chapter 9
In the morning, Sophie found herself surrounded by unfamiliar bed-curtains and wondered where she was. Then she remembered—Overtree Hall. She rolled to her back and looked upward. Above her in the paneled oak canopy, she noticed a square opening to allow smoke to escape, and guessed Colonel Horton must smoke a pipe or cigar. She glanced to the side and saw morning sunlight filtering through sheer lace draperies, the window shutters opened by a stealthy Libby, she guessed. Her gaze quickly darted to the captain’s dressing room, door slightly ajar and silent.
Libby entered through the other dressing room, and seeing her, Sophie sat up and pushed down the bedclothes.
“Is Captain Overtree . . . ?”
“Already gone downstairs, ma’am. Early riser, your husband.”
Sophie climbed from bed, stepped to the washstand, and cleaned her face and teeth.
“What would you like to wear today?” the maid asked.
“I don’t know. What do you think would be most appropriate? I suppose the Overtree ladies wear morning gowns and then change for dinner?”
“You are an Overtree lady now, ma’am, don’t forget.”
Libby pulled out the deep gown drawers in the dressing room one by one. “If you don’t mind my saying, ma’am. New gowns might be in order. Please don’t be angry!”
“I am not angry, Libby. Only embarrassed.”
“No need, ma’am. They are not bad.” She shook out an ivory muslin day dress. “This one would suit, I think. But you could use a few more. Especially if the elder Mrs. Overtree takes it into her head to invite neighbors in to meet you. Everyone will want to see the captain’s new bride.”
The neighbors might be curious, Sophie allowed, though she privately doubted Janet Overtree would be eager to show off her “inferior” new daughter-in-law.
Libby helped Sophie dress and fulfilled her promise with the hot iron, curling tight ringlets on either side of her face. Sophie hoped she did not look like one of Thomas Gainsborough’s poodles—or as silly as she felt.
A short time later, Sophie was surprised and relieved to find herself alone at breakfast. But that feeling soon seeped away, replaced by unease. Had she slept so terribly late? Had she broken some family rule?
“Excuse me, have the family all eaten?” she asked the attending footman.
“The mistress has her breakfast sent up on a tray, and the young miss is taking hers in the morning room.” He added, “Captain and Mr. Overtree are meeting with Mr. Humphries, the estate manager, but I expect them shortly. And Colonel Horton ate earlier and has gone off riding.”
“I thought his horse was unwell.”
The young man nodded and brought her a toasted muffin. “He took one of the other horses, or so I heard the groom mention. Some errand that would not wait.”
“I see.”
Sophie was just finishing her solitary breakfast when Mr. Overtree came in, his hair windblown.
“Good morning, Sophie,” he said. “I trust you slept well and the room is to your liking?”
“Yes, thank you.” She regarded his ruddy cheeks and bright eyes. “You look well, I must say.”
“Do I? It must be that I’ve gone for a brisk morning stroll. My first in weeks.”
“I am glad you felt well enough to do so.”
“Yes, I found myself equal to a short walk today.” He grinned. “Especially as my wife was not yet down to object.”
Sophie returned his smile. She remained a few minutes longer, asking about the weather and his plans for the day, and then excused herself to seek out Kate.
She found the girl curled up on a sofa in the morning room, a cup of hot chocolate on the end table beside her, feet tucked under a lap rug and paper curlers peeping out from beneath her cap. She looked up and brightened upon seeing her in the doorway.
“There you are. My new sister. Come in and join me. Shall I ring for chocolate or coffee?”
“I’ve just had my breakfast, thank you.”
“Sleepy head. Up late last night, I imagine?” Her dark eyes shone with too much mischief for a girl her age.
Sophie crossed the room. “I did not sleep well, no. Does everyone in your family rise early?”
“Yes, except for my brother, Wesley. Though Mamma takes forever to dress. We rarely see her before eleven.”
Sophie glanced at the book in the girl’s lap. “What are you reading?”
“A novel called Sense and Sensibility. Have you read it?”
“I have not. I don’t read many novels.”
