He unfolded one of Sophie’s letters and reread the sweet words. Had she written it before Wesley returned proclaiming he loved her and had always meant to come back for her? It seemed likely, as she made no mention of him in her letter. Unless she had another reason for failing to mention Wesley’s return? Stephen had known his brother would show up at Overtree Hall eventually. But he’d truly not thought Wes intended to marry Sophie. If his brother was simply angry, Stephen could deal with that. He was used to disagreements and discord with him. But if Sophie agreed with his brother? Regretted their marriage? Stephen was not able to brush off such doubts as easily. He felt a sickly stab of self-pity and pushed it away. No doubt blood loss or laudanum was to blame for the foreign emotion.
Did Sophie wish there was some way to be released from their marriage? If she did, could he really blame her? Especially if he ended up losing an arm. Especially now that the father of her child was on the scene, declaring his love.
Stephen thought of sending a letter to Sophie—asking her outright if she preferred to be with his brother. But he was not yet able to write, and unwilling to dictate such a personal, mortifying question to another soul.
Several days after Mr. Keith left Overtree Hall for Belgium, Sophie looked through the letters on the silver tray. She sighed. Still no letter for her from Stephen. She prayed again for his recovery and for a safe journey for Mr. Keith.
With nothing else to distract her, Sophie found herself thinking about the initials she’d seen in the priest hole. That evening, she asked Kate, “Who is J.A.B.?”
“J.A.B.?”
“Yes. I saw those initials carved on a timber in the priest hole,” she said, then added to herself, and J.B. on a note in Wesley’s room.
Kate leaned forward with interest. “Really? I never noticed that.” She considered a moment, then shrugged. “I suppose it must be Angela. She was christened Jane Angela Blake. But as Jane was her mother’s name as well, she has always gone by Angela.”
“Oh . . .” Then J was not “Jenny,” Sophie realized.
“Personally, I’ve never understood why so many women name their daughters after themselves,” Kate went on. “I am glad Mamma didn’t name me Janet. How confusing that would be. But why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
Kate looked at Sophie with a sly twinkle in her eyes. “Show me the carving.”
Sophie hesitated. “I don’t know, Kate. It’s late . . .”
Kate laughed and grabbed Sophie’s hand. “Oh, come on!”
Taking a candle with them, they climbed the stairs and crept down the corridor. Kate opened the hidden door in the wainscoting and ducked in first. Sophie followed, pulling the door shut behind them.
Kate lifted the candle higher and light swept across the narrow room.
“There . . .” Sophie pointed to the timber with the initials W.D.O. + J.A.B.
Kate stepped closer, then paused as a squeak pierced the quiet. Sophie cringed, her gaze darting to the farthest corner of the room. A mouse?
Tentatively, Kate stretched the candle toward the dark corner, and Sophie gasped. A creature huddled there—one much larger than a mouse. They heard another squeak, and then a rumbling sound like . . . purring.
“Gulliver?” Sophie asked in wonder.
The orange tabby lay in a nest of wood shavings, with squirming bundles of fur gathered around him—her, Sophie corrected herself. She counted, then shared a wide-eyed smile with Kate. “Six kittens. Gulliver must have moved them here since we were last inside.”
“Oh, wait until Winnie finds out!” Kate cried. Kneeling, she set down the candle and extended her hand to Gulliver, letting her sniff it before smoothing the cat’s head. “You’ve been a busy b . . . em, girl.”
“Perhaps we should take them to Winnie’s room,” Sophie said.
“Right. We don’t want Mamma to hear them.”
“We’ll need something to carry them . . . like a basket.”
“Maybe a picnic basket?” Kate rose. “I’m sure I can sneak one past Mrs. John.”
Sophie nodded. “You get the basket. I’ll find Winnie.”
“Won’t she be in her room?”
“Maybe not . . .” But Sophie had a good idea where the woman would be.
