Jo Ann Brown (6 page)

“And,” Sophia said quickly to fill the silence, “perhaps a boy and girl like you standing on that shore and wondering about us. Wouldn’t it be grand to travel across someday and visit them?”

Charles listened as his children grew more excited while they spoke with Sophia. They vied with each other for her attention. Envy taunted him, because he could not help wondering if he would ever be as natural with his children as she was. No walls stood between her and Gemma and Michael.

Herriott arched a brow, and Charles shrugged at his friend’s unspoken question. He had no idea how she brought about the change in his children.

Moving to stand next to his friend, Charles said beneath the children’s babbling to Sophia, “I hope we are not interrupting anything important.”

“No! Of course not!” Herriott said so quickly that Charles fought back a laugh. “Just chitchat. She seems far more interested in what the children have to say.”

“And they in what she says.” He watched as Michael bent and picked up a stone, which he held up to Sophia. “Once they took note of her, they made a beeline here.”

Michael’s shout rose over Herriott’s answer. “Want to see the sea. Want to touch the water.”

Sophia stood and asked the children to wait for her. As she walked to where Charles stood, he found himself wondering if she was being propelled by a gentle breeze. Every motion was as fluid and graceful as if her feet had wings.

Beside him, Herriott mumbled something under his breath. Charles could not discern what his friend had said, but he hoped his own thoughts had not been vivid on his face. He had no place admiring the woman who was meant for Herriott.

“My lord,” she asked, her voice like a song in his ears, “would you be willing to let me take the children down to the shore? There is a path down to the beach that is not too steep. Even Michael could manage it, though holding the children’s hands would be the best idea.” She faltered, then said, “The choice is yours. I did not tell them what I planned to ask you.”

“I see no reason not to let them get closer to the water,” he replied, “as long as this path is as gently sloped as you say.”

She drew herself up to her full height, and he was amazed anew how pleasant he found having her eyes close to his own. Even when they snapped with green fire as they did now.

“I would never put your children in danger.” Her voice was as cool as a winter morning.

“I know that. If my words suggested otherwise, it was never my intention.” He folded his arms over the front of his greatcoat. “I have become accustomed to being blunt in the company of men. I see I need to watch more words with more care in a lady’s company.”

“Oh, no!” Her icy facade fell away as she looked from him to Herriott and back. “Please do not fret about each word you speak. If we feel we must do that, our conversations will consist of pleasant nothings.”

Charles was taken aback at her fervor, and he wondered what she and Herriott had discussed. Not that it was any of his bread and butter, but he clearly had touched a nerve.

When Sophia returned to the children to tell them what had been decided, Herriott said, “I am wearing my new boots, which I have no interest in ruining along the shore. I trust you will escort my cousin to the house.”

“Certainly.”

“Good.” Herriott turned on his heel to leave, but stopped when Charles spoke.

“Are you all right? If we truly were intruding...”

“It is nothing, Northbridge, but concern for my boots and some work I delayed doing earlier today.” His tone was bleak.

Charles nodded, though he guessed his friend was still wrestling with how he would balance a business enterprise in London and an estate in North Yorkshire. Herriott seemed utterly overmastered by the obligations that had become his. Charles hoped Herriott would find a way to handle both with the ease he once had shown in business.

So much had been easier before they went to war...

Shaking the dreary thoughts from his mind, Charles went to where Sophia waited patiently and his children far less so. He quickly explained that Herriott had excused himself. Sophia had questions in her eyes, but she did not ask them, and he did not offer further explanation.

“Shall we go?” she asked in the mirthful tone she seemed to reserve for the children.

She held out her hand, and both children reached for it. They glowered at each other, but she quickly defused their competitive spirit by saying she would hold Michael’s hand going down and Gemma’s on the way up. Gemma started to protest, but Sophia halted her with a smile.

“Do let me hold your brother’s hand while it is relatively clean,” Sophia said. “You know how boys are.” Her nose wrinkled as if she had smelled something bad. “Digging in the dirt.”

Gemma nodded. “I know! He is always dirty, Sophia.”

“
Miss
Sophia,” Charles corrected gently.

His daughter scowled, then smiled when Sophia said, “If I hold your hand on the way up the cliff, I shall have an excuse not to hold his dirty fingers then.”

“He can hold Father’s hand on the way up.” Gemma shot him a triumphant glance.

Charles kept a smile from his face. Even though that was not the expression he longed to see on his daughter’s face when she looked at him, anything was better than the frowns she usually aimed in his direction.

