correspondence. A thrill of anticipation brightened her mood.
She reined in Gypsy outside her much smaller barn. Her toes had barely touched the ground before a small body plowed into her skirts and long, thin arms encircled her waist. “Mama, you’re home!”
Catherine laughed, as she always did when around her precocious daughter. She twisted around to smooth her hand over Sophie’s soft red-blond curls. “What’s all this? Surely I was not gone long enough to warrant such an enthusiastic welcome.”
Big, sorrowful blue eyes peered up at her. “You were gone foreeever. I thought that mean Mr. Blake gobbled you up.”
In her nine and twenty years, Catherine had few things she could boast about, her daughter being the one exception. Sophie amazed her each and every day with her infectious laugh, insatiable curiosity, and uncanny ability to recall the smallest of details.
She pried open her daughter’s clasped hands and found one held a wooden warrior brandishing a sword. From her earliest days, Sophie had been fascinated with anything that had to do with knights, castles, war, and horses. Catherine suspected part of her interest had to do with her desire to hold her father’s attention.
Every time Jeffrey had visited, he and Sophie would add a new figure, weapon, animal, or piece of furniture to her miniature castle. In recent years, it had been left to Catherine to continue their tradition of bringing Castle Dragonthorpe to life. She knew the experience was not the same for Sophie, but her sweet daughter had been careful not to show it.
“Don’t be silly, young lady,” Catherine said. “If anyone was going to do the gobbling, it was I.” She emphasized her pronouncement by tickling her daughter’s middle, underarms, and neck.
The girl’s laughter echoed through the stableyard. The joyous sound delighted Catherine’s aching heart.
“Stop, Mama! Stop.” Another wave of uncontrollable giggles followed.
A boy emerged from the barn, and Sophie’s laughter broke off, replaced by a sunbeam smile. “Teddy, we’re going to the lake. Want to come?”
He glanced at Catherine and then into the stables. “Can’t, Miss Sophie. I’ve chores to finish.”
Her daughter’s face fell. “Can’t they wait until later?”
“No, Miss Sophie,” he said. “I’m still trying to catch up from this morning. Mama wasn’t feeling well and—” He swallowed hard. “Maybe tomorrow.”
When her daughter started to protest, Catherine set a hand on the girl’s narrow shoulder. “Teddy, sounds like your mother could use a big bowl of Cook’s chicken soup. I’ll drop some off later this afternoon.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He shuffled his feet. “She’ll take to Cook’s soup much better than what Papa and I have been fixing.” His gaze shifted to Sophie, then back to Catherine. “Should I see to Gypsy now?”
Catherine nodded. “Thank you, Teddy.”
He tugged on the mare’s reins. “Come on, girl. I’ve a nice big carrot waiting for you.” Gypsy’s ears perked up, and she followed him inside with a bit more prance to her step.
Sophie sighed and leaned into Catherine’s hip. “He never wants to play with me.”
Catherine kissed the top of her daughter’s head and nudged her toward the house. “We’ve talked about this.”
“I know,” she said in a beleaguered voice. “He’s working to help his family. But boys need to play, too.”
Smiling, Catherine said, “Yes, they do. Let me see if Carson can spare Teddy for a few hours tomorrow.”
Her daughter spun around, her hands clasped together in a prayer-like fashion. “Truly, Mama?”
Catherine tapped her daughter’s nose. “I’m making no promises. Carson has the final say.”
Sophie jumped. “Oh, thank you, thank you.”
Catherine laughed. She hoped her daughter would always be this easy to please. “You’re welcome. Now let’s collect our poles and see if we can catch some fish for dinner.”
Hand in hand, they set off. “Can I go with you to see Teddy’s mama? She’s always nice to me at church.”
“Of course, dear,” Catherine said. “But I want you to wait in the gig until I know what’s ailing Mrs. Taylor. I don’t want you getting sick.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be fine, pumpkin. There’s no need to worry about me.”
Her daughter nodded, having no reason to doubt Catherine’s word. “Grandmama said I must ‘temper my enthusiasm’ on Saturday. Does that mean I can’t have fun on my birthday?”
Catherine knew her mother was being cautious about appearances. Society observed a strict set of customs when it came to mourning one’s father and grandfather. However, Catherine would be damned if she allowed Jeffrey’s absence—even in death—to cast a black cloud over another of her daughter’s birthdays.
“Normally, I would agree with your grandmother,”