When he asked her where she had been last night, she paused to think. “Gracious, I don’t know. What time? Oh, yes . . . I may have gone down for some warm milk around then.” She winked at him. “Gulliver couldn’t sleep.”
“But you are well?”
“Oh yes, perfectly. Besides worried for you, of course.”
“For me? Well, yes, I suppose you would be.” He assumed she referred to his imminent return to duty. “But no need to worry. I am prepared to meet my fate, whatever it may be.”
“I believe you have already met your fate.” Winnie grinned. “And her name is Sophie.”
Confusion flickered through Stephen. Had she changed her mind about her prediction of his demise? Or was she losing her faculties as others suggested? Not that he’d ever admit the possibility, especially to his mother.
A housemaid entered, bringing in Miss Whitney’s dinner tray, which reminded Stephen it was time to dress for his own dinner. He bid Winnie farewell and went downstairs, though his former nurse remained on his mind.
After dinner, the family attended Evensong together. Everyone except for his father, as the evening wind was too cold, his mother insisted, and would be bad for his chest.
The service of hymns, prayers, and a brief sermon was not Stephen’s favorite. He wasn’t fond of singing, and knew his low, craggy voice added nothing to the enjoyment of those near enough to hear him. Even so, it was good to be in a candlelit church with his mother, grandfather, and sister. And now his wife as well. How strangely pleasant to have her tucked beside him in the family box, to share a prayer book and hymnal. She sang quietly and tentatively, not familiar with the words or tunes. Still, her shy alto voice was like warm velvet in his ear, and he had to resist the urge to lean nearer.
After the service, he presented Sophie to the vicar and his wife. Several neighbors also sought them out for introductions. Even those neighbors and tenants too timid to come forward favored them with curious looks and smiles. Had things been different—were she his wife in more than name—he would have gladly overcome his unsocial disposition and proudly introduced her to one and all. But as things were, their reticence to intrude was welcome.
Later that night, they again went through their bedtime ritual. Stephen changing in his dressing room, then stepping into the bedchamber to wait for Edgar to tidy up and take his leave. Sophie sat at her dressing table, fully clothed. Libby was again late in coming up.
While they waited, he said, “After I leave, I would consider it a great favor if you would visit Winnie from time to time. Kate goes up fairly often, except when Miss Blake is here. Mrs. Hill sends up trays and a maid to help her, but she is busy with the household. Please check on her for me every few days, will you?”
“Of course. Happily.”
“Thank you.”
Libby rushed in, apologizing for her delay, and moaning about polishing endless rounds of silver.
To keep up the pretense that he planned to spend the night with his wife, he remained in the room, instead of ducking back into the dressing room like the interloper he felt himself to be.
Sophie swiveled on the dressing stool to face Libby, and the maid flipped back the hem of her gown and began untying the ribbons holding her stockings above her knees.
Over the maid’s bent head, Sophie sent him a shy, uncertain glance. What did she expect him to do? Turn his back like a stranger? A monk? Instead he went to stand at the window, even though he could see almost nothing of the dark gardens beyond.
But his rebellious gaze now and again shifted to the side, capturing a glimpse of bare ankle as the maid rolled down one stocking, then the other. Then a glimpse of upper arm, when she unlaced Sophie’s gown and stays, and her shift slipped from one shoulder.
When the maid pulled the shift up and over her head, Stephen forced himself to avert his eyes, fisting his hands in a wad of drapery, every muscle tense. He forked his free hand through his hair in agitation. Another swish of white fabric and Sophie’s nightdress was over her head, cascading over her body and rustling to the floor. Only then did Stephen release the ragged breath he’d been holding.
When the maid disappeared into the dressing room, he whispered, “Only one more night, little rabbit. Never fear.”