When Sophia had taken them to where the narrow path led down the cliffs, Charles thought she had been overly optimistic about the children managing on their own. It cut down the cliff at sharp angles. Yet, as they went slowly along the path, he discovered it was actually simpler than it appeared from the top. Boulders edged the path, so there was less chance of someone toppling down to the shore. At only one spot, where the path dropped more steeply down, did Charles have to pick up his wiggling son and carry him. He set Michael down as soon as the grade eased again.

Sophia did not release Michael’s hand when they reached the bottom. She swung their hands between them while they walked to a large boulder that had either fallen or been thrown up on the shore by a storm.

With a shout, Michael broke away from her. His sister took after him as they raced along the shingle beach, running close to the water and then fleeing toward the base of the cliff as the breakers washed over the stones.

Charles opened his mouth to call them, but Sophia said, “They will be fine. The worst that could happen would be a skinned knee.”

“It sounds as if you had plenty of those.” He spoke without thinking, but now all he could think about were her legs that must be as willowy as her arms.

“Most children do.” She strolled along the rounded stones that clicked on each step.

He kept pace with her, his gaze on his children, though he would have enjoyed taking in the lovely sight of her beside him. Gemma picked up a stone and threw it into the water. Michael did the same with a stone too big for him to manage. It fell close to them, splashing them both. They fled from the water, giggling.

“If,” Sophia said, “you wish to join in their games, go ahead. There are some quieter pools where you could teach them to play ducks and drakes.”

“They could use some help in learning to throw.” He smiled when Michael tried again with the same result. “It has been a long time since I tried skipping stones across water. I used to be quite good at it.”

“Show them. It is good for a child to discover that his or her father can do astounding things.”

His smile fell away. “But some day they must accept the reality.”

“Except that you
have
done astounding things,” Sophia said.

Charles clasped his hands behind his back so she would not see his fingers quake as if he had palsy. The thought of those wretched days and nights of battle sickened him. At the time he had not had time to think about what might happen. Only react. Now...

“Forgive me,” she said into the lengthening silence.

“There is no need to ask my forgiveness for a chance remark.” He walked along the water’s edge toward where Michael was picking up yet another stone too large for him.

“Not only this one,” she said to his back, “but the horrid one I made last night before I left you in Papa’s book-room. I regret speaking with such iciness.”

“Even when I deserved a dressing-down?” He turned to face her and was treated to her wide-eyed astonishment. It was an appealing sight, for usually she was in control of her emotions.

Her bright green eyes focused on him as she pushed aside golden strands that the wind whipped from her chignon and twirled around her face. He longed to reach out and brush her hair back at the same time he caressed her soft cheek. Would she quiver beneath his touch? He thought of her eyes closing, her thick lashes curving on her face, as he bent to kiss her warm mouth.

He took a step toward her, and her lips parted in an unspoken invitation for him to press his over them. Slowly his hand rose to cup her cheek. He could not halt himself. She might be intended for his friend, but he would go mad if he did not kiss her once...or twice...or...

“Stop it!” came a shout that shattered his fantasy of holding her.

It took Charles a moment to realize that neither the warning voice in his head nor Sophia had called out that order. Gemma’s anger rang along the shore, and he turned to see Michael intentionally tossing a stone where it would send water flying into his sister.

He strode along the strand to where Michael was reaching for another stone. As his son hauled back his arm to throw it, Sophia ran past him. She tossed a stone into the water right in front of Michael, and water soaked the front of his son’s coat.

A wail rose from Michael as he spat out the salty water. Gemma laughed. Sophia whispered something in his son’s ear and then motioned his daughter closer. They grinned and turned toward him, then his children looked at each other uneasily.

“Go ahead,” Sophia ordered as she pointed at Charles. “Splash him!”

The children stared at her as if she had taken a knock in the cradle. With a laugh, she scooped up a handful of water and tossed it in Charles’s direction. It spotted the front of his coat.

“Like that,” she said with a laugh.

The children splashed water at Charles. The water fell short. They ran forward and tried again. Giggling, they splattered through the shallow water at the edge of the sea. They yelled in excitement when some of the water reached him.

“Splash them,” Sophia said, as she came to stand out of range beyond him.

Charles shook his head. “You saw Michael when he got water in his mouth. He was upset.”

“Surprised rather than upset because
then
he tossed water at his sister and laughed when it hit her bonnet.” Her voice softened. “My lord, they are your children. They want to play with you. Play with them.”

Something pierced the pain that had scarred his heart. She was right. They were his children, and he wanted them to be eager to spend time with him.

Bending, he ignored the cold water soaking his sleeve as he swept a handful toward them. He made sure it hit them on the legs, not in the face. He held his breath as he waited for their reaction.

