Jo Ann Brown (9 page)

When a man hurried up the street, Charles had to step back to allow the man to pass. He drew Sophia’s hand into his arm again. “Allow me to assist you down the hill.”

“Will you wish me to do the same for you on the way back up?” she asked lightly.

The children skipped ahead of them, slowing only when she urged them to look into a nearby shop’s window.

“Do you think I will need towing up the hill?” Charles bit back his amazement at how readily the children heeded her. They resisted every request he made to them, even reasonable ones.

“That is yet to be seen. The streets of Sanctuary Bay have tested stamina since they were built.”

“Which I assume was the builders’ intent, if your father was correct about angry ships’ captains chasing after pirates who had stolen their cargoes.”

“Pirates?” asked Bradby from behind them. “Do not worry, Miss Meriweather. We will protect you.” He turned to Herriott and said, “You go first.”

“So I can be cannon fodder for pirates?” Herriott retorted.

“You are the smallest target of the three of us,” Charles said.

“All the more reason for John-a-Nokes to go first. He will deflect the ball with his boasting.” He winked at Bradby and walked around him to lead the way.

Sophia listened to the friends tease each other. For a moment she had a glimpse of what they must have been like before the war. Charming and witty and carefree and as eager for adventure as Michael.

She smiled while she bid a good morning to the baker’s wife and looked around the small village. The three men needed a place to escape their memories of the war. Maybe Sanctuary Bay could be that haven for them.

A door opened on one of the cottages. Cousin Edmund backpedaled to avoid it. Vera Fenwick rushed down the steps as he wobbled and quickly grasped the iron ring on the side of the building to keep from skidding on the stones.

“Oh, Lord Meriweather, forgive me,” Vera said, straightening her bonnet over her dark curls. “I was not watching where I was going.”

Once steady on his feet, Edmund apologized to the vicar’s sister. “I should have been keeping a closer eye on where I was bound rather than enjoying the view.”

“We have become accustomed to it.” Vera’s smile lit her round face.

“So you forget what effect it has on outsiders?” he asked.

Vera’s smile tightened. Cousin Edmund’s question was innocent, but some in the village would not consider it so.

“As Lord Meriweather, you are already a part of Sanctuary Bay,” Vera quickly replied. Her voice was not overly loud, but would reach nearby ears. “What do you think of the village, my lord?”

When Cousin Edmund began to chatter with her friend, Sophia listened in astonishment. How did Vera accomplish the task that seemed impossible for Sophia—keeping Edmund talking so that silence did not smother every conversation?

“See the sea,” Michael said, tugging on her hand.

Excusing herself while Vera spoke with Cousin Edmund and Mr. Bradby, she took the two children’s hands and warned them to watch where they stepped. The street was only wide enough for the three of them, so Charles walked ahead of them.

He stopped by a large wooden drum beside an open door. Overhead a sign was painted with a replica of the bright red drum and the words The Drummer’s Gift.

“That drum was used if a press-gang showed up in the village.” Sophia chuckled as Gemma and Michael tapped the top. “The women beat it to warn the men to hide. No man has been impressed in Sanctuary Bay since Trafalgar, though several volunteered.”

“Where did they get such a fancy drum? It does not look English.”

“My grandfather supposedly found it back on his travels. It could be from Africa or the East. When the need arose, it was given to the villagers for their use instead of gathering dust in Meriweather Hall.”

“A brilliant solution.”

They reached the bottom of the hill where stones had been sunk into the sand to give the fishermen a place to clean their catch and repair their boats and nets. The flat-bottomed boats with their high bows waited on the beach because the tide had pulled the water far away from the shore.

She led the children across a trickle of water that ran down the stones. She pointed out the fishing boats that were called cobles.

“Like the stones?” asked Gemma. “Why would you name a boat after something that would sink?”

“The stones are spelled with two
b’
s, the boats with one.” She laughed at the children’s bafflement. “I don’t know why they are called cobles, but they are built to handle the rough seas here.”

“Can we ride in one?” asked Michael.

“Not now, but I’m sure no one will mind if you stand in one.” Telling them to take off their shoes and stockings, she bent to help Michael.

“Where does this water come from?” Lord Northbridge asked.

“Years ago, a beck—”

“A what?”

“A beck is what we call a stream here in North Yorkshire. The beck flowed down the hill close to the village. It was channeled through a tunnel to let more houses be built above it. Now the beck emerges out of that gap in the stones at the base of the street.” She pointed at the spot where water bubbled out.