Only one more night, Overtree, he added to himself. Be strong. You can do this. It was a good thing he was leaving the next day. He wasn’t sure he could resist much longer.
chapter 12
In the morning, Stephen trudged down the stairs toward the breakfast parlour. He had not slept well. Dashed sofa was a rock. His thoughts about the woman in the next room had not helped either, as usual. But he congratulated himself—he had made it. He was about to leave to rejoin his regiment with his dignity intact, and his vow to himself, and to Sophie, honored. As he had promised, he had not expected anything of her or pressured her. He had been a perfect gentleman, at least in outward behavior. His foul, irritable moods and sometimes his words? Not as gallant as they might have been. His inward thoughts? His desires? Probably not as pure as God would have liked. But then again, she was his wife . . .
Even so, he had kept his distance, at least physically, hoping that would make the coming separation less painful. Or would he second-guess himself every hour? Berate himself for not taking her in his arms while he could?
“May I walk with you?” Sophie’s voice called from above.
He paused and waited for her on the half landing. “You’re up early.”
“I wanted to be. For your last day.”
He nodded and they continued down the stairs together. In the breakfast parlour, he helped himself to a full plate, knowing it would be a long time before he ate this well again—if ever.
Sophie chose hot chocolate and a bread roll. She sipped daintily at one and picked at the other.
“I hope you eat better than that while I’m gone.” He glanced toward the door to make sure they were alone. “You are eating for two now after all.”
She nodded, and her chin quivered. Was she sad to see him go or relieved to be rid of him? Who knew? Women were strange, foreign creatures.
His grandfather entered the room, waving an open letter like a flag. His face was as jubilant as a child’s on Christmas. “What a surprise I have in store for you, my boy. You shall never guess. Ah, good, Sophie is here as well.”
“What is it?” Stephen felt himself tense. He despised surprises.
“We shall call it a late wedding present.”
“Oh?”
“I rode over to see my old friend Forsythe a few days ago and just received confirmation. I negotiated another fortnight’s leave for you. No bridegroom should have to run off to rejoin his regiment when there isn’t a war on. Another two weeks of wedded bliss with your bride. Not a real wedding trip, I grant you. Your grandmother and I traveled the continent for the greater part of a year. But as this more than doubles your current honeymoon, I think it must suffice.”
Stephen sat there, stunned. He turned toward Sophie, meeting her startled look. Without removing his gaze from hers, he said, “I . . . don’t know what to say. You shouldn’t have, sir.”
“Of course I should. No use reaching this rank if I can’t be of some use now. It is a great pleasure to do something good for my grandson and his wife.”
“But I am all packed. Sophie and I have discussed everything related to my absence and have said our good-byes.”
“Well, then, now you may say hello and good-bye all over again. Though I daresay you shall enjoy the former more than the latter.” The colonel’s eyes twinkled.
“It is very thoughtful, sir. But I don’t think I ought to remain here any longer. My commander expects me.”
“Forsythe will take care of all that. He said to tell you not to give it another thought. It’s all arranged. He did mention something about naming your firstborn child after him, but I never cared for the name Ethelbert myself, so I made no promises.” He winked.
The colonel looked from one to t
he other, and his boyish smile faded. “I begin to think you do not like my gift, though I cannot fathom the reason. Are my feelings to be hurt? And no doubt your wife’s in the bargain?”
Sophie spoke up at last, “It is very kind of you, Colonel. Truly. We are only taken aback. We dared not think of such a possibility, when we have been steeling ourselves for the . . . inevitable.”
Colonel Horton patted her hand. “There, there. What a good soldier you are, my dear. You chose wisely, my boy—I can see that already. Now let me do this small thing for you. All right?”
Stephen met her gaze again, and she gave a slight nod. “Then indeed I shall stay, sir,” he said. “And bless you for it.”
“Yes, Colonel,” Sophie added. “We are very grateful.”
“Now that is more like it,” the older man said. “And I have thought of some diversions for the two of you while you’re here. You ought to take a picnic to Norcombe Wood. Very romantic, picnics are. And I shall speak to Janet on the subject. No doubt she will have some ideas as well. She was once a new bride herself after all.”
“Well”—the colonel rattled the letter in the air once more—“time to go and share the good news with the rest of the family.”
After he left, Stephen and Sophie remained where they were, both facing the door but not speaking.
The long-case clock ticked, ticked, ticked. Finally he said quietly, “I’m sorry.”
