Cousin Edmund took her hand and bowed over it politely. Yet she could not mistake the question in his eyes. He was curious if she was willing to do as everyone expected and become his wife. Did he feel the weight of duty, too?
What a pea-goose she was! Many marriages among the ton were based on matters that had nothing to do with love. She should be grateful that Cousin Edmund was treating her with kindness and not acting as if he would never consider marrying a woman who could look him directly in the eye. Another man might have tossed her and her family out of the manor house without a backward glance or insisted that the vicar have the first reading of the banns at the next Sunday service.
He released her hand. Walking past her, he went toward the stairs.
With a quick nod, Mr. Bradby followed.
Sophia remained where she was. Even as the two men spoke their warnings, she had heard their genuine admiration and friendship for Lord Northbridge. She could not help wondering what bound three such different men together and how their presence was going to change Meriweather Hall and everyone who lived within it.
* * *
Charles Winthrop smoothed the bedding over his children who were asleep in the large tester bed. Gemma, even at seven years old, showed hints of her mother’s lustrous beauty. His three-year-old son resembled him—not just physically. Michael had inherited that stubborn streak that had led Charles into trouble too many times.
He walked into the sitting room where Bradby sat by the tall bay windows. His friend was pouring himself a cup of tea from the pot that had been waiting when Charles had arrived with the children.
“What are you doing here?” Charles closed the bedroom door partway, so he would hear if the children were awakened by his conversation with Bradby.
“You know I get bored when the only company I have is my own.” His friend poured a second cup and held it out to Charles. “And Herriott is meeting with his new household staff.”
Waving the cup aside, Charles went to close the green draperies. The wind off the North Sea rattled the windows as rain crawled down the glass. He paused and looked out through the storm at the volatile ocean. From the house’s location at the edge of the promontory he could see the whole bay. Boats rocked violently in the waves crashing along the bases of the cliffs where huge boulders had fallen in previous squalls. Through the rain he caught sight of a small village perched almost vertically at the inner curve of the cliffs. The weathered stone buildings with their red-and-gray-tiled roofs clung close together on the steep streets, but offered scant shelter from the tempest.
In the open fields at the top of the cliffs, the parish church stood firm against the wind. Its square tower was almost the same color as the gray sky. Sheep grazed around it, oblivious to the showers. The stone outbuildings set closer to Meriweather Hall had been built to withstand storms, because the buildings slanted away from the wind, better to absorb its buffeting.
“Whoever named it Sanctuary Bay must have done so in jest,” Charles said.
“I didn’t come here to talk about the view.” Bradby set his cup on the tea tray and picked up one of the iced cakes from a plate. Taking a hearty bite, he mumbled through his full mouth, “What do you think of Miss Meriweather? They raise tall ones up here in the north.”
Charles frowned at his friend. “I prefer not to gossip about our hostess.”
“I am not asking you to gossip. I am asking your opinion. Herriott is your friend, and you must have seen how shocked he appeared when she walked in like some mythical tawny-haired Amazon.”
He had not noticed Herriott’s astonishment because he had been struck by Miss Meriweather himself. An Amazon? No, he would not describe her that way. There was something ethereal about her golden beauty. On the other hand maybe Bradby was not wrong, because Charles had also sensed a will of iron. Her bright green eyes had met his gaze steadily, and he had found himself in the peculiar situation of being the first to look away.
He was not going to say that to Bradby, but he would not lie either. He continued to look out at the sea as he said, “I have to own that I was not watching Herriott or Miss Meriweather at that moment.”
“All you think about are your youngsters. Maybe that is because you have an heir, and you are not worried about making a match as Herriott and I must be.” His mouth twisted in a wry grin. “I know you never expect to find another woman like Lydia. Not even the heroic Major Winthrop can have a second once-in-a-lifetime love.”
“No,” Charles said, “I am not seeking for that.” His hands clenched on the lush draperies. He yanked them closed so hard that he heard the material creak. Quickly he dropped his hands to his sides. He had not come to Meriweather Hall to destroy his friend’s inheritance, but he wished Bradby would talk about something other than Charles’s supposed heroics or his marriage.
Bradby instantly said, “I am sorry. I should not have mentioned Lydia. I know how memories of her must afflict you.”
“More than you can know.” Again he did not stray from the truth. At least the truth as his friends knew it. A truth no one else could refute, because Lydia had died from complications of Michael’s birth.
Pushing away from the window, Charles sat in a chair facing his friend. He must let go of his past failures—all of them—and think of the future and the promise he had made to his children and to God. He had vowed to be the best possible father he could be.
If he had some idea how...
“As least the children seem to be putting their grief behind them.” Bradby finished his cake and picked up his cup to wash it down. “I vow that, in the near fortnight we have been traveling north, I have not heard them laugh or talk as much as they did with Miss Meriweather.”
“Yes, she seems to have a way with children.”
“Maybe you should talk Herriott into letting you marry her. What a match you would be. Like out of an old children’s story. She is a beauty, and you easily can play the beast with your temper.”
“Amusing.” Charles used sarcasm to defuse his annoyance that Bradby was sticking his nose where it did not belong.
His friend chuckled, then clamped his hand over his mouth as he glanced guiltily toward the bedroom door. “I meant it seriously.”
“You? Serious?”
“This time, yes. Marry the inestimable Miss Meriweather, and then you would not have to worry about the children as you do.”
Charles stared at the teapot. His friend was right on both counts. Somewhere on the Continent, Charles had begun to lose his once tight hold on his temper. Now it was always ready to strike out, no matter how he struggled to restrain it. The rage that served him well in battle could hurt those he loved. Thus far, he had kept it from bursting out at the children.
And Bradby was as on the mark about Gemma and Michael. They had been almost mute on the journey to Meriweather Hall. At first he had assumed it was because he and his comrades were strangers; then they’d met Sophia Meriweather and blossomed instantly within the warmth of her smile.
How had she done that? She was unquestionably lovely, so perhaps the children had responded to that.
As he had.
Dash it!
Hadn’t he learned that a pretty smile could hide a greedy heart? He would be a beefhead to fall for such a scheme again.
ISBN: 9781460319024
KEEPING FAITH
Copyright © 2013 by Hannah Alexander
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characte
rs, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
Hannah Alexander Page 26
