sophia would have entertained the children and him with stories of the past. Her enthusiasm for everything she saw would have delighted the children...and him.

They had returned only yesterday, and, since then, he had seen Sophia once. She had come to ask if Gemma could get ready for the ball with Sophia and her sister. With his friends nearby, he could not speak of anything else but giving his permission, so the chasm between him and Sophia widened more.

Tonight he would change that. He must. He and the children were leaving within a week, and he did not want to take his departure without healing the wounds he had inflicted on Sophia.

Suddenly Michael crowed, “At last!”

Charles looked up to see Sophia descending the stairs. Except for a trio of ringlets at her temples, her hair was pulled into a pair of braids that curved into perfect circles at her nape. Pearls were entwined with her braids. No feathers or turban concealed her hair’s golden glow.

Like her hair, her white silk gown was elegant. Another string of pearls accented the length of her neck and drew his eyes to her shoulders that were almost bare beneath the wide neckline that dipped in a gentle V in the front. The short sleeves were decorated with a single small ruffle to match the Vandyke along the gown’s hem. Gloves rose above her elbows, and a painted fan dropped from a ribbon tied to her left wrist. As she walked down the stairs, tiny pearls glistened beneath her gown. They had been affixed to small bows on her white satin shoes. Over her arm, she carried a fringed white shawl and the silk strings of a reticule.

He stared. He could not help himself, even though he had thought himself unable to be moved by the sight of beauty any longer. He had been sure it was wrung out of him by horror. Yet, as Sophia came down the stairs, one hand holding Gemma’s, the other lightly on the bannister, he felt himself come completely alive. Had he been dead until this moment?

“Doesn’t your sister look pretty?” Sophia asked Michael as soon as she and Gemma reached the bottom of the stairs.

His son nodded, his eyes wide. He popped his thumb into his mouth again and continued to stare at his sister who wore a pink dress and ribbons of the same color woven through her dark red hair. Her white satin shoes were adorned with tiny pink bows that Sophia must have sewn onto them.

“May I?” asked Charles, offering his left arm to his daughter who regarded it with uncertainty. He held out the right one to Sophia. When she put her fingers on it and gave Gemma a quick smile, the little girl reached up to take her father’s arm.

Sophia’s smile lit the foyer, and his heart halted before speeding ahead like clouds scudding before a storm. Her fingertips, light upon his black sleeve, sent heated shivers through him. The words of an apology battered his lips, but he held them back, not wanting to do or say anything to ruin this perfect moment when she stood by his side, gazing up at him with happiness in her vivid green eyes. Even though he guessed her elation had more to do with the children’s smiles than his admiration, he was delighted to have her beside him again.

The night was cool, so Charles took a smaller shawl from Sophia and placed it on his daughter’s shoulders. He held out his hand for the fringed shawl Sophia was about to fling over her own shoulders.

“May I?” he asked when she paused.

“Certainly. How kind of you!”

He bit back the heated retort burning on his lips. When she had smiled at him, he had dared to believe that the cool courtesy she had shown him for the past fortnight was over. He had been a fool to believe she would forgive him readily.

But he could not stop his flush of pleasure as his fingers brushed Sophia’s smooth shoulders. He drew in a deep breath of the lavender that scented her hair and stared at her nape, which was tilted at the perfect angle for his lips to caress it. A quiver raced beneath his fingers. She trembled...or was it him?

Sophia stepped away from him when Michael pointed to the ruffle on her hem and asked a question. Charles’s frantic heartbeat was too loud in his ears for him to hear what his son said.

Stop acting like a youth who is escorting a woman for the first time,
he sternly chided himself. It was to no avail, because when Sophia looked at him, his heart pounded harder.

“Where are the others?” she asked as they walked toward his carriage.

Charles was pleased when his voice showed none of his inner turmoil. “They took your carriage because they planned to stop at the Fenwicks’ on their way to the ball. Your sister was excited to arrive with her bosom bow.”

“I would guess she is not the only excited one among them.”

He arched a brow and waited for her to continue, but she turned to warn Michael to stay on the walkway so he did not get dirty. Had she meant the children were excited, or did she speak of her own anticipation of riding with him to Sir Nigel’s?

“Dance, dance, dance,” chanted Michael as Charles lifted him into the carriage.

Gemma frowned. “I hope he does not repeat that all the way to the ball.”

“Or the whole time we are there,” Sophia said with a smile.

That brought an answering grin from his daughter as she climbed in and sat beside her brother, and he was amazed at how easily Sophia made the children happy. Then again, he should not be surprised, because he had been much happier himself since she became part of his life.

When he handed her into the carriage, he did not want to release her hand. He yearned for her to turn and tell him that she forgave him and that they could begin anew.

Sophia picked up Michael and put him on the backward facing seat. “Gentlemen, let the ladies ride facing forward.”

That brought more giggles from the children, but disappointment flooded Charles’s gut, even as he kept his smile in place. He should have known better than to harbor the hope that he could sit beside Sophia while their two young chaperones rode with them.

It was his own doing. His great plan to keep the children from being heartbroken when they left Meriweather Hall had gone wrong. They were as close to Sophia as ever, he had hurt her horribly, and now his heart was doomed to break, as well.