“You should. They are so romantic. Amusing too.” Kate patted the sofa next to her. “Come and sit. You promised to tell me all about how you and Stephen met and how he proposed to you.”
Sophie sat down. “Did I?”
Kate nodded, paper curls bouncing against her brow, eyes alight. “Yes, I want to hear every romantic detail of your whirlwind courtship. Everyone in our family has them. Oh, and you should hear how Grandfather won over our grandmother. We have passionate natures, Grandfather says.”
Her face looked so innocent and eager that Sophie hated to disappoint her.
Captain Overtree’s voice startled her from the doorway. “Come now, Kate,” he cautioned. “You know my taciturn disposition too well to think me a romantic cavalier.”
“You are just being modest.” Kate turned those hopeful eyes toward Sophie. “Is he not?”
He grimaced. “Kate, I am sorry to disappoint you, but the truth is . . .”
“Actually, you are perfectly right, Kate,” Sophie interrupted. “It was quite . . . unforgettable.”
“I knew it,” Kate breathed. How did you meet?”
“I was standing atop a windy cliff at sunset . . .”
“Oh! How gothic!” the girl enthused.
“Yes. And I dropped . . . something.”
“A handkerchief?”
“No. A letter, with sentimental value from . . . an old friend. I tried to reach it myself, but your brother dashed up the path, called over the roaring wind for me to stay back, and insisted he would rescue it for me.”
“Stephen!” Kate beamed at him. “I knew it would be something wonderful!”
“My wife exaggerates,” he said, eyeing her speculatively. “In fact, she astounds me with her storytelling ability.”
Sophie continued dramatically, “He brandished his sword—”
“Walking stick,” he corrected.
“And reached the letter, dragging it unharmed to the path.”
“More likely soiled and spoilt.”
“A gust of wind nearly pushed me over the edge—”
“Only her bonnet.”
“But he caught me just in time.”
He huffed. “Now I really must protest.”
“Was she truly in danger?” Kate asked eagerly. “Did you save her life?”
He hesitated. “I . . . did wonder when I first saw her if she meant to—if she was in danger there on the cliff, reaching over the edge as she was, foolish woman. But I don’t think she really would have fallen.”
“Quibble over details all you like, Captain,” Sophie said softly. “But you rescued me in Lynmouth. You cannot deny it.”
His stormy gaze met hers, caution, surprise, and something more flickering in his eyes. “I have no wish to deny it.”
“And did he propose then and there?” Kate asked.
Sophie thought back. “Not that very night. But the next day, yes.”
Kate turned to her older brother, all wide-eyed naiveté. “Was it love at first sight, Stephen?”
Sophie expected the captain to joke off the uncomfortable question, to ruffle his sister’s hair and say, “Enough now. You’ve had your romantic tale.”
Instead he slowly shifted his focus from his sister’s earnest face to Sophie’s and said solemnly, “Yes, it was.”
Sophie’s breath hitched. For a moment she held his gaze in surprise. Then she looked away first.
“I knew it,” Kate repe
ated on a sigh, sinking back into the cushions with a wistful, faraway expression, a contented smile on her pixie-like face.
Sophie reminded herself the captain had probably fabricated his answer, or at least exaggerated, caught up as she had been in her rosy version of their meeting. Surely that was all.
Mrs. Overtree entered, looked from one to the other, then frowned at her daughter.
“Katherine, go and dress, my dear. We don’t want Sophie to think proper young ladies lie about in their caps all day.”
“Very well, Mamma.” Kate set aside her book and rose.
Mrs. Overtree turned to her son. “I was thinking a tour of the manor and grounds might be in order for Sophie. Though with the wind whipping outside as it is, perhaps just the house for now.”
“Excellent idea, Mamma. I would join you but Grandfather asked me to meet with the farrier for him. He had to leave on some errand that could not wait, apparently.”
“Did he say what it was?”
“Not to me, no.”
“Very well. I shall give Sophie the tour myself. Come along.”