Kate hurried off to retrieve a basket and Sophie started down the corridor. As she’d anticipated, she heard voices coming from the colonel’s room, the door once again left ajar. But now she recognized both voices.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“You’ve nicked me, woman. Sink me, not again.”
She tiptoed to the colonel’s door and peeked inside the room, well lit by candelabra.
There sat Colonel Horton and Winnie at a small table covered in green felt, a glass of something at each elbow, a bowl of nutmeats between them, and a pile of sweets in the middle.
“Enough with these childish stakes. Let’s play for real money.”
“But what would Janet say?” Winnie gave him an impish smile.
He lifted a jar full of coins. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
“I’ll take all your money, just as I took all the sweets, and all the buttons.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” The colonel grinned, maniacally wagging his eyebrows. He shook a pair of dice in his meaty hand, and sent them tumbling to the felt.
“Not again. I’ve thrown out.”
Sophie pushed open the door. “Good evening, Colonel. Winnie.”
The colonel sucked in a breath, and slapped his hand over the dice like a child trying to cover stolen biscuits.
But Winnie met her gaze evenly. “Evening, Miss Sophie. Don’t worry, Colonel. Sophie is kind and won’t go reporting us to the mistress—will you, my dear?”
“No, but you’ve got something else to hide from the mistress now. I was coming to find you. Gulliver is a female. She’s had kittens!”
Winnie’s mouth fell ajar.
The colonel whistled. “Don’t let Janet find out.”
“I thought he was getting fat!” Winnie exclaimed. “So that’s why he—I mean, she—was hiding. Where are they?”
“Kate is fetching a basket to carry them up to your room.”
Winnie rose to go, but Sophie held up a hand. “Wait! First things first. What exactly is going on here? Kate thinks someone is extorting money from her grandfather.”
“Does she? Ha! That’s a laugh,” Winnie replied. “The other way around more like.”
“You have the memory of a flea, woman,” the colonel protested. “You’re the one who took all the sweets and buttons and now are working away at my farthings.”
“Farthings?” Sophie asked in concern.
He gestured toward the jar of coins. “Yes. Highfliers we are too. You see, my dear,” the colonel said, “Miss Whitney and I sit together of an evening to pass the time, and play a little hazard. We’re both of us a couple of lonely old souls, and it eases the ache.” He grinned at the nurse. “Your visits are the bright spot of my day, Winnie. I don’t think my dear Margaret would mind my saying that, now she’s gone, but Janet would not approve.”
Winnie shook her head and looked at Sophie. “No indeed. And if she knew I was spending time with her father, I’d be out on my ear in a heartbeat, loyal Stephen or no.”
“But I ask you, what’s an innocent game between friends?” the colonel said as though to a jury. “We only play for trifles. But I promised Janet that I wouldn’t gamble anymore. Lost a bit in London, you see, in my younger days. And I wouldn’t want her to think I’m slipping back.”
“We return all the farthings into the same jar and use them again the next time,” Winnie added helpfully. “Surely there’s no harm in that.”
“You didn’t return the sweets,” the colonel pointed out.
“Stephen gave those to me, and I won those back fair and square.” Winnie returned her gaze to Sophie and gestured across the room. “Now, let’s go meet the newest additions to my
little menagerie.”
Sophie grinned in relief and held the door for her. “You should have heard how it sounded. All this clandestine talk about stealing you blind, and having your revenge, and the vicar taking your pony.”
“Oh, that last part about the vicar is true.” Winnie winked. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”
Stephen was never more stunned than to look up and see Carlton Keith leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, ankles crossed at a jaunty angle, smug look on his face.
“Hello, Captain.”
“Do my eyes deceive me or have I died and gone to blazes?” Stephen jested. “For I should never believe you an angel.”
Keith grinned, then glanced around the shabby ward. “I would definitely not call this place heaven.” He made a face. “That’s why I’m here. To do everything in my power to get you home as soon as may be.”
Relief flared and instantly faded. Except for Wesley, his family would be eager to see him. But Sophie? He wasn’t so sure.