He felt her gaze fly to his profile. “Why should you be sorry? It wasn’t your doing. That is . . . I am not in such a hurry to be rid of you.”
He sent her a wry glance. “No? I am glad to hear it.” He drew himself up. “So . . . a picnic, hmm? That doesn’t sound like such hard duty. Do you think we can manage it?”
She nodded. “I do. Shall we invite your sister to join us?”
His pleasure dimmed. “If you like. Miss Blake and even Keith might enjoy such an outing. And the free food, of course.” He forced a grin.
She must have seen through him. “If you’d rather it be just the two of us, I don’t mind. I simply thought . . . so much food and preparation for only one couple . . .”
“Yes, I agree. There is safety in numbers, after all.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right, little rabbit. I understand.”
At dinner that evening, Mr. Overtree beamed at them both. “I hear we are to have the pleasure of your company for longer than expected, Stephen. What happy news. And no doubt you rejoice as well, Sophie.”
“I . . . Yes, of course. I am all astonishment.”
Mrs. Overtree watched her reaction, then turned to her son. “Your grandfather mentioned a picnic, among other things. Just name the day and I shall have Mrs. Hill make arrangements with Cook and the servants.”
“A picnic, my dear?” Mr. Overtree’s eyes brightened. “Perhaps we should go along. Heavens, when was the last time you and I went on a picnic?”
“I’m sure Stephen doesn’t want his parents chaperoning their outing.”
“You would be very welcome,” Sophie said. “In fact we were thinking of asking Kate and Miss Blake. And perhaps Mr. Keith might like to come along.”
“I adore picnics,” Kate enthused. “And I’m sure Angela would like to join us. What about you, Mr. Keith?”
“I think a basket of Mrs. John’s pies beneath a tree sounds just the thing. A bottle of claret wouldn’t go amiss either.”
“A picnic is all very well.” Mrs. Overtree nodded and drew back her shoulders. “But I have decided that since we have another fortnight before Stephen rejoins his regiment, we shall also host a dinner, in place of the neglected wedding breakfast, to congratulate the newly married couple.”
“Thank you, Mamma. But that is not necessary,” Captain Overtree said. “You know I am not keen on large parties, and Sophie would be quite overwhelmed. It is kind of you to offer, but I see no need to go to all the expense and trouble to pull off such an event in a couple weeks’ time. No Mamma. Thank you, but no.”
Her eyes sparked. “I was not asking your permission, Stephen. In fact, the wheels are already in motion. You needn’t make a speech if you don’t like, but you cannot deny our friends and neighbors the opportunity to meet your wife, and to wish you well before you leave us again for who knows how long. You are the first of our offspring to marry though, Lord willing, not the last. You must allow us to acknowledge the event. Do you want everyone to think we are not proud and happy about your marriage?”
He held his mother’s challenging gaze a moment, and Sophie feared he might continue to argue. Beneath the table, Sophie reached over and gave his arm a gentle squeeze.
He cleared his throat. “Well, I . . . suppose a dinner would be harmless.”
“Can we have dancing, Mamma?” Kate asked eagerly. “I’ve had all those lessons and have never been to a real ball. Please, Mamma, can we?”
“Now, Kate. No one said anything about a ball,” Captain Overtree protested.
Kate turned to her. “You do like to dance, Sophie. Say you do?”
“Well, I . . .” She glanced at Captain Overtree’s scowl, then away. “I don’t dislike it.”
“Have you never been to a ball either?”
“Oh, I have danced in the Bath assembly rooms several times.”
“The Bath assembly rooms . . .” Kate breathed. “Is it as marvelous as they say? Crystal chandeliers, fashionable ladies and gentlemen by the score, presided over by a dour master of ceremonies?”
“Yes, all of that. But such a crush it is difficult to move, let alone dance. Especially at the height of the Bath season.”
“Please, Mamma, we must have dancing,” Kate said. “For Sophie.”
Sophie shot another nervous glance at her husband. “It isn’t up to me, Kate. I would be more than content with whatever your mother thinks best.”
“Well, there’s no harm in a few dances after dinner,” Mrs. Overtree decided. “Those who wish to dance may, and those that don’t may sit down to tea and coffee, or cards.”
