The Dutiful Daughter. Jo Brown Ann

the dreary thoughts from his mind, Charles went to where Sophia waited patiently and his children far less so. He quickly explained that Herriott had excused himself. Sophia had questions in her eyes, but she did not ask them, and he did not offer further explanation.

      “Shall we go?” she asked in the mirthful tone she seemed to reserve for the children.

      She held out her hand, and both children reached for it. They glowered at each other, but she quickly defused their competitive spirit by saying she would hold Michael’s hand going down and Gemma’s on the way up. Gemma started to protest, but Sophia halted her with a smile.

      “Do let me hold your brother’s hand while it is relatively clean,” Sophia said. “You know how boys are.” Her nose wrinkled as if she had smelled something bad. “Digging in the dirt.”

      Gemma nodded. “I know! He is always dirty, Sophia.”

      “Miss Sophia,” Charles corrected gently.

      His daughter scowled, then smiled when Sophia said, “If I hold your hand on the way up the cliff, I shall have an excuse not to hold his dirty fingers then.”

      “He can hold Father’s hand on the way up.” Gemma shot him a triumphant glance.

      Charles kept a smile from his face. Even though that was not the expression he longed to see on his daughter’s face when she looked at him, anything was better than the frowns she usually aimed in his direction.

      When Sophia had taken them to where the narrow path led down the cliffs, Charles thought she had been overly optimistic about the children managing on their own. It cut down the cliff at sharp angles. Yet, as they went slowly along the path, he discovered it was actually simpler than it appeared from the top. Boulders edged the path, so there was less chance of someone toppling down to the shore. At only one spot, where the path dropped more steeply down, did Charles have to pick up his wiggling son and carry him. He set Michael down as soon as the grade eased again.

      Sophia did not release Michael’s hand when they reached the bottom. She swung their hands between them while they walked to a large boulder that had either fallen or been thrown up on the shore by a storm.

      With a shout, Michael broke away from her. His sister took after him as they raced along the shingle beach, running close to the water and then fleeing toward the base of the cliff as the breakers washed over the stones.