Instead of the giggles he had hoped for, the children froze, stunned that he had thrown water at them. Then their gazes slid past him, and slow smiles brightened their faces. He turned to see what motion Sophia had made. Water struck him directly in the face.

He sputtered and sent a handful in her direction. She leaped out of the way, and the children crowed in delight.

Spinning, he splashed more water toward his children. Michael laughed and pointed at Gemma who had not moved aside quickly enough. Soon they were laughing and covered with wet spots. Sophia called for a halt when Michael almost slipped on the stones. The children started to protest, but she reminded them how nice a warm tea would taste after playing in the chilly water. They scampered up the sheer path, begging on every step for another chance to play on the shore.

“Soon,” Charles affirmed. “But only if you promise not to come here on your own.”

He was astonished when they agreed before they ran toward the garden, both talking nonstop. He followed at a more sedate pace with Sophia. For a moment he considered offering his arm, but he doubted he would be satisfied with that chaste touch when he could not stop thinking about kissing her.

“They had fun,” she said, her gaze on the children.

“Thanks to you.”

She shook her head. “No, my lord. It was thanks to you. You agreed to let them go down onto the beach, and they were happy to have the chance to play with you.” She paused to take a deep breath, then said, “I hope you will accept our offer to open the nursery for the children. They enjoy playing together, and there are plenty of toys in the nursery for them to use. I know you want to spend time with them, but they need to have time to be children.”

Charles realized that she was right. He had never seen his children so filled with joy as when splashing in the water. It would not do for Sophia’s concern about Gemma and Michael to be greater than his own.

“Very well,” he said. “Let’s see how they do in the nursery.”

When she smiled at him, he suspected he would agree to almost anything she wanted for the chance to see her smile again. That realization shook him to his core. He had made one huge mistake when he had believed Lydia’s pretty smiles. He could not be foolish again.

Chapter Five

W
hy had he agreed to such a want-witted thing? Charles asked himself that question over and over as he had listened, while he had tucked the children in last night, to their prattling about what they might find in the nursery. Through breakfast and during their short walk in the garden while servants packed their clothing, Gemma and Michael discussed what toys were waiting there. It was clear that they were eager to escape from the close quarters of his rooms.

Or maybe they wanted to get away from him.

They had been happy until he had announced it was time for prayers and bed last evening. When they had protested that they should stay up a little longer, he had insisted that they obey. They had whined until he had ordered them to bed. This morning they had treated him with the chill they had before. He’d hoped yesterday that he had found the way to make up for the time they had lost, but they seemed only interested in finding ways to avoid him.

Now he had given them the perfect way.

Forcing a cheerful smile, Charles asked, “Shall we go to see the nursery?”

“Yes, sir,” Gemma answered. The little girl he had seen laughing and dancing by the sea was gone.

He had no idea how to bring her back or to elicit the mischievous glint from his son’s eyes, so he opened the door and ushered them into the house. He made a few attempts to get them talking, but it was futile, so they walked in silence up the main staircase and along the corridor.

As they turned a corner to reach the stairs that led to the nursery floor, Charles sensed rather than saw someone coming toward him. He stepped back quickly before he could run into the young woman rushing in the opposite direction. She was, he realized, Sophia’s sister, Catherine. Last evening she had sent her regrets that she would be unable to join them for dinner. No reason had been given, but Charles was pleased that she looked well.

“Miss Catherine, good morning,” he said as he motioned for the children to halt alongside him.

At first glance the two sisters could not look less alike. Yet their eyes had the same intensity, and their mouths conveyed an identical kindness.

If that were so, then why did he think of kissing Sophia’s warm lips but felt no such yearning when he encountered Miss Catherine? The only longing he experienced now was the hope that he could put Sophia’s younger sister at ease.

“Good morning, my lord,” she said, apparently fascinated by a button in the middle of his waistcoat. “Good morning, children. Are you on your way to call on Mother?”

Gemma shook her head, but Michael piped up, “Going to see Sophia and the toys!”

“Michael, you must address her as
Miss
Sophia,” Charles said.

Miss Catherine’s gaze flicked up toward his. “Which toys?”

“Your sister has kindly offered the nursery,” he replied, “for the children’s use during our stay. Michael and Gemma are eager to see the toys there.”

The young woman smiled as she looked at the children. “You will be pleased by the toys up in the nursery, but don’t ride the rocking horse until you have Sophia tell you what he might do.” With a nod in his direction, she added, “If you will excuse me...”