“I am in no condition to travel, Keith. Nor will I be for some time. And when I am, I shall return to the regiment.”
His former lieutenant studied his face. Surprise followed by understanding shone in his eyes. “Time to decide all that later, Captain. For now, I’ve brought you a few letters from home.”
He pulled three from his pocket and handed them over. Stephen recognized his mother’s handwriting, the colonel’s, and Sophie’s.
“Well,” Keith straightened. “I’ll leave you to read in private. Think I’ll go and see who I have to bribe to get something to eat.”
When he had left, Stephen opened Sophie’s letter first, steeling himself as he read it.
Dear Captain Overtree,
How relieved we all were to learn you are alive. You cannot know how we worried and prayed and grieved during those dark days when you were missing and presumed dead. Mr. Nelson offered prayers of thanksgiving in church yesterday, and we all continue to pray for your recovery.
I hope Carlton Keith arrived safely and without delay. We were all so grateful that he offered to travel to Brussels to see that everything is being done for you that may be. And if it is possible to bring you home, so that we might nurse you here at Overtree Hall under the care and direction of Dr. Matthews. Several in your family vied for the honor of coming to your bedside—myself among them, your grandfather most vocal of all—but various factors, such as your grandfather’s age and my condition, caused us to be overruled.
You have probably heard by now that Wesley is here. You should know that he volunteered for the duty as well, saying it would only be right as you have so often come to his aid. But in the end, Mr. Keith made an impassioned argument that he should be the one to undertake the journey.
I feel I should say what I hope goes without saying. While we all pray that you will heal whole and strong and maintain the use of both arms, if God wills otherwise, we will accept that and welcome you home with our open arms. Here at Overtree Hall, there are arms enough to go round. Do come home, Captain. We long to see you.
Sincerely,
Sophie
We long to see you. . . . He thought again of Wesley’s letter, describing Sophie’s martyr-like determination to continue the ruse of their marriage. Was she really thankful he was alive? Did she truly want him to come home? Stephen wanted to believe her encouraging words, but his brother’s letter and his accusations continued to plague him with doubts. Would Sophie remain loyal to him for duty’s sake, for the family’s sake, and maybe even for God’s, all while her heart longed to be with Wesley? His gut clenched at the thought.
If he fully recovered, perhaps he might apply to his superiors to be assigned guard duty on St. Helena to make sure Napoleon’s second exile was his last. Such an assignment would keep him across the world for years, if not forever. And who knew? Perhaps he would die on the journey, and Winnie’s prediction would come true after all. He winced at the melodramatic thought. What a sapskull he was. He really needed to wean himself off that laudanum, and the sooner the better.
chapter 30
Sophie now shared her studio with a cat and six kittens. Though Kate had originally delivered the litter to Miss Whitney’s room, for some reason Gulliver wasn’t satisfied, and arduously carried each kitten one by one by the scruff of its neck to the room next door. Giving in, Winnie had relocated a low basket filled with soft bedding to the studio. She—as well as Kate and Miss Blake—visited often. Wesley, in turn, seemed to avoid them all.
A few days later, Sophie sat knitting in the white parlour when Wesley came in. Finding her alone, he crossed the room and sat beside her on the sofa.
Instantly uneasy, she said, “I’m sorry—Kate is sitting there. She has only gone to check on the kittens, but she’ll be back directly.” She glanced toward the door, then added softly, “Please don’t say anything about the cats. Your mother doesn’t know yet.” She managed a smile, but he did not return the gesture.
He rose. “Then come with me to the church, and see my progress on the painting over the chancel archway.”
She said, “I do want to see it—I’m sure it’s wonderful. But I will wait and see it on Sunday with everyone else.”
He crossed his arms. “You can’t keep ignoring me.”
“I am not ignoring you. I am simply treating you as a sister-in-law should.”
“Like a leper, I think you mean.” He picked up the twin to the little bootie she was knitting, and fingered the soft wool. He whispered hoarsely, “I am more than your brother-in-law, and you know it.”