* * *

The ballroom was huge and filled to overflowing. Everyone in North Yorkshire must be crammed within its walls. Charles was swept away along with Cousin Edmund to be introduced to their host and to view Sir Nigel’s recently finished art. Charles promised to return to Gemma and Michael as quickly as he could, but almost an hour had passed.

With her height, Sophia could get some fresh air in the cramped room, though many breaths she drew in were tainted with odors of sweat and overly strong perfume. The children were not so fortunate. Michael was complaining about the heat. Gemma made a rude comment that had not been—fortunately—overheard by the dowager who inspired it by stepping on Gemma’s new slippers, loosening one of the bows.

Sophia took the children to a room that had been set aside for ladies to make minor repairs. One of the household’s maids was able to provide her with what she needed to fix the bow on Gemma’s shoe. As she bent to her task, the children wandered around the room, peering in drawers and cabinets and pulling faces at themselves in the glass. A woman came into the room, saw the children and made a quick exit.

“Why didn’t she come in?” Gemma asked.

“I don’t know,” Sophia replied, glad that the little girl did not notice how the woman’s nose had wrinkled in distaste at the sight of the children. The woman had no idea what she missed by not getting to know Gemma and Michael. Yes, they were rambunctious, but they were warmhearted and curious and intelligent.

Traits they clearly had inherited from their father.

Her hands stilled. She had thought herself prepared to face Charles tonight, but, if the truth be told, she had not been. During the ride to Sir Nigel’s estate, she had spent most of her time talking with the children. She had not quibbled when her cousin swept Charles away to join the line of guests walking through the temporary gallery of their host’s paintings. Instead she had remained behind with Gemma and Michael.

Putting the mended shoe on Gemma’s foot, Sophia forced a smile. She could not remain in the ladies’ room. Nor could she hide behind Gemma and Michael while their father was nearby.

Sophia stood and called to the children. They were so intrigued with some ribbons they’d found under a chair that she had to call their names a second time. They left the ribbons and came to take her outstretched hands.

If possible, the ballroom seemed even more crowded when they reentered it. The scores of candles burning in the chandeliers that hung down the middle of the long room brightened the white-and-gold walls, but also made the space stifling. The music had begun, and voices rose over it to be heard.

She found a quiet place for the children to sit so they could watch the dancing. Gemma was fascinated, but Michael began to squirm. Opening her reticule, Sophia drew out a folded page. She bent toward him and read him the short story on the page, then gave him the paper to refold into a variety of shapes. She doubted it would entertain him long. She had also brought a long piece of string for cat’s cradle, and she would play that with him if he began to wiggle too much.

She chatted with friends and neighbors who walked past. When the second set began, she smiled when she saw her sister take the floor with one of their neighbors. Vera Fenwick was paired with Mr. Bradby. Cousin Edmund stood up with Sir Nigel’s late wife’s sister. Sophia scanned every inch of the ballroom, but she did not see Charles. She wondered if he had been cornered by their host who delighted in expounding for hours on the subjects in his paintings.

“Aren’t you going to dance, Sophia?” asked Gemma as the dancers began to move with the music.

“A lady must wait to be asked.”

“Why has nobody asked you? You are prettier than any other lady here.”

Tears threatened to embarrass Sophia, because everyone would assume she wept because none of the men wanted to dance with a woman who towered over them. But these tears filled her eyes because of Gemma’s guileless compliment. The children did not deem her odd. They accepted her height as part of who she was. They could not conceive of the fact no man wanted to ask her to stand up with him. To them, she was the woman who loved them exactly as they were, and they returned the favor.

She blinked the tears away as someone stepped between her and her view of the dancers. She looked up to discover the person blocking her view was their host.

Sir Nigel Tresting resembled Father Christmas, because he had white hair, a full belly and was dressed in a forest-green coat and breeches. His waistcoat was a brilliant silver that she would have expected Mr. Bradby to wear.

She came to her feet. “As always, a wonderful assembly, Sir Nigel.”

“Ah, Miss Meriweather! Just the person I had hoped to see tonight.” Sir Nigel bowed over her hand quickly. Even when he straightened, he was more than a head shorter than she was. “I saw your sister among the dancers, and I had hoped you were in attendance, as well.” He chuckled, his belly bouncing. “Who is this handsome young man and charming little lady keeping you company?”

Sophia introduced the children who prettily spoke to their host, though Gemma eyed him with the hint of a frown.

“Is your lovely mother here also?” Sir Nigel asked.

“She has not set aside her mourning.”

“I understand.” Sorrow looked out of place on his full-cheeked face. “She and your father had one of the true love matches among the
ton
. The loss of your father is one we all suffer, but none as much as Lady Meriweather.”

“Thank you for your kind words. I will convey them to her.”

“Tell her as well that, if she is agreeable, I will give her a look-in soon.” He hooked his thumbs under his lapels. “Other obligations have kept me from calling earlier as I had hoped.”

“I will tell her.” She smiled, hoping Sir Nigel’s visit would be the first of many from their neighbors. Such calls might be the very thing to draw her mother out of her chambers and into the world.