Jo Ann Brown (3 page)

“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.”

“Gemma may, but Michael will not be content with dolls.”

“There are some toys for a young boy, too.” She raised her eyes to meet his. “My brother was four when he died.”

He leaned one hand on a mullion in the large window. “I did not realize you had a brother. What a tragedy for your family!”

“If he had survived, he would have lived in unbearable agony from his injuries. He had so many broken bones and such damage inside him after being thrown from the runaway pony cart. I was sad, but I have never forgotten it was a blessing for him to be released from that.”

“I don’t know if I could be as accepting of God’s will.” He gazed out at the windswept garden. “I found it almost impossible to see grown men cut down in battle and continue to have faith that God had them in His hands. To lose a child...” He shook his head, and several black strands fell forward into his eyes. He swept them aside, revealing more of the scar that reached almost to the top of his skull.

Sophia shifted her gaze to her own fingers. She clasped them in front of her to keep from combing them up through his hair. Was she mad? The scar might still hurt. After suffering such a wound, he was lucky to be alive.

“I cannot bear to think of losing Gemma or Michael,” he went on.

Sophia did not hesitate this time. She put her fingers on his arm to offer him comfort. He looked from her hand to her eyes. She wondered what he hoped to see, because he said nothing.

His fingers rose slowly toward her face. She imagined her cheek against his palm. His hands belonged to a man accustomed to a hard life of riding hard and fighting hard and struggling to stay alive. What would his touch feel like against her cheek? She slanted toward him, eager to discover the answer.

“There you are, Winthrop,” called Mr. Bradby from beyond the longcase clock.

Sophia straightened, edging away from Lord Northbridge, who snatched his fingers back to his side.

“You are a sight for sore eyes and sorer ears,” Mr. Bradby continued as his long legs made short work of the corridor. “Instead of Herriott being grateful that his bread is buttered on both sides, he has been lamenting that his life has become a hodgepodge of misfortune. I don’t know what is horrible about inheriting this astounding estate and a peerage. True, he will probably have to leg-shackle himself to the old lord’s long shanks daughter, but if it were me...”

Sophia’s face burned with embarrassment as Mr. Bradby noticed, belatedly, that she sat on the other side of the clock. Mr. Bradby’s mouth closed, then opened and closed again without a sound like a fish yanked out of water.

Lord Northbridge’s eyes narrowed as he turned to Mr. Bradby’s, whose face had turned a sickly gray. Mr. Bradby stepped back and raised his hands as if in surrender.

She did not wait to hear what the earl might say to the other man. She rose and edged past both men before the hot tears pricking her eyes escaped to flow down her cheeks. It was appalling enough that she was expected to do her duty and marry Cousin Edmund without question. To hear her cousin’s opinion of her bandied about casually by Mr. Bradby... It was humiliating.

She rushed away before she said something she feared she would not regret until she offended her cousin to the point he sent her family to the battered dower cottage. Up until that moment she had not realized how utterly her life was no longer her own.

Chapter Three

V
oices rose up the stairs as Sophia came down them. She hoped that tonight would not be as much of a mess as the day had been.

She wore one of her favorite gowns. The pale lilac cambric with darker stripes was appropriate for both receiving guests and half mourning. White chenille decorated the cuffs of the short sleeves and the three flounces at the gown’s hem. On each step the ornate ribbed design on her stockings could be seen above her white kid slippers. She dared to believe she was prepared for the evening.

That belief vanished when she heard a familiar male voice say, “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord. This is my sister Vera.”

Mr. Fenwick! What was the vicar doing here
tonight?
Oh, heavens, had Cousin Edmund invited him to make plans for marrying her?

She looked over the banister to discover the Fenwicks stood with her sister and Lord Northbridge in the foyer. Neither Cousin Edmund nor Mr. Bradby was in sight.