“A tunnel?” His eyes narrowed. “A handy tool for smugglers. Do you know where its entrance is?”

She jumped to her feet and grasped his arm as he reached to sweep aside some of the fishing nets that had been hung to dry against a wall of the lowest house. “Don’t be foolish, my lord!” She kept her voice low. “Searching for it could be dangerous.”

His eyes narrowed. “The smugglers are your own neighbors, but you fear them?”

“Not for myself, but you and your children are outsiders.” She clamped her lips closed. Cousin Edmund had an excuse for using that word. She did not.

“I thought you said the people here were friendly.”

“They are.” She held up her hands as if she could gather his growing vexation and contain it. “But you, my lord, have served the king. That makes you suspect in some eyes because they cannot be sure your only reason for coming here is helping your friend get settled.”

“If you think we should huddle in fear in Meriweather Hall, then you are mistaken!” His voice rose on each word.

“My lord, please. Not so loud.” She glanced up the street to see the others coming toward them. Why couldn’t he see that she was trying to protect him and the children? “If you are seen as a threat...”

“I
am
a threat to anyone who imperils my children.” He did not lower his voice, and his friends were not the only ones to halt on the street to stare. “Everyone would be wise to remember that.”

She groped for something to say, but no words came as he went to the startled children. He scooped up his son and grasped Gemma by the hand. Ignoring their protests, he pushed past his friends and strode up the hill.

His friends hurried to her, asking what had happened. She shrugged as she went to gather up the children’s shoes and stockings. Holding them close to her chest, she watched Lord Northbridge and the children disappear up the curving street.

Would he go to Meriweather Hall, or would he return to his own estate? Sadness swept over her at the thought of never seeing him or the children again.

Chapter Eight

B
oots came toward the book-room. Sophia looked up from the estate’s account books when the sound ceased right outside the door moments before a knock was set on it. She rose, then winced when a knot in her lower back reminded her how many hours she had sat at the desk. When Cousin Edmund told her that he could not take tea with her that afternoon, she took advantage of the time to go through the accounts that had been ignored since his arrival last week.

“You may come in,” she said when the knock came a second time, almost drowned out by the wind-splattered rain against the window.

“Maybe you should ask who stands on the other side of the door first.”

At Lord Northbridge’s answer, her heart did somersaults. She had spent many sleepless hours last night praying that she would find a good excuse not to be in the earl’s company any more than absolutely necessary during the remainder of his visit to Meriweather Hall. She would be wise to remember how his quick temper flared at the least provocation. On the other hand he was a loyal friend to his tie-mates, and he longed to be a good father to his children.

“Come in, my lord,” Sophia called when she realized she could leave him loitering in the corridor no longer.

She tried not to stare when the earl did as she bade. As always he was fashionably and well dressed. Buckskin breeches were the perfect complement for his navy coat and rust-colored waistcoat. She noticed that in the brief moment before her gaze was caught and held by his compelling, dark eyes. Every inch of her pleaded for her to close the distance between them until she was within his arms again.

He seemed as frozen as she was. She was unsure how long they would have stood thus if maids’ voices had not drifted into the room.

“I thought you had gone riding with my cousin,” Sophia said into the silence as the maids’ voices receded.

The earl left the door open as he walked toward the desk. “He wanted to go to the village to check on something that intrigued him. Not the smugglers, I assure you, because he heard your warning loud and clear, but he wished to go on his own.”

“Alone? Why?”

“He did not say.” He rubbed his fingers along his chin. “And that is odd, because Herriott is seldom circumspect.”

“But he has changed.” She did not make it a question as she sat in one of the overstuffed chairs.

His dark brows rose as he chose the one facing her. “How did you know?”

“I hear the stories you and the others tell, and you have mentioned that Cousin Edmund made quick and good decisions on the battlefield.”

He stretched his arm along the chair. “And now he cannot make a single one.”

“So the household staff has told me.” She gestured toward the account books. “I do what I can, but there are certain matters that only the baron can answer.”

“I shall speak with him, if you wish.”

Sophia almost said yes, because that would allow her to avoid another uncomfortable conversation, if one could call long and awkward silences a conversation, with her cousin. With a faint smile, she said, “Thank you, but it is a duty I must perform.”

“And you always do your duty.”

“If I can.”

“I see.”

