by Jo Ann Brown
“No. I believe in God. That belief has never faltered.”
“But?”
Tucking the blanket more closely around herself again so she could avoid his steady gaze that seemed to see too much, she said, “I used to pray. I prayed for help through bad times and prayed with gratitude for good and happy events. When Papa sickened, I prayed harder than I ever had that he would not die.” She shuddered as she recalled those difficult days. “I prayed and I prayed, but he died. I don’t believe God hears my prayers.”
“He hears everyone’s prayers, but we must remember that His plans for us and those we love are something we can’t always understand. His time is not our time. He sees beyond what we can.”
“I understand that, Jonathan, but my heart doesn’t.”
“What is in your heart now?”
She almost said, “You,” but she halted herself. “Fear. Loneliness because God is no longer with me.”
“And anger.”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Because I have been angry at God, too. When I saw good men die in battle and from sickness, I was angry. Then I see my former commander laid low with terrors that stalk him during his sleep. I watch my good friend Edmund Herriott suffer from an invisible wound, and I’m angry. I want to shake my fist at the sky and demand that God explain how he could allow such things.” His voice deepened with emotion. “Then I remind myself that faith is accepting that God’s plan is a loving one, even if I cannot see it at the time.”
“I want God back in my life, but He has moved away from me.”
“Has He, or have you let your pain move you away from Him?”
Cat started to give him an answer and then realized she did not have one. Was it possible that she had pushed God away and stopped listening for His voice? She had been so filled with grief after her father had died that she had shut herself off from everyone, even Sophia and their mother for a short while. It had taken her weeks before she could bear talking to her very best bosom-bow, Vera. Slowly she had opened her heart to each of them again.
Except God. She had made some halfhearted attempts, but God wanted her to come to Him wholeheartedly.
Jonathan clasped her gloved hands between his and bowed his head. “Why don’t we pray together?”
“I’m not sure—”
“I am. Let me start, and you join in as you wish.”
She closed her eyes and laced her fingers through his. Then she opened herself to the words Jonathan whispered, words of hope and supplication for her sister, and guidance to help Cat feel God within her.
Keep Sophia safe. Keep us safe, she prayed silently. Let me know Your love within my heart again. I miss You, heavenly Father. I need You now and always.
Warmth flowed out of her heart. Not a great rush, but a trickle, so slight that she might have overlooked it. The bands of pain loosened, as she opened herself to welcome God back into her life. More tears sprang into her eyes, but these were tears of joy.
Jonathan embraced her. “I see the light inside you burning brighter.”
She curved her hand around his nape and guided his mouth down to hers. As their lips melded, she softened against him. His fingers tangled in her hair as he kissed her again and again and again until she no longer felt the cold. He brushed her brow, her eyelids, her nose and her cheek with a flurry of light kisses, taking care not to touch any of her bruises. When he found her lips again, she knew her heart was lost.
She loved him.
The carriage shifted beneath them as it sank more deeply into the hedgerow. His arm over her head pressed her toward the seat as he threw himself over her. She grabbed the lantern before it could topple over and set the carriage on fire. More branches stabbed into the carriage, whipping once they were free and spraying them with snow. Wood cracked, and wind gusted through a hole that had not been there a moment before.
“If it keeps settling,” Cat said as she steadied the lantern and then raised her head, “the carriage is going to fall apart like a ship on a shoal.”
“It is our only shelter.”
“And the smugglers will bring Sophia back here.”
He nodded and flicked the blanket around her shoulders. “Let’s hope they get here before the carriage is kindling.” He looked down. “Say, what is that?”
Cat bent and picked up the leather book. “It’s my sketchbook.”
“I wondered if you had one.”
She stared at him, astonished. “Why would you think that?”
“Because you are an artist.”
“How did you know?”
Jonathan rested his cheek against her battered bonnet, and his words seeped through it to brush her face. “I am a solicitor, Cat. I look at the facts and see how they fit together. My first suspicion was when you chose to decorate the wedding breakfast tables with mermaid tears. Only someone with an artist’s eye could look at bits of glass and see their potential beauty.”
“I never thought of that.”
“And I watched you with Mme. Dupont’s sketches. You drew quick lines on them, and even those simple lines were elegant.” He held out his hand. “May I see your sketchbook?”
Cat wanted to shove it back under her pelisse, but halted herself. She needed to know if she could trust him with her art. If she was willing to give him her heart, how could she deny him such a vital part of her soul?
Without speaking, she placed the sketchbook on his hand. She drew back her fingers and clasped them under the blanket. The light from the lantern flickered wildly. For a moment, she feared it was going out.
Jonathan moved the lantern so it was not tilting, and the light grew even again. He did not open her sketchbook. Her fingers quivered with more than the cold.
“Have you showed this to others?”
“Yes, my parents and Sophia have seen some of the pages.”
“No one else?”
“Vera, of course.”
“Of course.”
