Jo Ann Brown (17 page)

She gasped.

“I am sorry, Sophia. There are some things not meant for your gentle ears.”

When Sophia sat straighter and put her hands on either side of his face so he could not look away from her, Charles was astounded. He could not see her features, but he sensed her tension and her gentle concern through her fingertips.

“Charles,” she whispered, “tell me please about those battles you still fight in your dreams. I want to understand.”

He was certain he could never explain about the sights and the smells and the appalling sounds of a battlefield, but once he began talking, he could not halt himself. Her fingers laced through his, and she became his only anchor to the present. It was, he realized, the first time that he had spoken of the cannon blasts and the gunfire and the smoke and the reek of death with anyone. Even when he sat with Herriott and Bradby, they spoke of the other aspects of the military life. Bad food, sore feet, stupid and conflicting orders, language problems with troops from the other allied countries.

Until she put her arms around him, he did not realize he was quaking as if with a great fever. She drew his head to the silk shawl covering her shoulder and held him as tenderly as she had his son. He kept talking and talking, and she let him go on. He doubted he could stop. The words of pain and grief and the utter senselessness of one man surviving while another was killed poured from him.

The carriage slowed, and bright light burst into it. Charles raised his head to stare at the front door of Meriweather Hall. In astonishment he realized his daughter had squeezed in on his other side while Michael sat on the floor, clinging to Charles’s leg.

Neither of them spoke nor did Sophia who had tears coursing down her cheeks. Her shawl was damp where his face had rested, and he touched his own face to find it wet, too.

A footman opened the carriage door, and Sophia let him hand her out. She guided the children to the ground. She kissed Gemma and Michael on the cheek and wished them a good night’s sleep before asking the footman to take them up to the nursery. Only then did she look at Charles.

He got out of the carriage and motioned for the coachee to take it to the stable. He was about to offer his arm to Sophia when she took it with both hands and guided him into the house. She steered him into the formal parlor where they had first met.

Candles lit the middle of the room, but the edges were in darkness. She took off her shawl and folded it over a chair.

“Can I ring for something for you?” she asked.

“No...thank you.” His voice sounded raw and unsteady as it did in his nightmare.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Tell me that you love me. Me, the half-ruined man who is struggling to continue to pretend that nothing has changed.

He shook his head, too drained to speak his thoughts aloud when she might say only that she had her duty to Herriott and her family.

“Well, then, I will wish you a good and peaceful night’s sleep,” she said, backing toward the door. “Don’t forget that we will be leaving shortly after midday for the moors and our visit to the Bridestones.”

He nodded.

She turned to leave, then rushed back to him to press her lips against his cheek as she had his children. Before he could draw her into his arms, she was gone, her light steps fading up the stairs.

He came to his feet to go after her, but slowly sat again. He rested his elbows on his knees and stared across the room. She had listened to his babbling and let him fall apart in her embrace. She had cried with him and for him. She had been willing to sit longer with him and listen to whatever else he had to say. She had gazed at him with a longing that told him she wanted him to kiss her soft lips. She had found a special place in his heart, which begged him to tell her that he loved her before she accepted an offer of marriage from her cousin.

But he had sent her away because he had not been able to disclose the darkest secret that haunted him more than his nightmares. How would he ever be able to trust his heart’s desires after Lydia had made a mockery of it?

Chapter Sixteen

T
he second day of the long ride to the Bridestones at the far eastern end of the moors had begun before dawn. Yesterday, after leaving Meriweather Hall shortly after midday, the travelers had stopped at a country inn with enough rooms for them. Sophia shared a room with her sister and Miss Fenwick. The children had small cots in Charles’s room, and Cousin Edmund and Mr. Bradby took the last available room. After a cold supper, Sophia had sought her bed at the same time the children had.

Charles suspected sitting in the carriage and doing nothing but bounce as the wheels found yet another chuckhole was exhausting and boring. By last evening even Miss Catherine and Miss Fenwick had run out of things to talk about, and the children had complained about being shut up in the carriage again this morning.

How much better to ride with his friends! Herriott and Bradby laughed and joked and seemed completely carefree. Charles joined in, glad to leave regret and grief behind at Meriweather Hall.

Thank you, Lord, for this good day. I pray it stays filled with joy.

When the carriage rolled to a stop at the base of a wooded hill early that afternoon, Sophia jumped to the ground on her own. She helped the children down and stepped aside when Herriott offered his hand to her sister and Miss Fenwick.

Charles tied his horse to the rear of the carriage, then stepped aside to let Herriott and Bradby do the same. He came around the carriage to where Sophia stood. She returned his smile as she had often, but there was a connection between them now that he could not ignore. Not that he wanted to.

“Where are these amazing stones?” he asked. “All I see are trees.”

“Beyond the wood. This way.” She pointed up the hill.

Bradby groaned. “Once we should try going somewhere where we can walk downhill.”

“It will be downhill on the way back.” Sophia laughed.

“And it was downhill in the village,” Herriott added, coming to join them.

Rolling his eyes as if he were no older than Gemma, Bradby said, “But that was so steep going down, it was as difficult as going up. You almost knocked Miss Fenwick off her feet because you were skidding down the street.”

