minutes, dear.”
“ You shall love your neighbor as yourself,” the vicar quoted. “Jesus went on to say that we should love one another as he loves us.”
Catherine’s brows rose, and she wondered if Mr. Foster’s sermon had anything to do with Lord Somerton’s return or Mr. Blake’s mismanagement.
Sophie crowded into Catherine’s side and tugged at her sleeve. “Mama, I can’t wait.”
Catherine caught the note of panic in her daughter’s voice. She glanced down and saw Sophie’s big blue eyes round with alarm. She sighed and started collecting their personal belongings. In her severest voice, she whispered a warning in her daughter’s ear. “You will follow me from the church like a civilized young lady. Is that understood?”
Her six-year-old nodded and scooted to the edge of her seat. “Yes, Mama.”
They marched toward the open entrance door, and Catherine smiled apologetically to the other parishioners as they passed. When she neared the last pew, the Earl of Somerton’s penetrating gaze caught hers. He neither smiled nor nodded, simply followed her approach with gray eyes that glowed with a moonlit iridescence.
Her determined stride faltered, and an embarrassing staccato of anticipation vibrated through her veins, warming her skin. He was dressed in his London finery, and the earl’s tailored coat and dazzling white neckcloth stood out in stark contrast to the more loose-fitting and somber-colored garments of most of Showbury’s denizens. Why Lord Somerton chose to sit on a hard wooden pew in the back of the church when his family’s cushioned seat sat empty at the front, Catherine didn’t know.
She would have to mull over his lordship’s seating arrangements another time. Because at that precise moment, her daughter’s small hand pressed against Catherine’s lower back, propelling her forward in a frantic attempt to get outside. Catherine’s toe stubbed against the doorsill, causing her to stumble down the two front steps. In a drunken dance of cartwheeling arms and churning feet, Catherine somehow regained her footing at the last minute and skidded to an undignified halt.
For several disbelieving seconds, Catherine heard nothing except the thundering of her heart. She pulled in a calming breath and tapped her hand against her chest in a feeble attempt to soothe her nerves. Even though she had saved her backside, the same could not be said of her pride.
“Sorry, Mama,” Sophie yelled over her shoulder. Her little feet tore across the churchyard until she reached the privy, the door slamming shut behind her.
If Catherine didn’t know her daughter any better, she would be tempted to thrash the little vixen for breaking her promise. Her temper did not last long, though. It never did when it came to her wild child. Although rash at times, Sophie had a heart that was sweet and pure, especially when compared to other children her age. Rather than pull the legs off a grasshopper, Sophie would rather place the creature in Castle Dragonthorpe, replete with turrets, drawbridge, and a straw bed.
“Are you injured, madam?”
Catherine closed her eyes against Lord Somerton’s soft inquiry, her reluctant smile disappearing in an instant. It had been too much to hope that he would have turned a blind eye to her ignoble exit. Given his obvious desire to be quit of her presence the previous day, Catherine was rather surprised by his current solicitude. With reluctance, she turned to greet him, her gaze going first to the church’s entrance before settling on his handsome face.
“Do not fret, Mrs. Ashcroft,” Lord Somerton said. “No one else observed your near mishap.”
The news should have cheered her, it really should. But all she could think about was that he had observed her. “That is good to know, my lord. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
“You didn’t.” He glanced back at the church. “In fact, you saved me from Mr. Foster’s well-intended but rather pointed
“ You shall love your neighbor as yourself,” the vicar quoted. “Jesus went on to say that we should love one another as he loves us.”
Catherine’s brows rose, and she wondered if Mr. Foster’s sermon had anything to do with Lord Somerton’s return or Mr. Blake’s mismanagement.
Sophie crowded into Catherine’s side and tugged at her sleeve. “Mama, I can’t wait.”
Catherine caught the note of panic in her daughter’s voice. She glanced down and saw Sophie’s big blue eyes round with alarm. She sighed and started collecting their personal belongings. In her severest voice, she whispered a warning in her daughter’s ear. “You will follow me from the church like a civilized young lady. Is that understood?”
Her six-year-old nodded and scooted to the edge of her seat. “Yes, Mama.”
They marched toward the open entrance door, and Catherine smiled apologetically to the other parishioners as they passed. When she neared the last pew, the Earl of Somerton’s penetrating gaze caught hers. He neither smiled nor nodded, simply followed her approach with gray eyes that glowed with a moonlit iridescence.
Her determined stride faltered, and an embarrassing staccato of anticipation vibrated through her veins, warming her skin. He was dressed in his London finery, and the earl’s tailored coat and dazzling white neckcloth stood out in stark contrast to the more loose-fitting and somber-colored garments of most of Showbury’s denizens. Why Lord Somerton chose to sit on a hard wooden pew in the back of the church when his family’s cushioned seat sat empty at the front, Catherine didn’t know.
She would have to mull over his lordship’s seating arrangements another time. Because at that precise moment, her daughter’s small hand pressed against Catherine’s lower back, propelling her forward in a frantic attempt to get outside. Catherine’s toe stubbed against the doorsill, causing her to stumble down the two front steps. In a drunken dance of cartwheeling arms and churning feet, Catherine somehow regained her footing at the last minute and skidded to an undignified halt.
For several disbelieving seconds, Catherine heard nothing except the thundering of her heart. She pulled in a calming breath and tapped her hand against her chest in a feeble attempt to soothe her nerves. Even though she had saved her backside, the same could not be said of her pride.
“Sorry, Mama,” Sophie yelled over her shoulder. Her little feet tore across the churchyard until she reached the privy, the door slamming shut behind her.
If Catherine didn’t know her daughter any better, she would be tempted to thrash the little vixen for breaking her promise. Her temper did not last long, though. It never did when it came to her wild child. Although rash at times, Sophie had a heart that was sweet and pure, especially when compared to other children her age. Rather than pull the legs off a grasshopper, Sophie would rather place the creature in Castle Dragonthorpe, replete with turrets, drawbridge, and a straw bed.
“Are you injured, madam?”
Catherine closed her eyes against Lord Somerton’s soft inquiry, her reluctant smile disappearing in an instant. It had been too much to hope that he would have turned a blind eye to her ignoble exit. Given his obvious desire to be quit of her presence the previous day, Catherine was rather surprised by his current solicitude. With reluctance, she turned to greet him, her gaze going first to the church’s entrance before settling on his handsome face.
“Do not fret, Mrs. Ashcroft,” Lord Somerton said. “No one else observed your near mishap.”
The news should have cheered her, it really should. But all she could think about was that he had observed her. “That is good to know, my lord. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
“You didn’t.” He glanced back at the church. “In fact, you saved me from Mr. Foster’s well-intended but rather pointed
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