The Dutiful Daughter

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.

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