The urge to run up the stairs and lock herself in her room was thwarted when her eyes met her sister’s. Catherine had a paisley shawl wrapped over the shoulders of her gown whose glorious rich yellow was perfect for her pale complexion and dark eyes. She was as unlike Sophia as two sisters could be. Sophia was tall, and Catherine was petite. Sophia was a blonde like their father while Catherine’s curls were as black as Mama’s...and Lord Northbridge’s.

A surge of warmth rose, unbidden, through her. By the window this afternoon she had been drawn to him as to no other man. To fancy her cousin would have been convenient, but she did not want to have such feelings for the earl. He would soon leave Meriweather Hall to resume his life, a fact she should never forget.

Catherine came up the stairs, drawing the eyes of everyone in the foyer after her. She smiled as she took Sophia’s hand and said, “What a party we shall be tonight! When I invited the Fenwicks to join us, I never had any idea our numbers would grow so.” Under her breath she added, “I am sorry. With the uproar today, I forgot I had invited them after church on Sunday.”

“Did you inform Mrs. Porter?” asked Sophia as quietly, not wanting to chide her sister who took every opportunity to invite Vera, her dearest bosom bow, to Meriweather Hall.

Catherine blanched. Sophia knew her sister had not remembered to tell the cook that the Fenwicks would be joining them tonight. Catherine, who was four years younger than Sophia, had no head when it came to details.

“I will tend to it,” Sophia said. With a smile she hoped did not look forced, she raised her voice and added, “The more the merrier.”

When she saw Lord Northbridge’s eyes narrow at her banal answer, she wondered if there was a way to keep her gaze from shifting toward his often. She pretended she had not noticed him looking at her and hurried down the stairs to greet their pastor and his sister. There was no question that the Fenwicks were closely related. Both Mr. Fenwick and his sister Vera were of average height and with open faces that invited one to stop and talk. Mr. Fenwick’s dark hair was thinning on top, but Vera’s was a lush mass of curls pulled back with silver combs. She was dressed in her best gown, a pristine white with pale pink ribbons decorating the modest bodice. Did she hope to make a positive impression on one of Meriweather Hall’s guests?

Sophia scolded herself as Vera laughed at some sally her brother must have said. There was nothing calculating about Vera Fenwick. She was a sweet soul and served the church and its parishioners as wholeheartedly as her brother. Why was Sophia looking for hidden motives where she knew there were none? Simply because she had been overset by her cousin and his unsettling friends was no excuse for being ill-mannered herself, even in her thoughts.

“Good evening, Mr. Fenwick,” Sophia said, offering her hand to the vicar. “And, Vera, you look lovely tonight.”

Vera threw her arms around Sophia and gave her a quick hug. The motion said more than words could.

When Sophia stepped back, the foyer went uncomfortably still. She understood why when she saw Cousin Edmund and Mr. Bradby stop in midstep as she had on the stairs. Her cousin’s gulp when his eyes focused on Mr. Fenwick’s clerical collar echoed through the open space.

Mr. Bradby gave him a clap on the shoulder and kept coming down the steps. The redhead had sought out Sophia earlier to express his apologies. That did not make her any less uncomfortable with him, even though she could not fault the man when he had done no more than speak the truth. But did her cousin believe that she intended to force his hand by inviting the vicar to Meriweather Hall tonight?

“Oh, dear,” said Catherine under her breath. She was clasping and unclasping her hands, a sure sign of her anxiety.

Sophia had to do something, so she smiled up at her cousin. She hoped her expression did not look as bizarre as it felt. “Lord Meriweather, do come down and meet our dear pastor and his sister. Mr. Fenwick and Miss Vera Fenwick have long been regulars at our table. If you want to know anything about Sanctuary Bay, he is the man to ask.”

“Yes, yes,” Cousin Edmund said, continuing toward them. He offered his hand to the vicar. “I look forward to our conversation, Mr. Fenwick.”

“As do I, my lord.”

From behind her, Sophia heard, “Well done, Miss Meriweather. You seem to have set your cousin somewhat at ease.”