Sophie rose and followed Mrs. Overtree around the square-plan house, trying to imagine Wesley and his siblings growing up there. They went through the public rooms, a few of which Sophie had already seen: dining room, morning room, white parlour, billiards room, library, and hall.
Surveying the high echoing chamber once more, Sophie was again struck by its familiarity. Perhaps she had seen a hall just like it in one of the fine houses she had visited with her father. In the musicians’ gallery above, she noticed a plaster mask on the wall that looked like a jester’s face. She had certainly not seen it before. That, she would have remembered.
Mrs. Overtree led the way up the stairs. The first floor up held primarily bedchambers. She pointed out Kate’s, Stephen’s old room—now the colonel’s—and theirs. Mrs. Overtree pushed open the door to her and her husband’s room, very similar in layout to the one Sophie now shared with the captain. Then Mrs. Overtree led her into her “boudoir,” a large dressing room with sofa and chair as well as the requisite wardrobes and cupboards. She opened one of these and ran a hand through the fine fabrics within. “If you need any gowns now you are here, you need only say so. If fact, I think I shall ask my lady’s maid to take in a few of mine to fit you.”
Sophie wasn’t sure whether to feel grateful or embarrassed.
Then they walked up another flight of stairs and through a long echoing gallery, and Sophie imagined the Overtree children riding hobby horses and chasing each other in games of tag and hide-and-seek when the weather kept them indoors. Mrs. Overtree pointed out Wesley’s bedchamber as well as the room adjacent that served as his studio, and the guest rooms sometimes used by Mr. Keith or Miss Blake.
From there, Mrs. Overtree gestured up the stairwell leading to the highest floor. “Up there are the old nursery, schoolroom, and housemaids’ bedchambers. I doubt you shall have any occasion to venture there.”
Sophie doubted it as well. But she wondered again if Captain Overtree had ventured up there, and why.
On their way back downstairs, Mrs. Overtree paused to point out a portrait among the dozens they had passed unheralded. Sophie sucked in a breath and prayed her expression gave nothing away.
“And this is my eldest son, Wesley Overtree. Oh, perhaps you have met him?”
“Yes. In Devonshire.”
“Ah. You are probably not well-acquainted, but is it not a fair likeness?”
“Yes . . .” Sophie dragged her gaze from the handsome visage to her new mother-in-law, noticing the similarities between them. “He looks a great deal like you, Mrs. Overtree.”
“Thank you. He takes after me far more than either Stephen or Katherine. In looks and in artistic temperament.”
“Oh? Do you paint as well?” Sophie asked.
“When I was young, I painted for my own enjoyment, though I was never trained. If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient.” She sighed. “But that was before the responsibilities of caring for my children, husband, and household took precedence. You will find out soon enough how becoming a wife and mother changes everything. For better and for worse.”
Sophie forced a smile. Oh yes, she would. And sooner than anyone might guess. If only she could joyfully anticipate the birth of her child like a happily married woman!
Mrs. Overtree nodded toward the next portrait. “And Wesley painted this one of Katherine when she was sixteen.”
Sophie recognized Wesley’s style but didn’t judge it his best work. In the portrait, Kate appeared to be in the awkward throes of adolescence, her nose rather squat. And he had captured none of her vibrant personality.
“And of course you recognize Stephen.” Mrs. Overtree gestured toward a portrait on the other side of Kate’s.
Actually, Sophie had not recognized it. In fact, she might have walked right past without noticing. She stepped nearer, studying the image. How young he looked. How innocent. His eyes were clear and blue. So full of life and hope, with none of the guard and callous irony she saw now when she looked at him. And no scar marred his face. No overgrown hair and side-whiskers masked its planes.
“He looks so different,” she breathed, an odd ache beneath her breastbone.
“Yes,” Mrs. Overtree agreed. “He was different. He has lived several hard years since then. I hope the worst is behind him, and that marriage will do him good.”
Sophie nodded. “So do I.” But considering the nature of their marriage and his misgivings about his fate, she doubted it.
When they returned to the morning room where they’d begun, Sophie saw that Kate had dressed for the day. Another woman sat across from her.
