She went down to the hall at the usual time that afternoon. But instead of entering with a silver tray of letters, the butler entered with an announcement. “A Mrs. Thrupton to see you in the morning room, madam. If you are at home to callers?”
Her heart leapt. “Of course I am. Thank you, Thurman.”
Sophie hurried in to the morning room. “Mavis! I am so happy to see you.” Tears filled Sophie’s eyes and her face crumpled.
“Oh, my dear!” In a moment the dear woman’s ample arms were around her, gathering her close to her soft bosom, and surrounding Sophie with the familiar smells of rosewater and freshly baked bread. “I came as soon as I got your letter.”
Somehow her comforting presence made Sophie cry all the more. Her throat tightened and she struggled to speak. “His parents are so angry. And Wesley’s pressuring me. And Captain Overtree won’t answer my letters. Everything’s ruined. Everything.”
“There, there, my dear. We will work out what’s best to be done. Come and sit down.”
Sophie did so, telling the woman about Wesley’s declaration of love, his determination to be together, and to claim her child as his own.
“And the captain?”
“I don’t know. I’ve written to him, but he hasn’t responded. I’m afraid he regrets marrying me, and will regret it even more now that his parents know the child I carry is not his. How mortifying for us both, but especially for him.”
“Does he know his brother is home and repentant and . . . persuasive?”
“I mentioned he was home in my last letter. But I wasn’t sure how much I should say about his brother. Not when he’s so far away and there’s nothing he can do.”
Mavis took her hand. “Do you regret marrying the captain? Wish you’d taken your chances and waited for the painter?”
Sophie shook her head.
“What do you want to do now?”
“I don’t know—so much has happened. I’m tired, Mrs. Thrupton. Tired of pretending. Tired of worrying. Tired of being pressured. I just want to sleep for a month. I worry what all this anxiety is doing to my baby.”
Mavis patted her hand. “I’m sure your baby is perfectly well. I know that some folks say a mother’s character and worries and cravings are passed on to the child she carries, but I think it’s a great pile of claptrap. But so much anxiety isn’t good for anyone, my dear. That is true. I hate to see you so unhappy.”
“I fear what Wesley will do when the child comes. And then what the captain will do to him when he returns. If he returns. Will his parents even acknowledge their grandchild?”
“They should. And if it had to be another man’s child, at least he is still of the family line. They ought to be happy he’s an Overtree in blood as well as name.”
“They are not happy at all.”
Mrs. Thrupton took her hand, gazing steadily into her face. “I can’t tell you what to do, Sophie. But I’ll support you, whatever you decide.”
“Thank you.” Sophie inhaled deeply. “All I know for certain is that I don’t want to have my child here. Among a family I don’t feel I really belong to—who seem more like disapproving strangers now than when I first arrived. Don’t mistake me. I am fond of the grandfather and sister. And I cannot blame their parents for being disappointed and upset, but I can’t abide the thought of his mother being on hand during the birth. I would be so tense, worrying every second I might do something else wrong.”
“Do you . . . wish to go to Bath?” Mavis tentatively asked. “To your father?”
Sophie shook her head. “No. I do not wish to be beholden to my stepmother, who has made it plain she doesn’t have room for my child.”
“You know you are welcome to come home with me, if you like,” Mavis said. “I hope that goes without saying. Though I don’t flatter myself you’d be eager to leave all this for my snug cottage.”
Sophie’s heart lightened. “At the moment, I can think of nothing better! There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. But I don’t want to be too much trouble.”
“Nonsense, my girl. I will be with you when your time comes. And Widow Paisley. And we can send for Dr. Parrish if need be. You’ll be well looked after.”
Relief washed over Sophie. And she smiled for what felt like the first time in weeks.
“Thank you! You are a godsend.” Sophie bit her lip as she considered. “The Overtrees won’t like me leaving this near my lying-in. And Wesley could make things difficult. So I’d like to keep it quiet for now, if you don’t mind. I will tell them as I am leaving, or leave a note. But I prefer to avoid a drawn-out farewell. You must think me a terrible coward, but I cannot face another heated confrontation right now. My emotions are too frayed as it is.”