She looked back to see Lord Northbridge’s faint smile. “High praise coming from you.”

“Indeed.”

Resisting the urge to laugh, Sophia asked, “Shall we go in to dinner? Cousin Edmund, we are informal here at Meriweather Hall. If you do not mind, I would ask you to follow Catherine while I confirm one matter with Ogden.”

Catherine accepted Mr. Fenwick’s arm while Cousin Edmund offered his to Miss Fenwick. When Mr. Bradby held out his to Lord Northbridge, everyone laughed, his antics shattering the last of the suffocating tension. Mr. Fenwick continued to chuckle as the guests walked in the direction of the dining room, but it was Lord Northbridge’s laugh that echoed lightly within her. It was like his son’s, deep and free. Suddenly there was nothing she wanted more than to hear it again.

Was she mad? Mr. Bradby had been unable to look her in the eye when he spoke his apology, and she had no idea what he thought about her and Lord Northbridge talking alone. He could not have seen her hand on the earl’s arm or Lord Northbridge’s fingers reaching out to her. Even so, she needed to take care that she was never found in such a possibly compromising position again.

Sophia waited until they were out of earshot and then spoke quickly with the butler. She saw questions in his eyes. As much as she appreciated his concern about how she was dealing with the changes in Meriweather Hall, to speak of such matters would be inappropriate.

“Ogden, please let Mrs. Porter know that the Fenwicks have joined us for dinner.”

He nodded. “I will alert the footmen who are serving, too.”

“Thank you.” She was glad she could depend on the household staff to make food prepared for five serve seven without any of the guests suspecting they were being offered more vegetables with their meat than had originally been planned. The soup course would pose no problem because Mrs. Porter always made extra, and the meringue for their dessert could be cut into smaller slices.

Sophia hurried after the others to the opulent dining room. Thick rafters wove across the ceiling, and magnificent paintings of bucolic scenes were laced among them. The murals on the walls were of the moors, not far to the west. Ruined buildings and tiny villages were painted among the wild, rolling hills. Two chandeliers hung above the black walnut table that would seat twenty. Rainbows danced on the walls as the crystal prisms caught the candlelight.

Everything was perfect, except...

Sophia realized everyone else had taken their seats. Cousin Edmund sat at the head of the table, a place that was rightly his as the latest in a long line of barons. Her sister was to the left of their cousin and next to Mr. Fenwick. On Lord Northbridge’s right, Mr. Bradby talked with Vera.

A groan rushed up from deep within Sophia when she realized the only empty place was between her cousin and Lord Northbridge. There were other vacant chairs farther along the table, but to choose one of those would be a blatant insult to both men. It was very cozy...and a reminder that she should be making every effort to become better acquainted with her cousin.

The men rose when Sophia neared the table, and she gestured for them to retake their seats. As she sat between Lord Northbridge and her cousin, she waited for someone to speak, but the conversation that had been animated when she entered the room seemed dead. Footmen served the white consommé with quiet efficiency. They stepped away from the table, and the room became silent again.

Catherine shot Sophia a desperate look, and Sophia asked, “Mr. Fenwick, would you say grace?”

“Of course.” He bowed his head over his folded hands, and they all did the same. “Lord, we give thanks for this company and this food. We ask for Your grace upon both. Amen.”

After they repeated his amen, everyone started to speak at once, clearly worried that the silence would return and smother them.

Lord Northbridge picked up his soup spoon and began a conversation with Mr. Fenwick. Initially Sophia thought he was using the vicar in an effort to avoid her. After what had happened by the window, he probably thought saying nothing to her was the wisest course. He might be right. As a once-married man, he would know more about such matters than she did.

“I am pleased Meriweather Hall has such a skilled cook,” Cousin Edmund said.

“Mrs. Porter never disappoints,” Sophia replied, turning to speak with her cousin.