She did not, but the wisest course would be to hear what the earl had come to say and then excuse herself to continue her work. She was about to say that, then realized that she might be able to solve two problems at once if Lord Northbridge spent more time with her cousin and she spent less with both men.

“On second thought,” she said, “I could use your help with my cousin’s adjustment to his life here. Will you do me a favor?”

“If I can.”

“Cousin Edmund must have many questions, but he hesitates to ask me. I am sure he will be more willing to take advice from a friend than from...” Her smile vanished as she swallowed so roughly she feared he could hear her gulp. She gamely went on, “From a woman he scarcely knows.”

“It is the very least I can do to repay you for helping with my children.”

“I was not looking to even the scales. Spending time with you and the children is my pleasure.”

“Mine, as well.”

Sophia stiffened to keep herself from softening at his compliment. His smile dared her to believe his simple words intended to mean far more.

Hastily she stood, forcing him to, as well. In her most matter-of-fact tone, she asked, “How may I help you today, my lord?”

“You might consider granting me two requests.”

“If I can,” she answered as he had.

“First, will you call me Charles? The children address you, in spite of efforts to remind them of their manners, as Sophia, and I must own that I think of you frequently that way. Spare me the embarrassment of being informal when you continue to address me formally.”

She was flustered anew. Not by his request, but that he admitted to thinking of her often.
Don’t be mawkish,
she warned herself. Why wouldn’t he think of her often? The children talked about her constantly, or so Alice had told her when Sophia visited the nursery.
But what if you remain in his thoughts for another reason?
She ignored that small voice from deep in her heart.

“I would be honored to address you as Charles,” she said, relieved when her voice sounded unruffled. “What is the second matter?”

“I was hoping you might accept my apology.” He folded his arms on the chair. His pose looked nonchalant, but the strong set of his jaw said otherwise. “I came to apologize. I was wrong to be upset with you when your words were aimed at the children’s welfare.”

“Tales of smugglers sound romantic and dashing, but the truth is that the smugglers tenaciously guard what they believe are their rights. About thirty years ago, a ship of smugglers rammed an excise cutter and sent it scurrying up the coast.”

“They are bold.”

“Yes.” She gazed out at the sea that was the same gray as the sky. “As the village is not part of this estate, the baron has no jurisdiction over its activities. Mr. Fenwick, like his predecessors, has tried to persuade them to deal with legal cargoes, but his efforts have been to no avail. Others who have tried to halt them have learned that the smugglers will threaten their homes and families.”

He took a deep breath and let it sift out between his clenched teeth. “It was chuckleheaded of me to believe that winning one war would mean that others were over.”

“But
this
is not your war.”

“It is if it imperils my children.”

Sophia gazed at him, enthralled by his fervor. She could see him on the battlefield, leading the charge against the French. Being labeled a hero was not a cloak he wore easily, but it was one he could not throw off, because it was a part of him.

“Do not become involved in it. Promise me that,” she said.

“I cannot promise that. As I said, if my children—”

“Your children will be safe.” She flung out her hands. “Smugglers do not come here as long as the lord of Meriweather Hall does not try to stop them along the shore.”

“I am not the lord of Meriweather Hall.”

“No, but your friend is.”

He stared her for another long moment before saying, “The status quo is vital. Is that what you mean?”

“Yes, especially when my cousin has trouble making the simplest decision about the estate. Any hesitation on his part if he comes face-to-face with the smugglers’ leader could be disastrous.”

“Do you know who leads them?”

“No.” Her frustration focused on that single word. “I thought I might be on the path to the answer before Papa insisted on me going to London. By the time I returned, the clue I had been following led nowhere.”

“The smugglers used the time while you were gone wisely.”

“More wisely than I spent my time in London.” Sophia wanted to pull the words back into her mouth, but it was too late.

Charles’s stance grew less tense as a smile eased across his lips. “I doubt you have ever done anything truly foolish.”

“In that, you are mistaken.” She looked back out at the sea so she did not have to look at him as she owned to her greatest shame. “I dared to believe that the gentleman calling on me was sincere in his attentions.”

“And he wasn’t?” The gentleness in his voice threatened to undo her completely.

“Maybe at the beginning, but then he chose to listen to his friends’ comments about my height in comparison with his and sought the company of another woman.”