“That’s what pregnancy does to women. . . .” Mavis hesitated, then added, “Or so I understand. Strains our emotions as well as our bodies. But yes, at least leave a note so they don’t worry.”
Sophie nodded in agreement. Through the doorway, she noticed Kate and Miss Blake walk by, wearing aprons and bonnets, flower baskets and gardening shears in hand. Miss Blake glanced in, but Kate chatted on as she passed, unaware.
Once they had gone, Sophie continued in a lower voice, “May I meet you at the Wickbury coaching inn tomorrow? Have you enough money for the night? I will pay you back—the captain left money for any unforeseen needs that arose while he was away.”
“Never you mind. I can manage. Might it be better if I hire a gig and pick you up here? A woman in your condition ought not carry a valise nor walk such a distance, especially alone.”
“No, thank you. I’ll be all right,” Sophie assured her. She did not want horse hooves and carriage wheels crunching up the drive and announcing her departure. She doubted Mr. and Mrs. Overtree would put up much fuss. Probably bid her farewell and good riddance. But the colonel and Kate? Not to mention Wesley, with his impulsive, passionate nature? She dreaded a confrontation in front of the servants, and in the hearing of the vicar and any passersby.
“Very well, I will wait for you,” Mavis said. “The coach leaves at eleven.”
Fortunately, Kate remained occupied with Miss Blake, and Wesley in his own studio. So Sophie felt at liberty to quietly begin gathering her things—her knitting from the morning room, her sketchbook, the brushes Captain Overtree had picked out for her. Then she surreptitiously returned the novel and necklace Kate had lent her. She packed only her personal belongings and as few of the garments given her by Mrs. Overtree as possible.
She shut the valise she’d come with and slid it under the bed, in case any housemaid—or Kate—should pop in. Then she sat down to write three difficult letters.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Overtree,
I have decided to take my leave of Overtree Hall and have my child in peace and among friends. I am sorry I caused strife among your family. I do appreciate your many kindnesses and generous hospitality while I remained under your roof, but I have no wish to fuel further tension. I am not leaving to be with Wesley, I promise you. As I’m sure you do, I think it would be best if he married a gentlewoman of excellent character from the best family. And the sooner the better.
Wesley has made some harsh accusations against Stephen about his method and motives for marrying me. But in my heart of hearts, I believe Captain Overtree married me with the best and noblest of intentions.
I regret causing him further inconvenience and pain, especially when he is injured and far from home and family. I will write to him as well, and hope my letter reaches him in Brussels. If it does not, I trust you will apprise him of the situation in the manner you think best. I know you hold me responsible, and I do not blame you for that. But as in any rift, rarely is one person solely at fault while the other is completely innocent. So I would ask that you be fair in your account of recent happenings, even though I have given you reason to dislike and mistrust me. Regardless of what you think you saw, or the conclusions you may have drawn, I have never betrayed my marriage vows.
I will write
to share news of the birth when I am able, in the event you are interested.
Sincerely,
S. Overtree
She wrote letters to Stephen and Wesley as well. Then she returned to the old schoolroom, gave the kittens a final pat, and gingerly straightened. Sophie slowly surveyed the room one more time. She looked at the dust motes floating in a shaft of sunlight and instead saw Stephen nervously showing her the new studio as his surprise, so hopeful she would be pleased. She looked again at the portrait of Stephen in uniform, remembering the precious hours they had spent together—him sitting, her painting. Smoothing back his hair, then suddenly realizing he meant to kiss her. . . .
Unbidden, a few moments spent there with Wesley returned to her as well. Painting side by side. Finding he’d repaired the portrait for her when she could not. Taking her in his arms. . . . But then his parents’ shocked and condemning looks reappeared in her mind’s eye, and she blinked the memories away.