She lowered her eyes, not wanting him to see the humiliation that still stung. “I showed it to a few callers, but they were not interested in my art. Roland was the only one who didn’t think a woman should concern herself with keeping her house instead of drawing.”
“Roland? Roland Utting?” Pain flashed in his eyes.
“How do you know about Roland?”
“Your cousin told me that you were involved with him before the war.” He glanced out at the snow. “And I heard people talking about him in the village. How heroic he was.”
“He was a hero, and he was the only man, other than my father, who shared my love of art.” She put her hand against Jonathan’s cheek and turned his face toward her. “I loved him, and he loved me, but he felt a village boy must prove himself capable of extraordinary feats, if he were to ask the baron for his younger daughter’s hand. He went to war, and he did not come back as he had promised.”
“He could not have known what would happen.”
“No?” Pain bubbled out of her heart as she spoke the words she had kept encased behind an icy wall, since she had heard that Roland was dead. “It was war, Jonathan. You cannot tell me that you did not know the risks.”
“I knew them, but any soldier will tell you that death is something he believes will come for others on the battlefield, not for him.”
“I know he wanted to keep his promise, which is why I am determined to keep the promise I made to him. We planned to see the Elgin Marbles in London together, once he was home from the war. Going to the British Museum is the only reason I am willing to travel to London. Please don’t tell Cousin Edmund. He has been generous arranging for me to have a Season, but once I have seen the Greek sculptures, I plan to return to Meriweather Hall.” A smile tugged at her lips. “So you don’t need to worry about me being changed by the ton.
” She laughed. “Or the ton being changed by me.”
“I am glad to hear that.”
“What part?”
“All of it, and I won’t divulge your secret to Meriweather.” He looked down at her sketchbook but did not open the cover. He raised his eyes to meet hers. “Are you sure?” he asked quietly. “If you would rather I didn’t—”
She slid his hand to the edge of the cover. “I’m sure.”
Shivering as she wrapped her arms around herself, Cat watched as Jonathan opened the sketchbook, her most precious and personal possession. He turned the pages, pausing to look at each one. Some he went past quickly. Others held his attention much longer.
She yearned to ask why those drawings appealed to him but said nothing. Roland had chastised her more than once that she needed to let him look at her work without subjecting him to an interrogation of what he liked and what he did not and why.
“These are lovely,” Jonathan said as he turned the last page of her work. “I see so much of you in them, Cat. Unlike Sir Nigel, who never reveals anything about himself in his art, you are there on the page. Knowing you, I would never doubt that this is your work. It is very good, Cat.”
“You sound surprised.”
He looked up at her. Was her nose as red with the cold as his? “Why wouldn’t I be? You’ve kept this so well hidden that I never guessed you could do such amazing sketches.” He went back several pages and tipped the book so, in the thin light, he could see the drawing of a grouping of sea glass in front of waves. “You have captured the power of the sea with a few lines. There’s simplicity but so much depth. It is as well done as works I have seen at the Royal Academy of Arts.”
“Really?”
He grinned. “Really.”
“Thank you. I never expected such praise.”
“I do have a question.”
“What?”
He became serious. “Why are you showing them to me now?”
She opened her mouth to reply, but his hand covered it before she could make a sound. He held a finger to his lips. She nodded as she strained her ears to hear what he had.
Beneath the rumble of the wind, she heard voices. Male voices. Many of them.
Then a woman’s voice called her name.
She tore Jonathan’s hand away from her mouth and shouted, “Sophia!”
Chapter Sixteen
Jumping out of the carriage, Cat waded through the snow that rose above her knees. She ignored the men as she threw her arms around her sister. As the wind whirled their skirts through the snow, she repeated her sister’s name over and over. She stepped back and touched Sophia’s arm, her cheek, her other arm, her nose. She needed to make sure her sister was truly there, truly unharmed. That this was not another dream.
“Cat!” Sophia cried at the same time Jonathan shouted her name from behind her. “What happened to you?”
In amazement, Cat realized her sister was in better condition than she was. Sophia’s dress was not torn, and the single bruise on her cheek was hardly noticeable in the light from the smugglers’ lanterns. Her hair was still pinned in place, and her eyes were not puffy from crying.
“Praise God that you are here and safe,” Cat said instead of answering her sister’s question. She did not want to explain while they were surrounded by criminals.
Sophia looked past her, and Cat turned. Jonathan approached the smugglers with an easy confidence that spoke of his courage. He had no idea what the smugglers planned for them.
Quietly Jonathan said, “It would be for the best if the ladies returned to the carriage.” His eyes were like twin pistols aimed at the smugglers. He was not asking their permission.
The man who had given orders before grumbled something, but nobody halted them as Cat took her sister by the hand and hurried her to the carriage. She looked back as she helped Sophia into the carriage which was in even worse condition than she had guessed.
Jonathan stood in the middle of the road. Arcing around him, the criminals carried weapons of all sorts. He crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze on the smuggler who had struck him over the head with a pistol. In astonishment, she realized Jonathan would not know that.
