Jo Ann Brown Read Free Page B

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