And what about Wesley? Stephen wondered. Would he remain true to his intention to step back and relinquish any claim to Mary Katherine, and be an uncle to her only, both publically and in private? He hoped so, or visits to Overtree Hall could be more tense and stressful yet, especially as Mary Katherine grew older.
Almighty God, direct our paths, he prayed. Soften hearts. After all, you are the King of redemption and restoration.
His parents were still away at a midweek service when they arrived at Overtree Hall. Stephen was glad for a little time to settle into their room, and feed and change Mary Katherine.
“Why do you not rest a while, my love?” Stephen suggested, after she’d nursed the baby. “We can wait and go down for dinner. No doubt Thurman will tell them we have arrived.”
“I shall try to rest if you do,” she said, Mary in her arms. “But I shan’t hide in here—if you go down, so shall I.”
“I didn’t mean you should hide. The past is the past, thanks be to God.”
She smiled tenderly up at him. “And thanks to you.”
He helped her off with her pelisse, pressed an affectionate kiss to her cheek, and turned her toward the bed, shooing her toward its comforts with a gentle pat to her bottom. She put a few pillows around the sleeping Mary to keep her from rolling off the bed, then climbed in herself.
Perhaps he would join her as soon as he struggled his boots off. He didn’t want to ring for Edgar. At the moment, he wanted only to enjoy Sophie and Mary Katherine in this room. Their room. He found himself remembering those restless nights he had slept in the dressing room—or tried to. More than once he had to run a cold cloth over his face and neck. Those lonely nights were over, thank the Lord.
He remembered the first time he saw her hair down, longing to run his hands through it. To tangle his fingers in its golden strands and gently draw her near for a slow, leisurely kiss. He found his heart rate accelerating at the thought. He might need cold water from his washstand yet.
He confessed, “Do you know many nights I lay in that dressing room—tormented by the thought of you on the other side of that door, a few yards away? Wanting to go to you. To kiss you. To be welcomed into your bed?”
Sophie smiled up at him and patted the blanket beside her. He didn’t need to be asked twice.
He leaned down and kissed her. But a scratch at the door drew him upright again.
A housemaid timidly opened the door. “Sorry, sir. Ma’am. But Mrs. Hill sent me up with fresh water for your washstands.”
Had the woman read his mind? At the moment, he would not thank her for interrupting.
“Hello, Libby,” Sophie greeted. “Are you well?”
“Yes, ma’am. Welcome back, ma’am.” The housemaid delivered the water, then asked him, “Shall I send up Edgar, sir?”
“When it’s time to dress for dinner, then yes. But no hurry.”
“Very good, sir.” She bobbed a curtsy and slipped from the room.
Sophie bit back a worried grin, and whispered, “Do you think she knows what we were up to in here?”
“I don’t care if she does,” Stephen said. “We are husband and wife. It goes with the territory.”
She grinned impishly. “And very glad of it I am.”
“Why, Mrs. Overtree . . .” He leaned in for another kiss.
They went down for dinner half an hour early, taking Mary Katherine with them. As he’d hoped, the baby proved an effective diversion to ease Sophie’s return.
“Thurman told us you’d arrived and were resting or we would have insisted on meeting this little lady earlier,” his father began.
“Let me have a look at her,” the colonel said, coming closer. “A bonny lass if ever I saw one.”
His mother nodded. “Sophie is right. She does look like you, Kate.”
“May I hold her?” his sister asked, holding out her slender arms.
Stephen obliged her, gingerly transferring the child. “Careful.”
“Oh, look. She has a strawberry birthmark,” his mother observed, leaning near. “Growing up, I had a dear friend with one of these on her cheek. The boys teased her about it—until I let them know in no uncertain terms that I would not tolerate such behavior.”
“Perfectly true,” the colonel spoke up with paternal pride. “She was only nine or ten, but my daughter could lay flat any boy in the parish.”
“Woe to the man who crosses her even today.” Mr. Overtree winked and put his arm around her.
“Pish.”
