Jo Ann - The Dutiful Daughter

She heard the men’s voices before she reached the formal parlor. The sound, deep and resonant, seemed out of place in the house. One man chuckled, and she wondered if she had heard a male laugh in Meriweather Hall since her father took ill.

Taking a deep breath as she paused by the wide staircase that led to the gallery above, Sophia murmured a quick prayer that God would put the right words on her lips. If it were only her future, she might find this easier, but she had to think of her duty to her family.

Beside the doorway stood Jessup, one of the footmen, who must have escorted the guests there. She smiled a greeting, but he looked hastily away. He probably wished to keep her from seeing how upset he was by the abrupt change in the house.

Her eyes widened when she saw three men in the chamber. All wore rain-drenched brown greatcoats and mud-splattered boots. Their tall hats perched on the circular window seat in the bow window. She was glad they had not thrown their coats on the yellow settee or the marble-topped tables. But mostly, she was pleased to see they were of above-average height. Her one Season in London had been humiliating, because she had not been able to ignore the whispers about how tall she was and who would marry such a Long Meg when there were many petite dolls to choose from?

If her distant cousin shared that belief, it could be disastrous for her family. So, which of the three men was Edmund Herriott?

Was he the redhead who stood with his hands clasped behind his back by the window that offered the best view of Sanctuary Bay? Or was he the light-haired man examining a painting on the chimneypiece? That man was at least five inches shorter than the man by the window, which meant he probably would stand eye to eye with her.

Surely the new Lord Meriweather must be the third man. He was also not as tall as the gangly ginger-haired man, but was well over six feet tall with broad shoulders. He stood in profile to her, so she had an excellent view of rugged features beneath his black hair. Well-shaped mouth, aristocratic nose, firm jaw. His greatcoat was whipped back on one side to reveal an unadorned black waistcoat with silver buttons. Dark brown breeches ended in his mud-stained boots, which he wore with the ease of a man used to a rough life of overseeing his estate and tenants.

Her gaze was caught by his eyes that were as dark as his hair. Heat scored her face when she realized he had been watching her appraise him with candid curiosity. In return he regarded her with cool detachment before looking away as if she were unworthy of his time.

If he is the baron, give me patience, dear God, she prayed. She had seen men with an expression like his in London. Men so certain of their place in the world that they disdained anyone else’s. If she were to marry him... She shivered at the very thought.

“Good morning,” Sophia said as she stepped into the room. She hoped her fingers did not shake visibly as Ogden’s had. “I am Sophia Meriweather, and I welcome you to Meriweather Hall. I trust your journey here was uneventful. North Yorkshire autumns can be beautiful, even though today’s rain and chill winds off the sea are dismal.” She was babbling, but she could not halt herself as the three men focused on her. Wishing the new baron would identify himself, she decided she must guess. She turned to the dark-haired man. “We hope you soon will feel at home here as we do, Lord Meriweather.”

His eyes narrowed, but she saw something flicker within them. She was unsure what the strong emotion was. “I am not your cousin,” he said, then gestured to the light-haired man by the hearth. “Herriott, come forward and greet your cousin.”

Heat scored Sophia’s face. She wished she could leave and come back in again so she could avoid such a faux pas. Why had she assumed the man with the most powerful aura was the new baron? Her distant cousin had held no title before, and the dark-haired man exhibited the air of someone accustomed to deference.

Shrugging off his greatcoat, the new Lord Meriweather hurried to greet her. He was well-favored, but his face did not hold her gaze as the dark-haired man’s had. Who was the other man?

She could not ask that now. She must greet her cousin—the new Lord Meriweather—prettily. He had an uneasy smile as his gaze swept over her. Was he shocked at her height as other men had been? He was, now that he stood in front of her, a bare inch taller than she was. She resisted the urge to pat her blond hair to be sure it had not loosened from its chignon. She realized she should have changed before greeting the gentlemen, because she wore a simple light blue gown that had no lace or ruffles on its hem. What must Lord Meriweather think of her receiving them in such a simple gown?

“Forgive me,” he said. “I was captivated by the elegant brushstrokes in the painting and failed to keep an eye on the door to take note of your arrival.” He bowed his head to her. “I am Edmund Herriott, your cousin. I trust I may address you as Sophia since we are family.”

“Of course.” How could she say no? That would suggest that she had no interest in truly welcoming him into the family. He could then assume that, in spite of everyone’s expectations, she did not want to marry him. Even though that was the truth, insulting him now would be unwise. The dower house was in no condition for her mother.

“And you must call me Edmund. I know my proper address might be uncomfortable for you now.” Her cousin gave her a lopsided smile. She was grateful for his understanding how unhealed the loss of her father remained, even though almost a year had passed. She realized that he was as nervous as she was. For the first time, she wondered if he had brought the others with him to avoid being alone at this first meeting. He straightened his shoulders, much as she had, before adding, “Allow me to introduce my two friends, both of whom served with me on the Continent. May I present Jonathan Bradby?”

The redhead stepped forward and gave a half bow to her. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Meriweather. I must say your family chose the most desolate location possible for a house. I have never visited North Yorkshire before, but I now understand its reputation for putting even the strongest man to the test.” He raised his head, making her tilt hers to look up at his smile, something she seldom had to do. His grin told her that he was attempting to put her at ease. “Crags and storms.”

“But you cannot fault the view, Mr. Bradby,” she replied, appreciating his efforts. “It is spectacular.”

“I shall let you know once it stops raining.” He laughed, and she realized it had been his laugh she had heard earlier.

She would have enjoyed engaging Mr. Bradby further in conversation, but her gaze was drawn back to the dark-haired man. Unlike his now smiling friends, he remained somber. She wondered if she could ever be unaware of him when he stood nearby.

Her cousin glanced from her to his friend before saying, “May I also present Charles Winthrop, Earl of Northbridge?”

Sophia’s breath caught as the earl lowered his head in a gracious greeting. Light played across his sharply sculpted face, and her eyes riveted on the white puckered line of a scar that ran from the middle of his left cheek to his temple before vanishing into his black hair. She could not regain her composure before he straightened and caught her reaction. Any hint of emotion vanished from his face while hers grew warmer with each passing second.

Oh, bother! She was making a difficult situation even worse by gawking at Lord Northbridge like an untutored child. Whether he had been injured in the war or elsewhere, she should not stare. Had she learned nothing from being stared at herself? She must say something to atone for her rude behavior.