How small the tiny stocking looked in his long fingers. How heartbreaking.
The butler entered and announced, “A Mr. O’Dell to see you, madam.”
Sophie’s stomach lurched, and dread swamped her.
A moment later, her father’s assistant stepped into the room, looking dapper in a new suit of clothes, his hair for once well groomed.
“Maurice! What are you doing here? Is my father all right? The children?”
“Yes, everyone is perfect well, if still reeling from recent, unexpected events.” His gaze landed on Wesley, and his head reared back. “Mr. Wesley Overtree . . . What a surprise to see you here, sir.”
“And why should it be a surprise?” Wesley said coolly. “This is my home after all.”
“Yes, but we thought you were in Italy. Didn’t we, Sophie?”
“He returned. Earlier than expected.”
“Ah! How . . . awkward for all of you.”
“Not at all,” Sophie said with a frosty smile.
“One big happy family, are you? Isn’t that nice. So . . . where is your bridegroom? Oh, that’s right. Off to war, while you two are snug here at home. How convenient.”
“Not convenient at all,” Sophie replied. “Captain Overtree has been injured. We pray for his full recovery daily.”
Maurice tsked. “War is such risky business. I see now why you took your chances.” He looked around the room and then smiled at her. “Well, are you going to invite me to sit down? Offer me tea? I don’t exaggerate when I say I could drink a whole pot. Warm and dusty on the roads today.”
“Of course.” Embarrassed at her lack of tact, and his, Sophie avoided Wesley’s gaze and rang the bell.
While they waited for tea, Kate and Mrs. Overtree came in, and Sophie’s anxiety increased. She made the introductions with all the civility she could muster, but with no pleasure.
“How do you do, Mr. O’Dell,” Mrs. Overtree said. “Any relations of Mrs. Overtree are welcome.”
Sophie considered denying the family tie, but deemed it wisest not to comment. Maurice, however, did.
“Oh, we are not so closely related, ma’am. Not as closely related as I once thought we’d be. Thanks to your son, there.”
Sophie felt her face heat. Heaven help her—Maurice had read Wesley’s letter. Would he reveal all to her mother-in-law?
Mrs. Overtree narrowed her eyes. “You must refer to my other son, Captain
Stephen Overtree?”
“Ah yes. The one she married.”
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your call, Mr. O’Dell?” Mrs. Overtree regarded him coolly.
“Mr. Dupont and my aunt regret that they have not yet been able to visit Sophie, so I volunteered to do so in their stead. I was passing through the area, en route to fulfill a commission for Sir Cedric Fiennes. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? So generous. Even sent his fine traveling chariot to transport me in style.”
“Why is Father not with you?” Sophie asked.
“Oh, I thought I could manage this commission myself.”
Wesley sent her a knowing look.
Tea was delivered and Sophie began to pour, but her hand trembled. Noticing, Kate deftly took over the task, and Sophie’s heart expanded with a little more love for the girl.
Maurice glanced around at the few paintings on the parlour walls. “I must say I am surprised not to see any of your work on display, Mr. Overtree. I know you spent a prolific season among us this winter.”
“Oh? I have not yet seen his recent paintings.” Mrs. Overtree daggered a look at her son.
“You would find them interesting, I think,” Maurice said. “I suppose your son is naturally modest about showing his work?”
“Not usually, no.”
“Ah, well. Perhaps the subject itself is modest. The Devonshire coast is a fertile area for artists. You will have to take a look at them one of these days.”
“Indeed I shall.”
Maurice returned his gaze to Sophie—that gaze that always had a way of making her uncomfortable, and all the more now. “You are in . . . robust health, I see, Sophie. Being with child becomes you. Everything is . . . progressing well, I trust?”
Sophie swallowed. “Yes. Thank you for asking. We hope Captain Overtree will return in time for the birth.”
“Do we?”
“Yes.”
For a moment longer he held her gaze, and Sophie feared he would continue on with his innuendo, or simply announce what he knew, or at least suspected. But instead he smiled and turned to Kate.