Читать книгу The Dutiful Daughter - Jo Ann Brown - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Voices 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.

She wished she could let her guard down, too, because Mr. Bradby, aside from his unconsidered words upstairs, was both endearing and skilled with gaggery. However, the very idea of unbending when Cousin Edmund sat on one side of her and Lord Northbridge on the other was unfathomable.

Instead she watched the interaction between the three men. Even though the earl did not speak as often as the others, each time he did, the other two were quick to defer to his sentiments. It was clear they held him in the highest esteem. At the same time, Lord Northbridge was enjoying their company. When Cousin Edmund mentioned something about the war, the earl glanced at her sister and said, “Herriott, the ladies.”

His words confirmed Sophia’s suspicions that the three men had fought together against Napoleon. That would explain both the earl’s scar and his friends’ respect. She could easily picture Lord Northbridge giving calm orders in the midst of gunfire. Had he honed his ability to control his emotions under such stress?

When the last course, a sweet and light meringue, was crumbs on their plates, Sophia said, “Please allow us to withdraw so you gentlemen may enjoy your port.” She started to push back her chair to rise.

The men surged to their feet, and both Lord Northbridge and her cousin reached to help draw out her chair. The earl pulled back his hand as if the wood had suddenly burst into flame. He bowed his head slightly to her cousin who assisted her to stand, and her cousin’s eyes narrowed.

Confused, Sophia wondered what unspoken message had passed between them. She thanked her cousin, then turned to leave the table. A firm chest covered by an embroidered waistcoat halted her. Oh, bother, she should have gone in the other direction, but Cousin Edmund had been standing too close on that side.

She raised her eyes to Lord Northbridge’s, and her breath caught over her heart, which seemed to have forgotten how to beat. His eyes were no longer hooded, and she saw the powerful emotions warring within them. She should look away, but she was held by the shadows of sorrow in his eyes. He must continue to grieve for his wife, even after more than three years. Many questions begged to be asked. Many words of comfort she wanted to offer, to speak of how deeply she understood his loss.

But she was unable to speak because she could not breathe. If she drew in another breath, his powerful essence would come with it. They could not have stood unmoving for more than a moment; yet it seemed like one life she had known had ended and a new one had started. A life in which he played a role. Which role she did not dare to guess, but that brief second of connection eased the icy cocoon that had surrounded her heart for longer than she wanted to admit.

Sophia stepped away. She had to fight her feet, which wanted to take her back to Lord Northbridge. Instead she walked slowly to where her sister waited at the end of the table. Together they left the room. She saw curiosity on her sister’s face, but how could Sophia explain that she was captivated by the good friend of the man she was expected to marry?

* * *

“When I saw the vicar in the foyer, I thought I was done for, about to be caught in the parson’s mousetrap.” Herriott shuddered as he grimaced.

“Did you really believe that Fenwick was here because Miss Meriweather intended to force you into popping the question the very first night you arrive?” Bradby put down his glass and folded his arms on the table and chuckled. “Stop acting like a scared rabbit, and put yourself in the lady’s place. She knows nothing of you, save that you are a distant relative.”

“Listen to him, Herriott,” Charles said, stretching out his legs beneath the table. “Why would she command you to make an offer? From what I have seen of Miss Meriweather, she would never do something skimble-skamble.”

Herriott leaned forward. “What do you think of her?”

Bradby cleared his throat and shifted uneasily, a sure sign that Charles must not hesitate on his answer. He would not lie, but how could he say that Herriott’s future wife invaded too many of his thoughts? He had never met a woman who exhibited a grace that suggested she moved to music the rest of them could not hear.

“It matters less what I think of her than what you do,” Charles replied, hoping Herriott did not see his answer as an evasion.

Across the table, Bradby smiled tautly. Charles had given him the rough side of his tongue after Miss Meriweather had fled, and Bradby had taken the dressing-down he was due.

“You are no longer in garrison,” Charles had snapped. “You are in the company of ladies, not soldiers. You can no longer speak churlishly and expect nothing to come of it.”

Bradby had apologized, then made a joke, as he did whenever he was under stress. Had he always done that? Charles could not recall, but he seemed to be jesting more and more of late.

Just as Herriott seemed unable to make a decision of any sort. As the baron of this estate he would be forced to do so, but, for now, his indecision might be a boon for both Herriott and Miss Meriweather.

“I know what is expected of us,” Herriott said, breaking into Charles’s thoughts, “but I would like to become better acquainted with my cousin before I ask her to be my wife.”

“I am sure she shares your opinion.”

As Bradby chuckled, looking relieved, Herriott reached out to clap Charles on the shoulder. “I am glad you two agreed to come here with me. I should have guessed I would be in need of your counsel at some point. Promise me one thing. If Miss Meriweather—or anyone—mentions the words banns or wedding, you will change the subject immediately.”

Charles laughed. “As I said, I don’t think you need worry.”

“Better forearmed than unprepared, as you said often enough before we faced the French.”

“Fortunately tonight, the only enemy we face is your baseless apprehension.”

