Jo Ann Brown by The Dutiful Daughter Page A

devising another.
    Grasping a handful of her white skirt, Sophia hurried up the stairs. She strode in a red haze of frustration to her sister’s door. Why was Cat making everything more difficult? Wasn’t it enough that Sophia had to have tea with Cousin Edmund in silence each afternoon? No matter what topic Sophia brought up, her cousin gave her a terse answer, then nothing more. The hour for tea seemed like an eternity, and she could not figure out how to persuade him to have a conversation with her. She was unsure if he was shy or despised her company or had nothing to say on any subject she raised.
    At her sister’s door, she rapped loudly. No one answered.
    “Catherine!” she called. “Open the door.”
    Long seconds passed, her sharp heartbeat marking off each one, before the door swung back a few inches. It was enough for her to see the tears staining her sister’s cheeks. Gray arcs revealed that her sister had not slept. Sophia’s fury dissipated instantly because her sister’s grief was so deep.
    Just like her own.
    Sophia took a shuddering breath, then asked, “Are you ready?”
    “Will you ask Vera to call tomorrow?” Catherine asked in an uneven whisper. “Tell her that I am not feeling well today.”
    “Why don’t you come to church and tell her yourself? Why do you want to worry your bosom bow?”
    “No, I cannot go.”
    “And I cannot lie for you.”
    “It is the truth. I feel horrible, and I don’t want to be ill at church. I...” She stared past Sophia, her eyes circles of dismay.
    “Good morning,” came Lord Northbridge’s deep voice from behind Sophia.
    Her heartbeat escalated like a rising storm wind as his warm breath brushed her nape beneath her straw bonnet. He must be standing right behind her. If she leaned against the hard wall of his chest, would he put his arms around her and keep her close?
    Her sister’s door slamming brought Sophia out of her daydream. She blinked, trying to focus on something other than being in the earl’s arms. She heard a gasp and realized that the children were peering around him.
    “Good morning.” Her attempt at a cheerful tone fell flat, and the two children regarded her with growing concern.
    “Why don’t you go downstairs,” the earl asked his children, “and tell the coachee we are ready to go?”
    “Can I sit with him?” asked the irrepressible Michael.
    “Maybe on the way back. It depends on how you behave at church.”
    His son nodded seriously, then, grabbing his sister’s hand, ran for the stairs. Their steps racing down resonated along the corridor.
    Lord Northbridge cleared his throat, then said, “I did not intend to distress your sister with a simple greeting.” He stared at the door.
    “ You did nothing to disconcert her.” Sophia sighed as she walked with the earl toward the stairs. “I did.”
    “You? By insisting that she come with us to church?” He put his hand on the banister, and she noticed his broad palm covered its breadth. “I know she is uncomfortable in our company. If you would prefer, Bradby and I can attend services elsewhere. Herriott may be willing to do so, too, though I know he hopes to speak to Reverend Fenwick today.”
    Sophia went down the stairs. “It is nothing you did, my lord. She has been like this since our father became ill. Her faith has been shaken.”
    “She no longer believes?” He matched her step for step as if they had descended the staircase many times before.
    “Deep in her heart, she does. Or so I tell myself. She prayed hard for Papa to get well and then he died. She believes now that her prayers went unanswered.”
    “But the answers are not always what we hope.” His gaze turned inward, and she guessed he was thinking of the men who had died on the battlefields where he’d fought.
    “I tried to tell her that,” Sophia said, “but she has changed, no longer attending the vicar’s services with joy. Now she goes only with a sense of obligation and because she does