Herriott laughed. “I will endeavor, Miss Fenwick, not to stumble over my feet into you on either the way up or the way down.”

“You are not the first to run into someone on those steep streets,” Miss Fenwick said with a warm smile. “Nor, I assume, will you be the last.”

“Can we see the stones?” asked Gemma impatiently.

“Come with me.” Sophia led the way into the trees on a narrow path that was edged on both sides by knee-high grass. She held Gemma’s hand, so his daughter walked right behind her.

Charles followed, enjoying the gentle sway of Sophia’s skirt. He smiled when Michael grabbed his hand and began babbling about everything that interested him, which was...everything. The others passed him as his son asked why the insects whined and why butterflies chose one flower and not another. Charles gave him what answers he could and enjoyed his son’s enthusiasm.

Michael gave an excited shout and pointed at the ground. A pair of slugs oozed away from his feet.

“Ugh!” Gemma cried, when she peered down at the dark brown slugs.

“Can I take them home?” Michael asked at the same moment.

“Let’s let them explore while we explore,” Charles said.

His son nodded and skipped on ahead. Gemma hurried to catch up with him.

“That was the perfect reply,” Sophia said as he strode toward where she stood. The others had continued up the hill along the winding path. “I heard the questions Michael was asking, and you answered each one as if it were the most important question in the world. Children appreciate that.”

“I have had a good teacher.”

Sophia placed her hand on Charles’s proffered arm. She was happy to see his smile and to touch him, even this chastely. After everything he and his friends had suffered, they deserved to be happy. She would have liked to hold on to his arm all the way to the top of the hill, but in a few steps the trail narrowed again between the trees. She promised herself that there would be time later for them to talk privately. She was not sure when, but maybe when they stopped for the night on their return to Meriweather Hall.

“A little farther,” Sophia said when Mr. Bradby groused about the steep hill. “It will be worth the walk.”

“To see big stones?” His mouth twisted in a crooked smile. “I normally would not cross the street to look at stones.”

“These are not normal stones. The ones on this side of the beck are astounding, but the ones on the far side are even more fascinating. Wait until you see them!”

He grumbled something more, but kept walking.

Charles chuckled behind her. “Bradby always likes to have the last word.”

“And today those words will be thanking us for bringing him here.”

“Don’t be certain of that.” He laughed again.

She savored that sound before Gemma tugged on her hand. When Sophia inquired what the little girl wanted, Gemma asked, “Can we see your cottage?”

“My cottage? I don’t know what you mean, sweetheart,” she replied.

“
Your
cottage,” Gemma said as if repeating the words would make them clearer. “In the wood.”

Charles put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. When she wiggled away from him, the light dimmed in his eyes. Sophia wanted to console him by reminding him that at least Gemma was not spitting some sharp retort at him today.

“I told them about your dower cottage after you and I visited there,” he said with an apologetic smile. “Michael wanted to know why my boots were covered with mud and leaves.”

“Oh, now I understand,” Sophia said in her brightest voice. “My cottage is not here.”

“But this is a wood,” Gemma insisted.

“Yes, but not the wood where the dower cottage is. That is closer to Meriweather Hall.”

“Can we see it?”

Sophia grimaced. “You would not like it. The roof is falling in, and I suspect there are bats in the rafters.”

Michael whirled around. “Bats?”

Charles herded his son up the path and laughed. “Now you have done it, Sophia. Anything that is creepy and crawls or slithers or flies intrigues my son.” He ruffled his son’s hair. “Wait until you see the folly at Northbridge Castle at twilight. There will be enough bats even for you!”

“Look, Papa!” Michael had already forgotten about the bats as he pointed at the grass and something else that interested him.

Grabbing Charles’s hand, Michael pulled him up the hill. Gemma raced after them, not wanting to miss anything.

Sophia watched the family together. They had shared so much sadness. It was wonderful to see them happy together. Even Gemma had set aside her contentious tone and was now almost dancing in her eagerness to get Charles’s attention, something Sophia had never seen her do before. Sophia had urged Charles to have patience with his daughter, and maybe Gemma was finally willing to forgive him for leaving.

“Thank you, God,” she said quietly, even though she wanted to shout her praise from the hilltop.

“You look happy,” her sister said as she drew even with Sophia. “I bet I can guess why.”

“I am sure anyone could.” She glanced around. “Where is Vera?”

“With Cousin Edmund and Mr. Bradby.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sophia tore her eyes from where Gemma was picking flowers and handing them to Charles. “About what?”

“You and Cousin Edmund.” She slanted toward Sophia, and her voice grew even quieter. “Out on the terrace during Sir Nigel’s ball. Mr. Bradby told me that it took all his considerable charm to persuade some of the gabble-mongers that you embracing our cousin was not a guarantee of an impending betrothal.”

“What?” Sophia squeaked.

The others looked over their shoulders, and she motioned for them to keep going.

She had not guessed that anyone had seen her hug her cousin. She thought about the ball and how people had glanced at her with smiles after she came into the ballroom with Charles and the children. She had assumed the other guests were pleased at how well behaved the children were upon their return to the party. How naive of her! In the small circle of the
ton
in North Yorkshire, any tidbit of gossip was treasured and swiftly shared.