This time Herriott laughed along with them.

An hour later, Charles stood and bid his friends a good night. Before the war, he had enjoyed sitting for much longer after dinner, conversing with friends. An odd restlessness had taken over since his return to England. Should he check on the children? There was no need, because Mrs. Smith, a matronly woman and the wife of the head groom, had been sent by Lady Meriweather to sit with the children.

If the weather was not foul, he would walk off his agitation outside. Maybe something to read. Mr. Fenwick’s unfinished story about Sanctuary Bay had been intriguing. The late Lord Meriweather might have a book on the subject.

A quick question to a footman obtained him directions to the lord’s book-room. It was on the first floor, but down a corridor he had not noticed previously. The light from the lamps on the walls was enough so he could avoid bumping into a quartet of suits of armor in the hallway. On the morrow, he would bring Michael and Gemma to see the armor. He guessed they would find it fascinating. Or would it frighten them?

Sophia would know.

He stopped as if the thought had been a brick wall in the center of the hall. When had he started thinking of her as Sophia? His mouth tightened. No matter how he thought of her, he was not ready to own to Miss Meriweather or anyone else that he was unsure how to rear his children.

Charles continued along the dusky corridor and paused in an open doorway where light spilled out into the hall. The dark shelves of the book-room were packed with more volumes than could fit. More were piled on the floor, on the window seat, on any flat surface.

“Come in,” said Sophia as if she had emerged from his thoughts. Now that was a most discomforting idea. She stood at a rosewood desk set in front of a double window.

“Now it is my turn to say I hope I am not intruding,” he said, wondering if he would be wise to retreat. To be alone with her, far from everyone else in the house, might be stupid. He turned to leave. “I can return another time.”

“Of course not. You are not intruding.”

“It would appear I am.”

“Are you suggesting that I am being less than honest with you, Lord Northbridge?” A smile curved along her lips before rising to twinkle in her eyes.

“I would never suggest anything except that you are being too polite to tell me to take my congé. I should have guessed that you had sought a quiet haven here.”

She gestured to the open books on the desk. “I was doing a quick review of the estate’s accounts, so I can go through them with Cousin Edmund whenever he wishes. I am glad to say I am done and was about to douse the lamp.”

“You have many tasks within these walls, don’t you?” He entered the room, but kept a pair of upholstered wing chairs between them.

“Soon they shall be Cousin Edmund’s.” Her teasing smile would have been perfectly at home on Gemma’s face. “I will have more time to do things I enjoy.”

“And what are those things?”

She ran her fingers along a shelf of books. “Reading and maybe some traveling.” Her eyes grew distant. “I have longed to see the amazing cities on the Continent.”

Charles’s mouth twisted. “I have no wish to return there.”

“I have also thought about visiting America.”

“I have traveled as much as I wish. I came here as a favor to your cousin. I look forward to spending the rest of my life tending to my estate while I watch my children grow up.”

Her expression suggested she was as shocked as if he had suddenly announced rain was falling up. Her fingers tightened on the shelf, but he was unsure which of his comments had upset her. Reminding himself that he had come to the book-room solely to get something to read, he cautioned himself not to question too closely her reaction to anything he said or did.

Or his reaction to her.

He could not pull his eyes from her half profile as she gazed at the bookshelf. He had been wrong to call her remarkable. Magnificent was a better word.

“Read any book you would like,” Sophia said.

“Thank you.” The two words gave him time to escape his enticing thoughts of dancing with her to the sumptuous notes of a waltz, but the fantasy returned as he watched her weave through the stacks of books with the ease of practice.

She stopped by a section of shelves at the rear of the room. “This is where Papa kept his favorite books. He loved historical treatises and overly melodramatic novels.” She turned to face him, her expression once again that of a gracious hostess. “If either interests you, you will find them here.”

“Is there a history of Sanctuary Bay on that shelf?”

Sophia shook her head as she went to the desk and sat. “There is no such book, as my father lamented far too often. He always spoke of writing a history of the bay, but he never did.”

He rested his arms on the back of the wing chair. “Mr. Fenwick mentioned that the late baron had been doing some research in that direction and that you had further information.”

Her stiff pose softened. “Papa and I spent many evenings trying to trace the bay’s name to its origins. It was quite fascinating to discover that the bay might have been a sanctuary for miscreants.”

“Ah, now that is far more intriguing.” His smile broadened. “What sort of criminals sought a hiding place among the cliffs long ago?”

“Pirates.”

“Definitely more interesting.” Coming around the chair, he sat in it, pulling it closer to her. “Tell me more.”

She did, warming to the story she and her father had pieced together out of legend and dusty tomes. Charles listened intently while she explained how, several centuries before, the English pirates had preyed on trade ships going to and from the Low Countries and north toward Germany and Norway.

“They could very easily slip in and out of the bay, which has deep water,” she said, her hands moving as if they were ships on the sea. “Once they reached their target, they were swifter and with nothing to lose, so they often convinced the captains to hand over their cargo without a single shot fired.”