“Well, Mary Katherine Overtree, you are very welcome,” the colonel said, smiling into her little face. Mary cooed in reply and made a vague swat at his rather prominent nose.
When dinner was announced, Mrs. Overtree said, “Shall I ring for Mrs. Hill, and see if she might watch Mary Katherine while we dine?”
“No need, Mamma,” Stephen said. “Winnie can do that.”
“Winnie? I don’t know that Nurse Whitney is up to the task.”
“Nonsense, Janet,” the colonel said. “She is perfectly capable. And I daresay she would enjoy nothing more.”
“Do you think so, Papa? Well, then, I shall send for her.”
“That’s all right, Mamma,” Stephen said. “I will take Mary Katherine up to her. I want to introduce her to Winnie myself.”
“I’ll go along if you don’t mind,” Sophie said. “I’d like to see her too.”
“We’ll join you for dinner as soon as we can.”
Together they climbed the stairs to the attic, as eager as two children on their way to show a beloved grandmother a new prized possession.
They knocked softly and were invited in. “My boy! And Sophie! How delighted I am to see you again.”
“Winnie, may I introduce you to someone?” He turned the bundled child toward his old nurse. “This is Mary Katherine Overtree.”
“Ah! Master Stephen! I always knew you would find your rightful place in the end. And it is working out, all of it, you shall see.”
“I already see. And I am thankful for my many blessings.”
Winnie took the child in her arms, and instead of the added weight hunching her back farther, it seemed to straighten her spine. Eyes on the precious child, she murmured, “A beautiful family. An unexpected inheritance. Blessings meant for another are still blessings.”
Stephen and Sophie shared confused looks at that cryptic remark.
Stephen cleared his throat, and began, “Then, apparently you already know that she isn’t really mi—”
“Of course she is,” Winnie snapped, eyes flashing. “And never let me hear you say otherwise. You’re not too old for my stick!”
For a moment he feared the elderly woman was losing her better sense, but then he saw the glint of humor in her eyes.
He smiled. “I won’t forget. I promise.”
“Now, that’s more like it.”
Dinner was a somewhat awkward affair, everyone on his or her best behavior trying to be polite and friendly, while avoiding potentially awkward subjects like Wesley’s involvement with Sophie, Sophie’s leaving, and Miss Blake’s revelation. Apparently, Wesley had returned to Overtree Hall a few days before, and had gone to Windmere to speak to Miss Blake, but no more was said on the subject.
“Sophie has sold her first two paintings,” Stephen said, to break the strained silence.
Murmurs of approval rippled around the table.
“A Lynmouth landscape and a portrait to Sir Frederick Nevill himself. He declared her work most excellent. I’m no judge, of course, but I have to agree.”
Sophie ducked her head, clearly embarrassed at his praise.
Eager to divert attention, Sophie asked, “What is the news here? And where is Mr. Keith?”
His grandfather replied, “Keith has taken a former officer he met in Brussels to have him fitted for an artificial arm like his.”
Mrs. Overtree’s nose wrinkled. “Not while we’re eating, Papa.”
“Oh, Janet, why not? The man is finally doin
g something useful.”
“That is good news,” Stephen agreed.
“We don’t see Angela as often since . . . he left,” Kate added sadly.
But Stephen doubted Mr. Keith’s departure was the reason Angela felt less comfortable visiting Overtree Hall.
“We do see a great deal more of another neighbor though. Don’t we, Kate?” their grandfather teased, eyes twinkling.
Kate blushed, but Stephen saw her dimples appear and knew the topic pleased her.
“Oh? Might this neighbor be a certain Mr. Harrison?” Stephen asked.
Kate grinned up at him. “It might indeed.”
Stephen exchanged a look of surprise with Sophie. His mother, he noticed, did not utter a negative word about the young man—which said a great deal. Apparently she had revised her opinion of David Harrison. And hopefully of Sophie as well.
After dinner, the ladies withdrew to the adjacent parlour, leaving Stephen, his father, and grandfather in the dining room. Mr. Overtree had his usual small glass of port, while the colonel puffed on an after-dinner cigarillo.