Sophie was sad to leave the painting behind, but it was too large to take. Besides, she wasn’t sure it belonged to her any longer—the painting or the man. Especially if Stephen had received the angry, accusing letter Wesley had sent—telling him she and Wesley wanted to be together. No wonder Stephen had not written to her.
On her way past, Sophie left a little package outside Winnie’s door. A ball of yarn for the cats, a packet of seed for her birds, and a pair of fingerless gloves Sophie had knit to keep Winnie’s hands warm when she fed her birds in chilly weather.
Then Sophie returned to the bedchamber she had—almost—shared with Stephen, and memories both wonderful and regretful assailed her there as well.
In the morning, after the maid helped her dress and departed, Sophie decided to wear one article of clothing Mrs. Overtree had given to her—a billowy, full-length mantle, which would disguise or at least minimize her advancing condition. She laid a coin and a little drawing she had made for Libby on the dressing table, picked up her valise, and left the room.
Sophie placed the letters for Wesley and his parents where they would be sure to find them. And then, taking her valise and her letter for Stephen, she slipped from the house.
As Sophie crossed the drive, she felt a shiver creep up her neck. She looked over her shoulder and, sure enough, Winnie stood in her window, again dressed in black. Sophie knew by now that it was her dress of mourning. Of farewell. The woman solemnly raised a hand, and Sophie returned the gesture.
Then she stepped through the estate gate and turned down the road with a sigh of relief. She had made it away without incident. She was almost free . . .
Suddenly the rumble of horse hooves from behind startled her. Heart lurching, she stepped to the side of the road, drawing the mantle’s deep hood over her head. Listening to the jingling tack drawing nearer, she hoped whoever was coming was simply a stranger passing by with a delivery of some sort.
Instead, when she glanced over, her stomach dropped to recognize Angela Blake at the reins of a small gig.
“May I give you a lift, Sophie?” She halted her horse and looked down at her expectantly.
Sophie studied her face. The redhead seemed a little smug, and a little sad, all at once.
“Were you . . . headed into the village this morning for some reason?” Sophie asked.
Angela gave her a hand up into the carriage. “No. Just had an inkling you might need a ride. I noticed you’d returned Sense and Sensibility to Kate, though I know you hadn’t finished it, and that you’d gathered up your knitting as well. Not to mention whispering urgently with your visitor yesterday.”
“Very observant,” Sophie murmured.
Miss Blake urged the horse into motion. “May I ask why you are leaving Overtree Hall now, when you are so near your time?”
Sophie forced a smile. “I decided to depart while it is still safe for me to travel. I want to have my child at home. Mrs. Thrupton is a dear friend and has attended many a lying-in.”
“Kate will be heartbroken, you know.”
“Yes. But she has you.”
“Do Mr. and Mrs. Overtree know?”
Sophie imagined that Mrs. Overtree was probably reading her letter right then and was thanking the Lord they were rid of her.
“I have left letters to inform the family,” she said. “I could not wait for everyone to come down. I was in such a hurry. Mrs. Thrupton kindly came all this way to accompany me, but she has a business at home and cannot be away for long.”
A knowing light glinted in Miss Blake’s green eyes. “Found out, did they? And they blame you?”
Sophie swallowed a nervous lump in her throat and met the woman’s gaze, without confirming or denying anything.
Miss Blake formed an apologetic little smile with her childish bow lips. “I am sorry, Sophie. Truly. I believe I understand how you feel.”
“Do you?” Sophie murmured.
Miss Blake slid the reins into one hand and patted her arm. “You know I adore the Overtrees—well, most of them—but they can be most fastidious and not terribly forgiving.” She added, “I don’t mean Stephen, of course. He will not be happy to learn you’ve left.”
“No. But Stephen isn’t here.”
“And Wesley is—is that it?”
Again, Sophie thought it wisest not to comment. “Could you let me down at the post office?” she asked. “I need to post a letter.”
“To the captain?”
Sophie nodded.
Miss Blake held out her gloved hand. “I can do that for you.”