Charles stepped aside as she rushed past him. When Gemma asked him about the rocking horse, he could only shrug. Both children looked disappointed that he could not ease their curiosity, and they almost ran toward the stairs. His request that they slow to keep from running into a member of the household fell on deaf ears as they scampered up the steps.

By the time they reached the top of the last stairwell, even Michael had slowed to a walk. The upper floor was plain compared to the lower ones. Beige paint covered the walls, and there were no paintings or fancy woodwork. The frames around the closed doors were simple and painted what might once have been white. On the floor the wide oak boards were darkly stained. No rugs or tile added interest because it was the domain of children and servants.

That changed when a doorway opened, and Sophia gestured for them to come into a small chamber where two small desks sat in front of a larger one. Charles paid no attention to any other details as he drank in the sight of Sophia. She was a vision in a simple, pale green gown that accented her expressive eyes. She smiled at Charles and the children, and for a moment, he greedily wished all her smiles were for him.

“Ah, right on time,” she said. “I believe we have everything ready. What do you think, children?”

“Where is the rocking horse?” asked Michael, his eyes wide.

Sophia’s smile broadened. “You have heard about Robbie, have you?” She held out her hands, and the children eagerly grasped them. “We keep him in a special place.”

Charles followed when she led the children through another door and to an alcove set between the schoolroom and the next chamber. A trio of stained glass windows displayed three fanciful scenes of the sea, the village and the moors farther inland. The rocking horse itself did not look different from the one he had as a child. Made of wood, it had a dark horsehair mane and tail. The saddle was painted garish reds and golds.

“This is Robbie,” she said as she picked up the leather reins connected to the horse’s head by brass rings. “He is a very special rocking horse.”

“How?” demanded Michael.

Charles started to caution his son not to interrupt, but Sophia shook her head slightly. Leaning toward his son, she said, “When you ride him and look hard enough at one of the windows, you can pretend you are galloping across the moors or up the shore to the village.”

“Or across the sea?” he asked.

“That is silly,” Gemma said. “Horses cannot run across the sea.”

He spun to face her. “No? What about seahorses?”

Sophia put her hand over her mouth, but not before Charles saw her grin. He swallowed his own laugh and stepped in to halt the squabble before it became heated. Promising the children that they would each have many opportunities to ride the horse, he followed them and Sophia into the main room of the nursery.

It was painted a vibrant yellow. White shelves, pushed against the long wall, gleamed in the sunshine pouring through four windows marching along the opposite wall. Toys and books were neatly stacked on the shelves.

In the center of the room, a small table was surrounded by four tiny chairs. The carpet underneath might once have been used in the more public areas, but had been relegated to the nursery once its pattern faded.

Gemma and Michael slowly turned around to take in the whole room.

“Can we play with these toys?” Gemma asked.

“Certainly.” Sophia laughed warmly. “What good are toys if they are not being played with?”

The children needed no further invitation. Both ran to the shelves.

Sophia turned her smile on him, and Charles wished she would run to him as eagerly as the children had rushed to the toys. He would hold her as gently as Gemma did with a doll she had found. He would examine her face and run his fingers along her cheek, brushing back her spun-gold tresses, as he lost himself in her wondrous eyes.

That image vanished when Sophia went to help Michael lift down a wooden box. She knelt on the rug beside him and opened it. His son reached in and pulled out a simply carved alphabet block.

A sharp pain thudded in Charles’s heart when he saw the color on the block was fresh and vibrant. He could not help recalling Sophia’s sorrow when she’d mentioned how her brother had died as a child. If she still grieved, he saw no sign of it as she dug more deeply into the box and lifted out a wooden dog. She set it on the rug, then placed another beside it.

Michael rose to his knees and began searching in the box. Excitement rang through his voice as he called to his sister. Gemma came over to help him search for the matching animals of a Noah’s ark set. They began lining the pairs up on the floor.

“That is an elephant,” Sophia said when Michael closely examined a gray animal. “The female. The male has tusks.” She pantomimed how the ivory tusks would stick out on both sides of its trunk.

His son laughed, and his daughter did, too, when she held up a long-necked creature that he knew was meant to be a giraffe. As Sophia patiently named each animal and told the children about where it lived, a deep longing almost choked Charles. Anyone walking into the nursery would assume that Sophia was the children’s mother and he was a stranger.

Standing, Sophia said, “You are welcome to play with anything you like.”

Michael jumped to his feet and flung his arms around her legs. “Really?” he asked, tipping back his head to look up at her.

“Yes.”

“Do we have to take them outdoors?”

Puzzlement creased her brow. “Why do you ask that?”