His father began, “As you heard at dinner, you just missed your brother. He was here briefly to formally apologize to Miss Blake. But it was too little, too late.” He set down his glass. “So I suppose this is as good a time as any to tell you of my decision.”
“Oh?” Stephen asked, with a curious glance at his grandfather, who appeared as solemn as his father did.
“Yes. I cannot in good conscience allow your brother’s actions, his blatant disregard for duty and family—and every good Christian impulse—to go on unanswered. I have you and Katherine to think of, not to mention Miss Blake and other ladies like her. I also have to consider the estate itself, the house and land and tenants—its future. I can no longer fool myself, or allow your mother to sway me for a little more patience where Wesley is concerned. No. Were the estate entailed, I would have no choice—it would go to Wesley in its entirety after my death. But the estate has never been entailed and I may do with it as I think best in my will. This has not been an easy decision, but I believe it is the right one. I have decided to disinherit Wesley as heir and future master of Overtree Hall. Yours are the hands to steer the estate, Stephen. Assuming you are willing.”
Stephen’s heart beat dully at the grave pronouncement. “You know I am always ready and willing to help, Papa. You needn’t make me your heir. I have my military career to think of, and—”
“My military career, I think you mean,” the colonel interrupted. “My aspirations for you.” He grimaced. “I should not have forced my chosen career on you, nor made service a condition of the trust I offered you. I’m sorry. I knew, deep down, it was never what you wanted.” He lifted a hand. “Don’t mistake me. You made me proud and served with valor. You always put your heart into anything you undertake. That is your nature. You commit without looking back, whether it be a career, a faith, a wife, a child . . . I admire that about you, my boy. And I know you will commit yourself in the same way to the preservation and improvement of this great estate.”
“But, Colonel . . . I am not yet thirty. I am no quitter. I don’t wish to let you or the army down.”
“I think a certain French saber has done that for you. That coupled with Boney’s exile. His last, if I don’t miss my guess. You might live on your half pay, but why should you, when you are heir to Overtree Hall? If your country still needed you, that would be one thing. But the war is over. For good, this time, God willing. You can sell your commission. Settle down. You have a wife to think of now. A daughter.”
“Yes, I have.”
“I am sorry, you know,” his father said. “About the way we treated Sophie when she first arrived, and after the scandal with Wesley came out. She isn’t the woman your mother and I would have chosen for either of you. But I understand why you did it. I hope Sophie will understand our concerns and forgive us in time.”
“And Mamma?” Stephen asked.
“Well, she may take a little more time to get over the whole ordeal.” He lifted a consoling palm. “Don’t mistake me. We admire you and respect what you did. And realize it is Wesley who is truly to blame for the situation in the first place. Not you. Hence our discussion here this evening.”
“Does Wesley know of your decision?”
“Not yet. The lawyers are working on the papers as we speak.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, it is more of a blow to your mother than to Wesley himself, who will probably be relieved to be freed of the responsibility . . . though not the financial benefits that come with it.”
Stephen suggested, “Perhaps you might rewrite the trust, Colonel. Leave Wesley a little something to soften the blow.”
His grandfather inhaled. “It did cross my mind. But I wasn’t sure it would be fair to you.”
“I didn’t serve to receive your money.”
“You served to please me. I know. And you have. I will not countenance leaving it all to him, but I would consider dividing it between the three of you—you, Wes, and Kate.”
“That is very kind of you, Grandfather.”
“Pfff. Not really. I may spend it all yet myself if I live long enough,” he teased. “A third of nothing is nothing.”
“You might have told me that before I rushed headlong into that French saber,” Stephen replied. And the two former military officers shared knowing grins.
In the white parlour, Mrs. Overtree, Sophie, and Kate sat together waiting for the men to join them.
Sophie had long ago guessed Wesley had broken Angela’s heart, but she had been stunned and grieved when Stephen had told her about the child. Now she said tentatively, “I was sorry to hear Miss Blake visits less frequently. She is . . . in good health, I trust?”
“I believe so,” Kate said with an uneasy little smile. “When I saw her in church on Sunday, I assured her she is more than welcome here, so hopefully she will call again soon.”