Perhaps the stories of her humiliation had faded in the
ton’s
minds, but it never had in her own.
Duchess of limbs
,
herring-gutted, long shanks, gawkey
and
beanpole
were only some of the words she had heard. She had swallowed her hurt because she had believed one man outside her family had not cared that she was taller than most of the others in a room. Then Lord Owensly had told her that he could not escort her to Almack’s as planned because, he said stumbling over his words, he could abide the teasing of his friends no longer.

Sophia forced her clenched hands to open. She wished she knew how to make that hurt go away. Losing herself in work always helped. She hoped it would now.

“I am sorry,” Charles said, “that you were betrayed, too, by what your heart believed to be true.”

“Too?” She faced him, astonished he would speak of something so personal. “Who betrayed you, Charles?”

“Does it matter?”

Yes,
she wanted to shout, but she waited for him to continue.

“It’s in the past,” he said when she remained silent, “and I do not intend to let my past taint my future with my children. We all make mistakes, Sophia, but if we learn not to be so foolish again, then the cost of the lesson may not seem as high.”

“Then learn to heed what I tell you about the smugglers.”

“I will try.”

“Thank you, my lord, for understanding,” she said. “Your apology is accepted, of course.”

“Of course.” He made those two words sound silly. “Is that all there is to it? I apologize, and you accept?”

She stared at him, puzzled. “What else would you have me do?”

“Be annoyed with me. Fly up to the boughs and scold me for speaking sharply to you time after time. You are too forgiving.”

Tilting her head, she regarded him coolly. “I have been taught that our Lord says when one is asked for forgiveness, one should offer it. Especially when the transgression is by a guest in one’s home.”

He grimaced, then pushed away from the chair. It rocked, and she put out a hand to steady it. He did the same. She jerked her fingers back before they could brush his. His lips tightened at what he must see as an affront.

But, when he spoke, she realized she had read his reaction incorrectly.

“We are too much the same,” he said in barely more than a whisper. He cupped her chin and tilted her face toward his. “Hurt too deeply to see anything but potential pain in every word and action, Sophia.”

When he spoke her name with such warmth, her knees threatened to melt beneath her. Her fingers settled on his sleeve. The thick wool could not conceal the firm muscle beneath it. What would he do if she slid her hand up his arm and draped it over his shoulder? Or if she traced his scar? Would his breath become uneven?

“I am sorry you have been hurt,” he murmured.

“You are kind to say that.”
More than kind,
that voice added from her heart.

“I hope you can find a way to get past that pain so you no longer are frightened of whatever scares you.”

You scare me. You and the way I feel when you are near.
Oh, how she longed to say those words.

When he picked her hand off his sleeve, he raised it to his lips for the chastest salute. His gaze held hers over the top of her hand, and she saw the longing that resonated through her as if she were a tuning fork set atremble by his touch.

“Who hurt you, Charles?” she asked.

Pain flickered across his face before he gently released her hand. “Thank you for accepting my apology...again.” He turned on his heel and walked out, leaving her more confused and curious than ever.

* * *

The great house seemed too small after Charles left Sophia to stare after him in the book-room. He had wandered through Meriweather Hall for the past two hours in an effort to avoid everyone. How had he allowed their conversation to take such a turn? He had more than allowed it. He had instigated the topic of the pain they both tried to hide with less and less success.

He should have ignored her sorrow. That was impossible, because he did not want to see her unhappy. But he could have spoken of
her
pain without acknowledging his own.

In the past week, he had learned that Sophia Meriweather refused to let any puzzle go unsolved. Now he had given her another. He did not want her to discover that his wife had never loved him. To learn that Lydia had married him solely to obtain his title and its prestige...that she intended to leave him as soon as she gave him an heir.

What a laughingstock he would be! The great war hero who was abandoned by his wife. Other men lived separately from their wives, but none of them had boasted about how much his wife adored him. Nor had any of them spoken often of how much he loved his wife and how their marriage was perfect. Nobody must learn the truth. He had lost much, and he would not have his children hurt by his own blindness where Lydia had been concerned.

He continued to prowl through the house, turning down one corridor when he heard someone in another. He paused when he passed a French window at the rear of the manor. Herriott was pacing on a stone terrace, looking like a captive tiger trying to escape its cage.

Charles walked outside, and Herriott glanced over his shoulder. The man’s face was as strained as the moment before the call to battle was sounded. By all that’s blue, he did not want to think of
that
. Not after the near debacle with Sophia.

“Ah, Northbridge!” his friend called, motioning to him. “I trust
you
are having a pleasant afternoon.”

“Your comment suggests you are not,” Charles said to evade speaking the truth.