“Get in,” Sophia urged. “Quickly. Before they change their minds.”
“But if he hits Jonathan again...”
Sophia tugged her into the carriage. “He’s a soldier. He knows how to deal with an enemy better than we do.”
“He isn’t armed, and this isn’t a battlefield on the Continent.” She peeked out the door and gasped.
With the smugglers behind him in a bizarre parade, Jonathan walked toward the carriage. Cat held her breath as she listened to the snarled orders from the lead smuggler. He wanted Jonathan to get into the carriage and to stay there with Cat and Sophia until sunrise. A guard would be left to watch the carriage. If any of them tried to leave before dawn, the guard’s orders were to kill all of them.
Jonathan said nothing until he reached the carriage door. Looking in, he asked, “Miss Meriweather, were you injured in any way by these men?”
“No, Mr. Bradby,” Sophia answered, her voice as emotionless as his.
“Very well.” Jonathan faced the smugglers. His attitude suggested that he was in charge. “You have honored your side of the agreement,” he said to them. “As Miss Catherine and I have honored our side. Therefore, let us part now. We will take our lamp and walk away from here. You do the same.”
His words were met with jeers, but his expression did not change.
The man who gave orders repeated his command that they remain in the carriage until the sun rose over Sanctuary Bay. Jonathan did not relent, either. “The ladies must be allowed to find better shelter for the night.”
“Cat,” Sophia whispered. “Listen.”
“I am.”
Her sister tugged on her arm. “Not to Mr. Bradby.” She gestured carefully toward the front of the carriage. “You understand the local cant better than I do.”
Switching to the backward facing seat beside her sister, Cat leaned her head against the carriage wall. Through the broken wood, she heard a smuggler say, “Gerr ta ’is qualityship. Tell ’im everythin’ is set, ’n t’ bride saw nowt.”
She bit her lower lip to keep from gasping. She pressed her head against her sister’s shoulder, so if one of the men glanced in, he would not guess she was listening to the hushed conversation.
Go to his qualityship. Tell him everything is set, and the bride saw nothing.
That was what the man had said. The men must believe that, by using the thickest possible Yorkshire brogue, they could speak without an outsider realizing what they were saying. But she was no outsider, and, even though the villagers spoke to her without the accent, she had been around it enough years to be able to puzzle out the words. That could be why they whispered, not paying attention to the fact that she sat close enough to hear their conversation.
“Theur norrz ’is qualityship doesn’t li’ ta be disturbed int’ middle o’ t’ neet,” replied another man.
You know his qualityship doesn’t like to be disturbed in the middle of the night, she translated automatically.
His qualityship. Both men had used that term. Quality could mean many things, but the tone they had used—both deferential and vexed—suggested they spoke of a landed gentleman. Was their leader a member of the peerage? That would explain why they had evaded capture and were bold enough to abduct a baron’s daughter.
“Get in or die!”
At the smuggler’s order, the carriage creaked as Jonathan climbed in and slammed the door closed. The frame had sprung so far out of shape that it would not stay shut. The men laughed as if they had never seen anything so funny.
Jonathan sat beside her. She put her hand on his arm to keep him from reacting to th
e insulting words fired in their direction. He patted her hand and gave her a taut smile. He would not risk them by responding to petty comments.
The laughter muted as the smugglers left them to the storm. She had no doubts that at least one guard was posted nearby.
“Jonathan,” she whispered. “I heard—”
“Say nothing,” he returned as quietly. “Not here. Not until we get behind the walls of Meriweather Hall.”
She nodded. His advice was excellent. As always.
He handed one blanket to Sophia and draped the other over his and Cat’s shoulders. At a normal volume, he said, “I know you must be exhausted, Miss Meriweather—”
“I think in light of all that has happened,” Sophia said with a tired smile, “you should call me Sophia.”
“I would be honored if you called me Jonathan. You are well?”
“Yes. They took me a short distance, shut me in a barn with a pair of guards, and then came back for me and brought me here. They never even tied me up.”
“I am glad to hear that.” His face grew grim. “Of other things that happened tonight, I believe the retelling of everything else that has happened to us should wait until after sunrise.”
“I agree,” Cat said at the same time as her sister. “But we need to talk about something so we don’t fall asleep.”
“I have just the dandy.” He slipped his arm around Cat’s waist and drew her sketchbook out from beneath his coat. “Before you arrived, Sophia, we were discussing Cat’s excellent work. Would you like to join us in that discussion?”
“You were?” Sophia’s eyes got big, then she smiled at Cat who felt a blush climbing her face. “I think all of us have a lot to share about our adventures once we are home.”
* * *
The sunshine was painfully bright on the fresh snow the next morning, so Jonathan kept his head down as he trudged along the road. The storm had ended just before dawn. He looked at Cat and Miss Meriweather who walked beside him. He had taken the blankets that had kept them from freezing to death and torn them into strips to wrap around the women’s feet. The wool offered more protection from the cold than their silk slippers.