He said nothing more, giving her short answers when she asked his opinion of the house and his journey north. She wondered if he was as nervous as she was. And it was not solely because she sat next to a stranger she was expected to marry. It would have been simpler if the earl had not sat beside her. Was Lord Northbridge making as much of an effort as she was to keep their elbows from brushing? She had not realized he was left-handed, which made the chances of them bumping into each other even more likely. A sense she could not name made her aware of his every motion as if it were hers. She wanted to savor it, but she needed to take care. An earl could have his pick of any young lady in the
ton.
He might find her amusing for a short time and quickly forget her as her erstwhile beau Lord Owensly had during her Season in London. She did not want to risk such shame and hurt again.

Lord Northbridge spoke her name, and she stiffened until she realized he had said, “Mr. Fenwick, Miss Meriweather said you are an expert on the history of Sanctuary Bay and its coastline. Can you tell us how it got its intriguing name?”

Mr. Fenwick set his spoon next to his emptied soup dish. “There are many opinions about that. The most popular is that it was named because the residents hid on the cliffs to evade Viking raiders. That is probably not true. The Viking longboats could easily have navigated into our small harbor as they did in many others along the shore.”

“It sounds as if you favor a different tale,” Lord Northbridge said, then took a sip of his soup.

“I would not say that, but there is another suggestion of how the town was named.” The vicar smiled at Sophia. “It is the theory your father developed, Miss Meriweather. Why don’t you explain it to the gentlemen?” He gave a throaty chuckle. “As I disagree with some facets of it and am uneasy with others, I prefer not to repeat it.”

Lord Northbridge and his friends looked at Sophia. Honest curiosity gleamed in the eyes of Cousin Edmund and Mr. Bradby, but she read more than curiosity in the earl’s. To avoid his gaze until she was more composed, for the first time she avoided them. She looked down at her bowl and realized she had not taken a single bite.

The clatter of wooden heels sounded as a boy rushed into the dining room. Sophia recognized him as Ben, an apprentice at the village baker’s shop. He skidded to a stop beside Mr. Fenwick’s chair as a maid came into the room in pursuit of the boy. She flushed as she hurried at a more studied pace toward the table.

Ben ignored the glare the maid fired at him. Instead he spoke to Sophia, but kept glancing at the vicar. “Miss Meriweather, I am sorry to interrupt.” He turned to Mr. Fenwick. “’Tis Mr. Joiner. He has taken a bad turn, and the family asks for you to come as soon as possible.”

The vicar got up, placing his napkin on his chair. “Thank you, Ben. Will you have the horse hitched to my cart?”

“I stopped by the stable, and one of the lads said he would see to it, Mr. Fenwick. I will go and help him.” He raced out of the dining room with the maid following hastily with a guilty glance at the butler. It was well-known that Ogden insisted that only footmen be in the dining room to assist him during meals.

Mr. Fenwick said, “I beg your pardon for taking my leave abruptly.”

Sophia stood, and the other men did, too. “Please don’t let us delay you with goodbyes, Mr. Fenwick, when you are needed elsewhere now.”

Vera set herself on her feet, as well. “Thank you for the invitation, Catherine. I will see you and Sophia again soon, I hope. My lords, Mr. Bradby, it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Do stop by the parsonage when you visit the village.” She took her shawl from her brother and draped it over her shoulders as she hurried with him out of the dining room.

Looking across the table, Sophia saw her sister’s dismay at the idea of the two of them being alone with the new Lord Meriweather and his friends. Sophia knew it could be worse. She and Cousin Edmund could be dining alone as he prepared to propose.

Neither Sophia nor Catherine had needed to fret, because Cousin Edmund seemed to have found his tongue, and he prattled like a chatter-box. He directed the conversation toward his friends, never to her.

Sophia saw her sister begin to relax and smile when Mr. Bradby told amusing, but silly stories. The redhead’s grin got wider each time Catherine reacted to one of his jests. Sophia was glad she had accepted his apology because he was making every effort to make the evening convivial for Catherine.