Kate smiled. “Sophie, allow me to introduce my good friend and neighbor, Miss Angela Blake. Angela, my new sister, Sophie Overtree.”
The woman winced as though a bright light shone in her eyes, but she managed a convincing smile.
Angela . . . Sophie’s attention caught on the name. This, then, was not “Jenny.”
Miss Blake was an elegant redhead with a long, aristocratic face, faint freckles warming china-white skin, and childlike lips, the top lip heavily bowed in the middle. Her thick ginger hair was swept back to the crown of her regal head, and from there lustrous curls tumbled down her neck. She wore an ivory gown with a fern green overdress, excellent for her coloring. She held herself in pristine posture, unlike Kate’s casual ease. But then, Miss Blake looked to be in her midtwenties, whereas girlish Kate was only eighteen.
“I should not introduce Angela as my particular friend,” Kate said, “as she has been chasing after my brothers since before I was born, growing up just over the garden wall as she has.”
“Don’t say ‘chasing after,’” Miss Blake corrected with a self-conscious laugh. “As though I set my cap at them.”
“Of course not! I only meant that you played together as children, running wild all over the parish, to hear Stephen tell it, and getting into mischief.”
“That I cannot deny.”
Kate turned back to Sophie. “The Blakes live in that pretty red brick manor house. Have you seen it? It’s lovely. Perhaps you might give Sophie a tour one day soon, Angela?”
The woman dipped her head. “If she likes.”
“I have just given her a tour of Overtree Hall,” her mother-in-law said. “Let’s not overwhelm her all at once.”
“Sophie, tell Angela the story of how you and Stephen met,” Kate urged.
Sophie demurred. “Oh, I don’t think Miss Blake wants to hear all that.”
A housemaid appeared, carrying a tea tray, and laid it on the table between them.
“Ah, saved by the tea,” Miss Blake said. “Perfect. Do you want to pour, Kate, or shall I?”
“Please do, Angela,” Mrs. Overtree said, taking her seat. “Katherine is forever spilling it.”
Captain Overtree entered the room. “Ah, Angela. I see you’ve met my . . . Sophie.”
“
I have met your Sophie, yes. I must say I was surprised to learn you had married. I thought you were a confirmed bachelor.”
A teasing grin played about the captain’s mouth and his eyes shone. Seeing it, Sophie felt a stab of . . . What? Insecurity? Jealousy?
“Oh? And what about you?” he said. “You are—”
Something flashed in her eyes, and he abruptly changed tack, “You are the one who once told me you pitied the woman brave enough to marry me.”
Miss Blake blinked up at him innocently. “Did I?” She turned to Sophie. “Should I pity you, do you think?”
Sophie hesitated. “I . . . wouldn’t say so, no.”
“Not very convincing.”
Mrs. Overtree accepted a cup of tea and said politely, “I hear your brother has recently become engaged, Angela. Is that right?”
“Yes,” Miss Blake replied, her smile barely forming before disappearing again. “And him only one and twenty. I am surrounded by happy couples. My joy knows no bounds.”
Sophie wondered at her brittle, barely concealed sarcasm . . . or was it wistfulness? Did she fear herself a spinster? Miss Blake was no longer in the first blush of youth, but she was still an attractive woman, and still young enough to marry. Had she wished to marry Captain Overtree herself? Sophie hoped not.
She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to ask a hurtful question or say the wrong thing. Had Miss Blake ever been engaged? Had a suitor? Flirted with the Overtree brothers? Perhaps she would ask Kate sometime. She doubted she’d have the courage to ask Captain Overtree himself.
“I have not seen your marriage mentioned in the papers,” Miss Blake said. “And you know some say the newspaper announcement is more important than the wedding itself, socially speaking, of course.”
Mrs. Overtree interjected, “I intend to remedy that, never fear. I shall write to the Times and the Courier myself. Something simple, I think, like: ‘Lately, Captain Stephen Overtree of the 28th North Gloucestershire Regiment, to Miss Sophie Dupont of Bath.’”