Did Charles know about that embrace? If so, he had said nothing of it. There had been plenty of opportunity during the evening and in the carriage before they spoke of his nightmares. Then she thought of how he had not asked her to sit with him any longer in the formal parlor. If he had heard the talk...

But he offered you his arm while you were climbing the hill,
argued her heart. Common sense reminded her that Charles was a gentleman, and his offer might have been only courtesy.

Sophia paused when Catherine called for her to wait. Lost in her thoughts, she had not noticed that her sister had stopped.

Catherine shook her foot and grimaced. “A stone in my shoe.” She leaned against a tree. “I never thought I would say this, Sophia, but I cannot wait for you to marry Cousin Edmund.” Catherine took off her boot, tilted it and shook out the pebble. “It was fun to dance at Sir Nigel’s and to laugh and to share the latest
on-dits
.”

“A wedding is not simply for fun.”

“It is when it is someone else’s wedding.” Catherine laughed as she drew her boot onto her foot.

Sophia looked away. She could not chide Catherine for her words, because they were true.

“You have certainly changed your mind about Cousin Edmund,” Sophia said. “You seem to like him better.”

“It is not how
I
feel about him. Will you marry Cousin Edmund? Surely you must intend to if you let him embrace you in a public place.”

“It was not like that.”

“Then what was it? Why did you hug him?”

Lying was abhorrent, but how could Sophia tell her sister the truth? Neither Cousin Edmund nor Charles had asked that she say nothing about Charles’s appalling nightmares, but revealing the truth seemed wrong.

“I was grateful that he guessed the children and I were thirsty, and he brought us lemonade.” That was a feeble excuse, and she wished she had not said it.

When her sister nodded and smiled, Sophia could not believe that Catherine had swallowed such a tale. Yes, it was true, but it was not the reason she had embraced her cousin.

“But don’t you see, Sophia?” Catherine tested her right foot by putting weight on it. Satisfied that there were no other stones in her boot, she added, “Such attentive behavior is the first step toward showing you how he feels.”

“Then let us take it one step at a time.”

Catherine smiled and looped her arm through Sophia’s, so they could walk together. Her sister continued to talk, but Sophia did not hear a single word.

Heavenly Father,
she prayed.
You know my heart better than I know it myself. You know Charles’s heart and Edmund’s, as well. If there is a way for Charles to know the love in my heart, I pray that You let him discover it. If it is meant that I be Edmund’s bride, please help me find a way to accept Your will.

She added the last because she knew how difficult it would be. For the first time that day, she thought of how Charles and the children would be leaving soon. Her life and her heart would be empty. Tears rose in her eyes, and she was glad her bonnet shadowed her face.

Ahead of her, Sophia heard gasps of amazement when the others caught sight of the bizarre rock formations at the top of the hill. She pushed aside her dreary thoughts and followed them out of the wood.

The great chunks of stone stood in an irregular line along the top of the hill. A narrow beck cut through a ravine on the far side of the stones. Across it, like a warped reflection in a glass, more of the gigantic formations stood, each one unique. They appeared pale brown from a distance, but as she walked closer, she saw darker sections where water and dirt had gathered.

The closest Bridestone resembled a spindle standing on its tip, frozen at the exact moment the top fibers were caught by the wind and pulled to the left. So narrow at the bottom, it looked as if it would fall over at any moment.

As Cousin Edmund went forward to examine it, the children raced to the next Bridestone that was more than eight feet tall.

“This one looks like a cake that fell out of the oven,” called Gemma, running her hands along the layers of stone compressed one atop another. “There are flowers growing out of its side.” She plucked the blossoms before running around the rock.

“More stones!” Michael jumped up and down. He pointed to other strangely shaped rocks along the ridge. “More stones! Go see more stones.”

“We will see them all,” Charles said. “Together.”

“But, Papa—”

“Michael, we will see them all. First the ones on this side of the beck, then the others.”

The little boy drew in a deep breath, and Sophia guessed it would come out in a loud protest. His sister spoke before he could.

“But Sophia said the most interesting stones are over there,” argued Gemma, emerging from the far side of the rock with a handful of flowers.

“And,” Sophia said, “we will visit them together. I will make sure you see the one that looks like the head of a dragon. I know some old stories about these stones. If you would like, I shall tell you those tales as we walk along.”

The children exchanged a frustrated glance, then nodded.

“Good.” Sophia offered her hands to the children. “Take your time here, gentlemen. Catherine, Vera, you know the path down to the beck. We won’t go across it until you get there.”

“Dragon! Dragon! Dragon!” chanted Michael.

With a smile, Sophia led them along the faint path between the great stones. The children explored each rock before running to the next one. She told them how once the hill must have been much higher and the rocks were hidden before water washed the soil away. That did not interest them as much as the odd shapes, so she let them devise their own stories about each one.

The path curved down more sharply toward the beck. They stopped by a huge rock that resembled the collapsed cake stone. Yellow flowers and greenery grew out of any flat surface, and Gemma collected all she could reach to add to her bouquet.