Gemma answered as she cradled a doll in her arms, rocking it gently. “Grandmother preferred for us to sit quietly or play out in the garden.”

Sophia’s mouth grew round in a gasp of astonishment, and Charles resisted the need to defend himself. While he had been on the Continent, he had had no influence on how the children were reared. He was not surprised that his mother-in-law had insisted on such rules, for she had no more maternal instincts than Lydia had. His prayers that Lydia would be a loving mother to Gemma and their unborn son had been for naught.

* * *

The children squealed with excitement as they explored the collection of toys. Sophia halted Lord Northbridge from quieting them.

“This is one of the reasons the nursery is isolated up here,” she said as she edged aside before Gemma, with Michael in pursuit, could run into her. They collapsed in laughter on the floor.

He nodded, but remained somber. She wished he would smile, because the expression brought forth an inner light. Grief filled his dark eyes. When he smiled, they twinkled, and she saw a hint of the man he could be if he dismantled the wall he kept between him and his children.

Gemma shrieked as her brother knocked over a stack of blocks into her lap. Both children jumped to their feet and began chasing each other again.

“Maybe my mother-in-law had a good reason,” Lord Northbridge said wryly, “to ask them to play out of doors.”

Sophia chuckled. “I think I have the perfect thing to persuade them to play more sedately.” She turned to the shelves to take down a box from an upper one.

As she stretched up, one of the children bumped into her. She did not see which. She wobbled and grasped in vain for the shelf. Her hand found nothing, and she stumbled backward.

Her elbow was caught by strong fingers. A powerful frisson skittered up her arm, a heated sensation that tingled even more strongly when she raised her eyes to meet Lord Northbridge’s. All sound, even the children’s eager shouts, faded until it was only her and him. As he steadied her, his other hand settled at the back of her waist. His strength surrounded her, and, for the first time in longer than she could remember, she felt exactly the right size. A single motion would slant her up against his chest, her mouth just below his. How would his expressive lips feel on hers?

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Was his tone breathless, or was it how she heard him past her thundering pulse? Every breath she took was flavored with the scent of fresh air and salt, telling her that he must have walked outside this morning.

“Yes.” She tried to keep her words from quavering, but she failed when she added, “I am fine.”

“I would agree.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper that sent a new wave of sweet sensation sweeping over her.

She closed her eyes to savor how his fingers glided along her cheek to brush her chin. His touch was as light as wisps of cloud, but wondrously warm. She leaned into it and opened her eyes to gaze up into his. For once they were not hooded and drew her toward him.

“Sophia!”

The urgent voice barely cut through her gentle haze.

“Sophia!”

A hand tugged at her skirt, and Sophia tore her gaze from Lord Northbridge’s. As she looked down to see Michael holding her skirt in his small hand, she took a ragged breath. When had she last drawn a breath? Had she forgotten to while lost in the earl’s eyes?

“What is it, son?” Lord Northbridge’s voice had an unsteady edge to it.

Sophia stepped away, overtaken by her reaction to him. Had she lost her mind? Not only was it assumed she would marry another man, but Lord Northbridge remained in mourning for his late wife. She should help him become closer with his children, not closer to her.

“Can we play draughts?” Michael asked, pointing to an upper shelf. “I see a board right up there.”

“Of course.” She congratulated herself for how serene her answer sounded. “I will bring it over to the table, and we will set it up there.”

Michael ran away, calling to his sister to come and play the game with him.

Sophia rose on tiptoe to take down the red-and-black checkered board and the round draughts the children soon would be skipping across it. Her hand bumped into Lord Northbridge’s as he reached for the board, too.

“I can get it,” she said.

“I know you can, but allow me to do so in an effort to atone for my son’s intrusion.”

“There is nothing to atone for.”

“For him or for me?” His low voice was almost as warm as his touch.

“Neither of you.”

“I am glad to hear that.” He raised his hand again toward the shelf. “If you will allow me...”

Sophia stepped aside to let the earl take down the board and box of draughts. Unlike Lord Owensly who had ended their brief courtship when he could no longer abide his friends teasing him about her height, Lord Northbridge acted as if it were nothing extraordinary. His acceptance touched her more than she expected. He had chided Mr. Bradby when his friend spoke out of turn, but defending a lady was a gentleman’s duty. This was something more.

A soft rapping came from an inner door to their left as Lord Northbridge carried the board and box to the table. A young woman peeked around the door like a shy deer. Her fawn-colored hair was pulled back in a tight bun. Beneath her apron, her simple gown was only a shade lighter than her hair. She was short, not even five feet tall, but her smile was warm as she watched the children playing on the floor.