will survive the void left behind by her father,” her mother said. “She will come out of it stronger, more self-reliant, and more considerate of others’ feelings.” She paused, her determined gaze boring into Catherine’s. “As you did.”
Catherine lifted the older woman’s hands to her mouth and kissed the backs of each. “As we did, Mother.”
Her mother’s fingers squeezed Catherine’s. “Yes. As we did.”
They stayed that way for several seconds until her mother pulled away, wiping moisture from her cheeks. “We cannot let this business with Lord Somerton and Mr. Cochran carry on too long. Not only is it dangerous, you and Sophie must move on with your lives. No more wallowing around in this senseless guilt.”
“Mother, I—”
Voices from within the garden interrupted Catherine’s rebuttal. A young girl’s high-pitched voice intermingled with a man’s low baritone. Before long, Sophie and their manservant, Edward, passed beneath the arch, toting rods, creel baskets, and a container full of worms.
“I’m ready, Mama.” Sophie ran the short distance, her creel sliding off her shoulder. She displayed none of her earlier ill humors.
Catherine ignored her mother’s gloating look. “Here, let me help you with that, dear.” She lifted the long strap supporting the creel and hooked it around her daughter’s neck, so that it rested diagonally across her small body. Made for adults, the basket still bounced low against the girl’s knee. “Is that better?”
“Oh, yes,” Sophie said. “Now I won’t have to worry about losing my fish.”
Catherine gestured to the rods Edward held. “I’ll take those.”
“You sure, ma’am? I can carry them down to the lake so you don’t soil your fine dress.”
She glanced down at her black merino riding habit. “Thank you, Edward. You’re right, of course.” To Sophie, she said, “Run along to the lake while I change into something more appropriate.”
“Yes, Mama.” Her small frame nearly vibrated with its need to run free.
“Listen to Edward,” Catherine warned. “Do not go into the water and be careful with the hook.”
“Yes, Mama.” Her acknowledgment came faster this time, more impatient.
“Don’t you worry none about us, ma’am,” Edward said. “I’ll take good care of Miss Sophie until you arrive.”
“I know you will, Edward. I’ll see you both in a little while.”
“Come, Miss Sophie,” the manservant said. “Have you ever played Ducks and Drakes?”
“No,” Sophie said, beaming. “But I’m sure I’d like to.”
“Oh, you’ll love this game,” he said. “You take a nice flat rock, you see, and throw it across the lake’s surface…”
While the two gabbled on about the best angle for skipping rocks, Catherine strode to the house, with her mother at her side. “He’s always so patient with her.”
“You probably worry about her antics more than the rest of us,” her mother said. “It’s a mother’s lot, but try not to stifle her exuberance too much, daughter. I always feel much younger when in her presence.”
“This coming from the woman who told my daughter to ‘temper her enthusiasm’ on Saturday?”
Her mother sent her a cross look. “Most of our guests understand the situation here, but I thought she needed a gentle reminder about appearances.”
“You were quite right, as always.” Catherine patted her mother’s arm. “I must go change.”
“Enjoy your time at the lake, dear.”
Catherine climbed the stairs to her bedchamber, but instead of ringing for a maid to assist her with her dress, she went to her writing box, one of the few presents hand-delivered by her husband. He had taken great delight in showing her the box’s hidden compartment, thinking it a clever contraption. She thought back to when she had shown Sophie how the mechanism worked. Her daughter had been spellbound for an entire week, constantly asking Catherine to open the secret compartment. When this business with Cochran and Lord Somerton was behind them, she would present the writing box to Sophie. Her daughter would cherish it far more than Catherine.
She tapped the edge of one panel and another clicked open. Lifting the panel wider, she retrieved a stack of five letters. Although no one else knew of her hiding spot, she wanted to make sure the letters were where she left them, knowing she would have to deliver them to the earl on Sunday.
The moment she had returned home from London, she had sifted through her final stash of missives for any mention of a Mr. Cochran. She didn’t come across his name until she had reached the final letter. Even though she knew it would be fruitless, she pulled the folded missive from the beribboned packet and attempted