Sophie hesitated.
Miss Blake sent her a wry glance. “Don’t trust me, hmm? I promise you, you have nothing to fear where Stephen is concerned.”
Angela halted on the High Street and handed Sophie the reins. “Hold these for me, will you? At least let me hop down and post the letter for you. Much easier for me, than for you in your present state.”
Sophie reluctantly relinquished the letter, watched through the window as Angela posted it and climbed back into the gig. Then they continued down the street to the coaching inn.
The Devonshire Express was already in the yard, while the guard and coachman made ready to depart. Sophie waved to Mrs. Thrupton, standing near the door, straw bonnet tied beneath her chin and carpetbag in hand. The woman’s look of concern melted into a relieved smile upon seeing her arrive.
Mrs. Thrupton hurried toward the gig, with a curious glance at Miss Blake.
Sophie introduced the two women, and then Mavis helped Sophie down. She insisted on taking her valise from her and stepped away to hand it up to the guard, who was busy stowing baggage on top and rear of the coach.
Sophie watched the activity without really seeing it, thinking of the morning she, Mavis, and Captain Overtree had set off in a similar carriage for their elopement. How long ago it seemed. If she could go back in time would she make a different choice? Refuse his offer?
No . . .
She prayed he felt the same.
“Godspeed, Mrs. Overtree,” Angela said.
“Thank you, Miss Blake. Take care of yourself.”
“Of course I will. No one else has applied for the job.” Angela picked up the reins. “Now I shall hurry back to the hall and see how the news is being received—and who needs comforting.”
Wesley recognized Sophie’s handwriting with a twist of dread in his gut. It wouldn’t be good news. He took the letter into his room and read.
Wesley,
I am sorry to leave without saying good-bye in person. But you can hardly blame me for that. I know you would make it difficult for me to leave, perhaps even try to forbid me or prevent me. You do not have that right. I am leaving to have my baby somewhere I will feel safe and loved and welcomed. I think it best for the child and certainly best for me at this time. Do not be concerned for my well-being or safety in traveling. Mrs. Thrupton accompanies me. I do not wish my child to become a pawn between you and your brother, if and when he returns. I will write to your parents to announce the birth when I
can.
Please try to understand.
Sophie
Wesley threw down the letter in frustration. Yet could he really blame her for wanting to leave after the mortifying scene he and his parents had put her through? Why hadn’t he restrained himself? Kept a level head? He might yet have convinced her to leave with him before the whole sordid thing came to light. He had only thought of freeing Sophie from Marsh, of establishing their prior relationship and his claim to the child. It was his child, after all. And no matter what Sophie said, it did give him some rights where she was concerned.
Yes, he should have handled things differently. But it was not too late. He would go after her. He noticed with irritation that she had refrained from mentioning her destination. Either Bath or Lynmouth, he supposed—and with Miss Thrupton as her companion, Lynmouth seemed most likely. Though the woman might simply be escorting her back to her family in Bath, so he couldn’t be sure.
Wesley went looking for his sister, guessing Sophie may have confided in her. He found Kate in the morning room with Miss Blake. He hesitated upon seeing her there as well. He would prefer not to discuss the situation with Angela present, but was in no mood to wait.
Kate looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “Wesley! Sophie has left us.”
He nodded and asked, “Did you know she meant to leave? Did she say anything?” He did not mention the note in his pocket, not wanting her to ask to read it.
“No, but Angela saw her at the coaching inn this morning with that friend who called yesterday.”
“Oh and what were you doing in the village this morning?” he asked Angela.
“Giving her a ride, if you must know.”
“And no doubt eager to do so. Did she say where she was going?”
“To her family in Bath, I believe. She said she wanted to have her child at home, and who can blame her for that? I am rather surprised she stayed as long as she did after Stephen left.”
Had Sophie gone to Bath? Wesley inwardly groaned. Could he go to her there, with her family present? It would be awkward, to say the least.
He turned and left, considering how best to proceed.