distressed to be put into such a position. Had Jessup been avoiding her eyes because he feared she would guess his part in the deception?
The staff was doing exactly as they had been trained. She should be proud they were making the transition to the new Lord Meriweather with such skill. She wished she could do the same.
Sophia forced a smile. “I shall have the nursery rooms aired out immediately, my lord. Your nursemaid and—”
“The children shall stay with me. There is no nursemaid.” His stern words left no room for debate. “If you will excuse me...” He strode toward the door as if he were lord of Meriweather Hall.
The moment he opened the door, two small blurs rushed into the room. Jessup followed, then brought himself up short before he ran into Lord Meriweather. The footman started to mumble an apology, but Sophia walked to where two small children were clambering onto the curved window seat.
“Where is it?” asked the little girl, who appeared to be about six or seven years old. Her dark red hair was trying to escape from beneath her cap. “Where is the sea?”
“Want to see the sea.” The toddler boy beside her, his hair as black as Lord Northbridge’s, jumped up and down on the cushions.
Sophia put her hands on his waist before he bounced off and hurt himself. “The sea is out there all around us.”
“Where?” the little boy demanded.
“In the rain. The rain is filling up the sea. Once the clouds are empty, you will be able to see where the raindrops have landed.” She sat beside the children who regarded her with uncertainty. “Then the sea will be as beautifully blue as the sky.”
“Really?” asked the little girl as her brother popped his thumb into his mouth and regarded her with wide brown eyes.
“Really.” Sophia smiled, relaxing for the first time since she had come into the drawing room. “My name is Sophia. What are yours?”
“I am Lady Gemma Winthrop,” the little girl said with a dignity that seemed too old for her age, “and this is my brother, Michael. He is Lord Winthrop.”
“I am a bearing,” Michael said around his thumb.
Sophia silenced her chuckle because she did not want to hurt the little boy’s pride. “My father was a baron, too.”
Michael lowered his thumb. “Like me?”
“Just like you.”
He grinned and gave a laugh that seemed too deep for a young child.
Sophia wondered if he had inherited that laugh from his father as he had his coloring. At the thought of Lord Northbridge, she glanced over her shoulder.
The earl was staring at them with a taut expression. His eyes snapped with strong emotion. Anger? But what had she done to cause him to regard her with such an expression? Surely he could not be distressed because she had spoken with his children in hopes of making them feel welcome.
She was about to ask what she had done to incite his fury when, beside her, the children grew as quiet as Cousin Edmund and Mr. Bradby. She did not lower her eyes until the earl looked at his children and motioned toward the door. They slid off the seat and edged past him before following Jessup out of the room.
Lord Northbridge said, “The children are tired from their long trip. If you will excuse us...”
Sophia swallowed the questions battering her lips, not wanting to ask them when Gemma and Michael could hear. No one spoke as the earl let Jessup lead him and the children across the foyer. The heels of the earl’s boots struck the stairs while he climbed to the upper floor. Sophia knew she should say something, but she could not think of a single word that would not reveal her dismay at Lord Northbridge’s actions. She could understand his urgency in wanting to get his children settled in, but not why he had looked daggers at her when she had spoken with the children.
At a throat being cleared behind her, Sophia realized she had been staring after Lord Northbridge like a puppy eager for its master’s return. Oh, bother! Why did she have to think that?
“Do not take his attitude to heart,” Cousin Edmund said as he moved to where she could see his strained face. “He is gruff with everyone, including us. The road God gave him to travel since his beloved wife’s death is not an easy one.”
Mr. Bradby added, “But you will seldom hear him complain. Rather, he moves ahead like a stag racing through a wood. Woe be to whoever is in his way.” His smile returned. “I would advise you, Miss Meriweather, to keep out of his path.”
“We have learned on the Continent that is the wisest course, and I hope you will learn from our experience. If you will excuse us as well, I believe it is time for us to stop dripping on the rugs.” Cousin Edmund started to walk away, then turned back to her. “Your kindness is more appreciated than you can guess, cousin. To own the truth, I was uncertain what welcome I would find here.”
“You are Lord Meriweather.” She fought to ignore the sorrow that clutched her heart as she spoke those words. Ten months were not long enough to ease the grief of her father’s death. She should be glad that he was in heaven and out of pain—and she was—but she missed his booming laugh and the way he’d always teased her and her sister, Catherine, when they came in windblown from walks along the cliffs. And she missed the evenings when they would sit in his book-room and talk about the places they would visit once the war was won.
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