“Shall we have musicians, Mamma? We have that dusty old gallery that no one ever uses.”
“I don’t know that we need to hire musicians for a few country dances, Katherine. Perhaps you girls might take turns at the pianoforte.”
“No, Mamma, please. Then we shan’t be able to dance.”
“I am afraid I don’t play,” Sophie quietly admitted.
“No? What a pity.”
“And we must have more gentlemen, Mamma,” Kate said. “I don’t want to dance with my father all night. Pray do not be offended, Papa.”
“Indeed I am not.”
“I don’t know that your father shall feel equal to dancing in any case,” Mrs. Overtree said.
“I’m not dead yet,” Mr. Overtree retorted. “I think I can manage a sedate dance or two, though I shall leave the reels to the younger men.”
Kate turned to Sophie and explained, “Unfortunately our neighborhood has a dearth of young gentlemen and an overabundance of young ladies.”
Carlton Keith, Sophie noticed, had remained silent through the talk of dancing. And little wonder, she supposed, with his disability.
“Angela’s brother might come,” Kate suggested. “Though now that he is engaged to marry, I suppose we would have to invite his intended as well, so that wouldn’t help our numbers.” She asked her brother, “Have you no friends in the area, Stephen?”
“I am afraid my friends are primarily military men like myself and are away from home, as I should be.” He rectified, “Were it not for Grandfather’s kind influence, that is.”
Kate looked at her mother. “You will invite Mr. Harrison, I trust?”
Mrs. Overtree opened her mouth to reply, then pressed her thin lips together, thinking the better of whatever she’d been about to say. “We shall discuss the invitation list later, Katherine. Let’s leave it for now.”
Mr. Keith set down his glass with a sardonic grin. “And what am I, Miss Katherine? Yesterda
y’s rubbish? No doubt all the ladies will be clamoring to dance with me, the one-armed wonder. To grasp this empty sleeve.”
Everyone froze, forks or glasses midway to mouths. Kate’s face reddened, and Sophie felt embarrassed for Mr. Keith’s sake and for all of them. Had they discounted him so thoroughly as a man, or had they sought not to mention him out of polite sensitivity? Sophie wasn’t sure, but awkward unease hung heavy in the dining room, as glances shifted one to another.
Kate grew uncharacteristically grave. “I am sorry, Mr. Keith. I did not stop to consider your feelings.”
Keith waved away her apology with his good arm. “No harm done, Miss Katherine. That was done by the French. Besides, losing this arm has had its advantages, I assure you. Ah, the pity of pretty females and the hospitality of a fine family.” He lifted his glass in salute. “Thank you, Boney. You changed my life.”
The former lieutenant was clearly somewhat drunk, and feeling a little brazen. But his bravado and ironic humor didn’t quite cover the pain in his eyes.
“I know,” Captain Overtree quipped. “We shall engage a fiddler to play Irish jigs all night. We’d all have to keep our arms at our sides for that dance.”
Mr. Keith grinned at him. “Excellent notion, Captain. Hear, hear.”
Around the room, people exhaled, relieved the tense moment had passed.
The next morning, Mrs. Overtree gave the cook a few days notice to ready the picnic, and scheduled the dinner for Stephen’s final night to give the servants the most time to prepare. Soon, invitations were ordered and the dressmaker summoned. Mrs. Overtree insisted that both Sophie and Kate have new gowns for the occasion. The dressmaker, Mrs. Pannet, arrived, followed by her thin, work-worn assistant bearing a sample case and portfolio.
After surveying her subjects’ coloring and taking their measurements, the dressmaker pulled forth fabric swatches and drawings of fashionable but relatively simple gowns, considering how quickly they were needed. Mrs. Pannet and Mrs. Overtree conferred together and settled on their choices. Sophie deferred to her mother-in-law, who was far more decisive and who, after all, would be paying the dressmaker’s bill. Kate’s gown would be pale pink satin with a crossover bodice, while Sophie would have a gown of blue net over white, with a broad neckline front and back and a high waist. Sophie was especially glad for the high waist.