child. Just like Mariah.” She beamed, proud as any mother. Raising Amelia was a solace to Sophia, a surrogate for her lost beloved sister and a replacement for the children Sophia never had on her own. She was a better parent than James could ever hope to be.
More than three years ago, at the side of a deathbed, he had made the right decision. Sophia’s contented smile assured him yet again.
Molly quit the room and Sophia brought James a cup of tea. “I did come here on a particular mission. I was sent to invite you to a boating excursion. Miss Castleton has requested your presence.”
“Since when did you become Miss Castleton’s messenger? I didn’t know you were particular friends.”
“It’s true, we are not.” The sniff that emanated from Sophia carried a wealth of meaning he’d long ago learned to interpret—the superiority of her own breeding, disdain for Miss Castleton’s, boredom that she had to repeat her opinion one more time. “I do not dislike her, but I can only object to her unladylike persistence. She desperately hopes you will ask to marry her.”
James frowned. Louisa Castleton, sister to his good friend Thaddeus, young and pretty and full of schemes, had settled her hopes on him. She would be better served bending her energies toward wishing for the stars or hoping a lord might ask for her hand.
“I’m aware of her goal, Sophia,” he said.
“That may be, but have you made it clear to her you cannot possibly be interested?” Her teaspoon clinked irritably against the edge of her cup.
“Thaddeus would love to see us wed.” He’d said as much a dozen times or more.
“And what else would your friend, the esteemed Dr. Castleton, think? To be sure, Miss Castleton is a fine, churchgoing woman and not unpleasant to look at. But honestly, James . . .” Here she paused, readying for the volley that always came next. “She would never make a good mother for Amelia. She is not fit to hold a candle to the memory of my dear, dear Mariah.”
James clenched his jaw against the bitterness, tired of Sophia’s reminders that she—and his father—had thought Mariah the most perfect woman in the world.
“Do you love me, James?” Mariah’s pleading words echoed in his memory.
“You needn’t fear my marrying Miss Castleton, Sophia,” he said, working his jaw loose. “I have no intention of taking another wife. I promise you that.”
Her smile was small, tight, swift as the dart of a kingfisher plunging. Concerns relieved. “I merely expect that someday you might change your mind. Provide a mother’s guiding hand to little Amelia.”
“She has you. What more could I want for my daughter?”
“You do truly mean that, don’t you? I often wonder . . .”
“Sophia, you stepped in when I needed someone most. You know I’m grateful to you.”
“I try my best, for Mariah’s sake.” Sophia rearranged her skirts around her like a bird fluffing its fine plumage. “So I should tell Miss Castleton that you send your regrets?”
“Even if I wished to go boating, I’m far too busy preparing for our move to Finchingfield. I haven’t the time for pleasure excursions.”
“Poor creature shall just have to be disappointed,” she said. “But we all have our crosses to bear, don’t we?”
Knuckles rapped on the library door, and Molly stuck her head through the opening. “Sir, I’m ever so sorry for disturbing you, but there’s been a problem with Miss Dunne. It seems, well, it seems Joe couldn’t find her at the docks.”
James struck a knee against the desk in his haste to stand. A jolt of pain shot through his leg, making him flinch. The day was going from bad to worse. “What do you mean, he couldn’t find her?”
Behind Molly, Joe shuffled his feet and twisted his scruffy wool cap in his hands as if he hoped to strangle it. “Sorry, sir, but there weren’t an older Irish lady come off the boat. Well, there were one, but she ’ad a ride an’ all and didn’t ’ave reddish hair. Our Miss Dunne’s gone missin’.”
“James, what is this?” Sophia’s attention perked like a hound on the scent.
“The worst,” he replied. “It seems the woman I’ve hired to assist in packing the library and office has gotten lost.”
“You’ve brought a woman from Ireland to help with your collections?” she asked, her voice rising, latching onto the piece of information that troubled her most. The possibility Miss Dunne had drowned in the Irish Sea or been accosted off the boat didn’t