“And hied to Sanctuary Bay. But that cannot be the end of the tale. The ships’ captains must have set chase.” He wanted to keep her telling the story, because he was fascinated by how her expression emphasized each facet of it. Without the grief that too often shadowed her face, she was even more beguiling.

He started to reach out his hand to put it over hers. He drew it back quickly. Hadn’t Bradby’s interruption this afternoon taught him anything? He could not risk her reputation by giving in to the yearning to touch her.

“The ships did come to Sanctuary Bay, but the crews never found any signs of their stolen cargos in the village.”

“Tell me, where in this house did they hide their loot?”

“There is supposedly a deep cellar, more like a cave actually, beneath, but we have never found any sign of it.” Her laugh caressed him like a spring breeze. “How did you guess? Nobody outside the village ever knew of it.”

“Mr. Fenwick’s reluctance to speak of your father’s theory was a good clue.”

“There are rumors that my ancestors played a large part in the crimes.”

“That did not disturb your father?”

“Quite to the contrary. He thought it great fun to have pirates in our family line, but he was also glad that we live in a far more civilized time.”

Charles sighed deeply. “I would not say we are more civilized. We simply prey on each other in different ways now.”

“I read the dispatches in the newspaper about the battles against the French,” she said in little more than a whisper. “I cannot imagine how much more horrendous it must have been on the battlefield.”

“No, you cannot. Not unless you were there.”

“I would be glad to listen if you wish to speak of it. Mr. Fenwick has often reminded us that a problem shared is a lessened burden.”

He recoiled, shocked by her words. “Why would I wish to relive that?”

“I have no idea, but—”

“Miss Meriweather, I do not wish to speak it.” He clenched his teeth as he felt the all-too-familiar surge of heated anger rising from his gut. He struggled to dampen it, but his temper seemed to have a will of its own, wanting to lash out in every direction.

Sophia stared at him in shock. The so-very-brief connection between them was now completely broken. He told himself that it was for the best. She should be getting better acquainted with her cousin, not with him. That thought stabbed him. What did it matter? If she knew the truth about him, she would run in the opposite direction.

He stood when she rose and gestured at the bookshelves.

Her voice was polite and nothing more. “Please feel free to read any book that appeals to you.” She faltered, then said, “Some of the volumes are old and fragile. If you wish to read in your room tonight—”

“Michael and Gemma have been taught to respect other people’s possessions,” he replied crisply at the implied insult. Telling himself that she had not meant her words that way, he tried to push his anger deep within him again. It was like trying to squeeze a cannon into a snuffbox.

“As I said, I am done here.” She did not look at him. “You are welcome to stay. I hope you feel free to run tame through the house.”

“You have made us feel comfortable in your home.” He raised a hand to halt her answer when her gaze slid toward him. “I know it is Herriott’s estate, but it is your home. I daresay I would not show such equanimity if a stranger came to Northbridge Castle and laid claim to it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “We have had time to adjust because we have been awaiting Cousin Edmund’s arrival for more than ten months.”

“But to hand over your home without a protest...”

“We are fortunate he is a kind gentleman, who already is making efforts to put us at ease.”

He found her trite answer vexing. Before he could halt himself, he fired back, “Really? Are you as at ease with the idea of wedding your family to his?”

She flinched at the word wedding. “That is too intimate a question,” she said in a frigid tone, “but you would be wise to remember that I shall do what I must for my family. And I ask you, my lord, would you wed your family to another if it was for the benefit of your children?” She pushed past him to go to the door.

His fingers closed into fists. How dare she use such an officious tone that suggested she was a better person, more willing to sacrifice than he was! She sounded like Lydia. His late wife had delighted in looking down her nose at him whenever she had had the chance. Now Miss Meriweather was doing exactly the same. Had she no idea how much he was fighting to control his temper that she seemed determined to incite with her verbal attack? Cold fury pumped through him. If she wanted a battle, he would oblige.

“Odd,” he said to her back. “I may not know you well, Miss Meriweather, but I have learned to trust my first impressions.”

She spun to face him. “Which means?”

“I don’t see you as a woman willing to settle for a neat solution.”

“A neat solution?” Tears glistened in her eyes. “Is that what you are looking for in your life and your children’s lives? A nice, neat, boring solution? May I suggest, Lord Northbridge, that you deal with your family’s problems and allow me to deal with mine?”

She was gone before he could reply, but not before he saw tears bubbling out of her eyes.

He gripped his hands on the chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Was using cutting words to find a woman’s most vulnerable spot the only thing he had learned during his marriage? He thought of Bradby’s teasing about the fairy tale of “Beauty and the Beast.” Was his friend closer to the truth than he guessed?

He slammed his left fist into the oak door. It crashed against the wall as pain surged up his arm. Cradling his hand, he edged away from the door that was now stained with the blood from his scraped knuckles.

Charles turned away from the door. He hated how his temper had become a vicious monster, ready to shed any hint of humanity and leap into battle at the least provocation. He did not want to lose himself again and again to his temper, but he feared he no longer knew how to prevent it.