Mrs. Overtree changed the subject. “I have been thinking that we ought to host a christening dinner. Mary Katherine hasn’t been baptized yet, I trust?”
“No. Stephen wanted to wait and have her christened in the church here, with all of you in attendance.”
“Very thoughtful. Yes. It is a little unusual, waiting this long. But not unheard of to wait even longer, say, during an especially cold winter. No one wants to carry a little lamb out in the frigid weather, especially after being doused with water. Who shall serve as her godparents?”
“I was thinking Kate might, as her namesake. And . . . you and Mr. Overtree, perhaps?”
Her eyebrows rose. “Very good. Have you been churched yet?”
“I was. Mrs. Thrupton insisted upon it.”
“Excellent. We should send out cards announcing the birth.” She looked at Sophie. “Have you any visiting cards upon which we may write Mary Katherine’s name and date of birth? Or perhaps we should use the baptism date, so there is no . . . confusion.”
“No. I’m afraid I haven’t any cards.”
“What a pity. I doubt there is time to have them printed. Ah well. I will at least send my cards to some dear friends and neighbors, to let them know we will be receiving afternoon callers. I shall ask Mrs. John to have biscuits and tea ready. Many of our neighbors will wish to see Stephen’s”—she hesitated—“the newest Overtree.”
“It’s all right, Mrs. Overtree,” Sophie said gently. “Mary Katherine is and shall be Stephen’s daughter. Henceforth and forever.”
“Good. Well. That’s good then. Easier. For everyone.” She shifted on her chair, then glanced down and brightened. “There you are!”
To Sophie’s surprise, a grey cat arched against Mrs. Overtree’s skirt, and the woman bent down to stroke it. Sophie recognized the white patch that spotted the cat’s nose like cream—the smallest of Gulliver’s kittens, now an adolescent.
“Mr. Harrison helped us find homes for the others,” Kate explained with a fond smile. “But Mamma couldn’t give this one up.”
“N
ow, Kate, you know Mrs. John needed a good mouser. And besides, it would have been uncharitable to turn out the poor creature.”
Sophie bit back a grin as the cat’s rumbling purr grew louder. “And how is Gulliver?” she asked.
“Already up to her old tricks,” Kate replied. “Sneaking down the old passage from Winnie’s room and out the scullery door. No doubt visiting her beau in the churchyard.”
The grey cat curled up next to her chair, and Mrs. Overtree straightened, taking charge of the conversation once more. “May I ask how Wesley reacted? We know he went to see you, but he would say nothing of it while he was here. He didn’t put up a fight?”
Sophie paused to consider how best to answer. She said evenly, “He met Mary Katherine, agreed she looks like Kate, and handed her to Stephen.” All true, though the explanation left so much unsaid. Perhaps it was for the best.
The parlour doors opened, and Mrs. Overtree turned. “That was quick.”
But it was not the men come to join them—it was Angela Blake. The footman announced her, then departed, closing the door behind himself.
“I hope you will forgive the intrusion,” Angela began. “But I knew you would have eaten already and I couldn’t wait to meet the newest Overtree.”
“We are very happy to see you, Angela,” Kate said. “You know you are always welcome.”
Mrs. Overtree rang the bell and sent the footman to ask Winnie to bring down the child.
While they waited, Angela handed Sophie a wrapped package.
“I’ve brought a little something for her.”
“Thank you, that was very kind.” Sophie accepted the gift and unwrapped the tissue. Inside was a small baby blanket embroidered with white hollie point lace. “It’s beautiful. My goodness. Did you do this needlework yourself?”
“I did, yes. A long time ago. But it hasn’t been used—never fear.”
“I wouldn’t mind if it were. It’s lovely. Thank you.” Had Angela embroidered all that delicate white work for her own child? Only to give the child away to a foundling home before the blanket might ever be put to use? A hollow ache filled Sophie’s chest at the thought of losing Mary Katherine like that. She silently prayed that Angela’s child, wherever he or she was, had been placed in a caring home and was growing up content and healthy.