The Heiress of Winterwood - By Sarah Ladd Page 0,34

Barrett sat her cousin and aunt and uncle. And nestled in Miss Barrett’s arms was his little Lucy. Her eyes were closed in slumber, and even from this distance he could see the soft flush of her cheeks and the pink of her parted lips. Downy titian hair curled from under her bonnet in bright contrast to her pale skin. There was no doubting Lucy was Katherine’s daughter.

Graham’s chest tightened. The babe did not yet recognize him as her father. The reception she’d given him during his last visit to Winterwood was evidence of that. But perhaps over time she would grow to accept him, perhaps even love him.

He should have been listening to the homily, but his eyes drifted to Miss Barrett’s face. He studied the creamy smoothness of her skin, the becoming slope of her narrow nose, and the luster of the golden curls that framed her face. A gown of buff cambric with a gossamer overlay hugged her shoulders, and a lace chemisette gathered at her neck. Her startling bright eyes were fixed firmly on the vicar. She was a beautiful woman indeed.

Not wishing to be caught in his stare, he returned his attention to the vicar as well. Graham had arrived late and barely made it to his family’s pew before the sermon started. Miss Barrett had nodded a greeting, but no smile had curved her lips, no warmth had lit her eyes.

How would she react to the letter?

He pulled out Miss Barrett’s book of Psalms from his breast pocket and set it on the pew. He slipped his finger under the cover and flipped it open, making sure his letter was still tucked inside. He would give her the book after the service, and then what would be would be.

After the dismissal, Graham stood up quickly to leave, but two elderly ladies who had been friends with his mother wanted to speak to him. By the time he said good-bye, the Barretts were gone. He wove through the pews and then, once outside, the headstones, his boots sinking into the soft turf as he hurried to catch up. Miss Barrett’s back was to him, and Lucy, now awake, eyed him warily over her guardian’s shoulder. Graham believed he saw a flash of recognition in the child’s eyes, and she waved a fist in the air. At Lucy’s movement, Miss Barrett turned around, her expression unreadable.

“Captain Sterling.”

Graham bowed to the women and nodded at Mr. Barrett. “I see Lucy is well.”

“Indeed.” Amelia adjusted the child on her hip.

Graham extended a hand toward the child and caressed her cheek with his fingers. She smiled at him, giggled, and buried her face into Miss Barrett’s neck.

Suddenly aware of all the Barrett eyes on him, he pulled the book from his pocket.

“My Psalms!” Miss Barrett’s countenance lightened, and she adjusted Lucy in her arms before reaching for it. “I have looked everywhere for this! Wherever did you find it?”

“Next to Katherine’s grave. Your name is written in it.”

She rewarded him with a smile. “Thank you for returning it. This was my mother’s. I would have missed it profoundly.”

An awkward pause followed her words, and he shifted his hat from one hand to the other. “Well then, I shall be by for a visit tomorrow. If that is agreeable to you, of course.”

He bowed, smiled at Lucy, replaced his hat, and turned back down the pebble path.

Would she notice his note tucked in the book? He had no way to know. But if all went well, he would not have to wait long to find out.

Amelia peered out through the carriage’s clear pane as Captain Sterling’s tall form cut through the cemetery toward Darbury’s main road. She’d been surprised to see him at church. His brother never attended services. She’d assumed that the captain held similar views.

Even more surprising, despite her lingering anger over his plan to remove Lucy from Winterwood, was the peculiar quivering of her heart. Part of her wanted to call out to him, “Wait! Do not go!” But a curious peace settled over her as the memory of her brief prayer the previous night filled her mind.

Her aunt’s commentary on Mrs. Mill’s Sunday attire filled the carriage on the short ride back to Winterwood Manor. Rain now fell in waves and pounded the sides of the carriage. She and Lucy had nearly pitched forward out of her seat when the storm hit and a gust of wind slammed the back of the carriage. But the rest