Chapter 3 #2
She pushed through the inn door and slid onto the bench across from the man before he could say a word. He paused, glass raised halfway to his lips in his one remaining hand. He might be attractive if he were sober and groomed—and if he wiped the ever-present smirk off his face.
She abruptly began, “I thought you went with him.”
He shook his dark head, eyes bleary with drink.
“I wasn’t invited. No—that’s not fair. I had insufficient funds for the journey, and for once my generous friend was disinclined to pay my way.
” He smirked. “Wesley went without me, so I plan to return to Overtree Hall without him.” Mr. Keith lifted his pint. “As soon as my ale money runs out.”
She didn’t fully trust the man, so she asked indirectly, “You are acquainted with Mr. Overtree’s family?”
“That I am.”
“And . . . his brother?”
“Yes. Better than most, I’d say. I fought with him in Spain. Saved his life, at the cost of my arm.”
She leaned forward. “What can you tell me about him?”
A wary look entered his eyes. “Why do you ask?”
“I’ve met him. He is here looking for Wesley.”
Carlton Keith sat up straighter and glanced over his shoulder as though the captain might be right behind him. When he spoke again his demeanor changed, his tone less cocksure and more respectful.
“I may have bragged a bit about saving his life. Truth is, he saved mine. After I lost my arm, I was invalided to England and later discharged. While he was on leave, he took me under his wing, so to speak. Got me on my feet again. That’s how I met Wesley in the first place.
The captain asked me to keep an eye on his brother, and I’ve been doing so ever since.
’Til now.” Mr. Keith tipped his head back and drained his glass.
“He was your commanding officer?” she asked.
“Aye. Poor sot was stuck with me. I had about as much business with a gun as Gainsborough’s Blue Boy.” He laughed. “Green boy, more like, still wet behind the ears. My father purchased my commission, sure it would be the making of me.”
She regarded him seriously. “Was it?”
He flipped up his empty sleeve. “You tell me.”
She was about to feel sorry for the man, until she remembered her own situation.
She decided to keep her reasons for asking to herself, because Carlton Keith knew she and Wesley had spent a great deal of time together alone in his cottage.
“Is he . . . a good man? Can I trust him?”
Speculative light sparked in Mr. Keith’s green eyes. “Trust him . . . with what?”
When she made no reply, he watched her face a moment longer, then ordered another pint. “Does he know I’m here in town?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. Is it a secret?”
“No. Though he won’t like to hear I’ve abandoned my charge.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “He has his nurse, and Wesley has me. Or he did have, until he left without me.”
She didn’t understand what he meant about the captain having a nurse, but the publican appeared with a fresh pint, so she didn’t ask.
Keith drained half of it, then set down his glass with a decisive thunk.
“Stephen Overtree is stern, stubborn, and self-righteous. Humorless, and about as much fun as a guilt-ridden puritan. He has a bad temper, little conversation, and is infamous for his black moods and black looks. We soldiers called him Captain Black. And Wesley the same, as well as Marsh. Or sometimes, Blister, because he considers his younger brother an ever-present pain. Of course, Wesley has a nickname for everyone. I’m CK or sometimes Flap, on account of my wing here.
” His eyes glittered with challenge. “Do you want to know what he called you?”
“No.” Sophie exhaled. “I don’t think I do.”
Mr. Keith rose to leave, and Sophie’s heart sank at his grim assessment of Captain Overtree’s character.
Then the man turned back. For a moment the ironic humor faded from his florid face and he said earnestly, “I could bear a year in Wesley’s company better than a week in his brother’s. But if I were in trouble, the captain’s the one I’d turn to.”
Late that afternoon, Sophie sat at Mrs. Thrupton’s kitchen table with a cup of tea.
Mavis looked at her in concern. “You’ve made your decision, then?”
Had she? Sophie had let herself get swept away by romance with Wesley, and look where it had gotten her. She couldn’t afford to let her heart rule her any longer. She had to think practically about her welfare and the welfare of her child.
She took a deep breath. “Yes. Captain Overtree may never love me, but I hope he will care for, or at least provide for, my child.” She pressed a hand to her midriff. “This is his niece or nephew, after all.”
“Are you sure this is what you want, my dear?”
“Want? No. But it seems the lesser of evils.” Better to be an unloved wife or even a war widow, she had concluded, than a shamed woman shunned from society and her family. She hoped she was doing the right thing—for the baby’s sake and her own.
The kindly woman leaned forward and grasped her arm. “Then I shall pray that he will treat you kindly. And never give you cause to regret it.”
“So shall I.”
“And I will accompany you. At least to the coast. That way, you may report to your family and his that you were chaperoned on the journey. Besides, my dear, it will give me time to observe him. Assure myself he is of good character and will not ill use you.”
“At least while you are with us.”
“Well. Hopefully never. He is Mr. Overtree’s brother, after all. He would have mentioned if the man were a criminal or a notorious rake, would he not?”
“I suppose so. We shall have to ask his permission, I suppose, about your going along. As he is hiring the chaise and driver.”
Mavis lifted her chin. “I’d like to see him try to refuse me.”
Sophie bit back a grin. Mavis Thrupton should be the one marrying Captain Black—they would be better suited, despite their age difference.
“I suppose I must tell Maurice,” Sophie said, dreading the task. “I don’t want to risk him sending word to my father that I’ve disappeared—or worse.”
“Perhaps you might leave him a note. And you will write to your father as well, I trust?”
“Yes, I had better. Heaven help me work out what to say. . . .”
Mrs. Thrupton supplied paper, quill, and ink, and Sophie sat down to write.
The few, impersonal lines to Maurice came easily.
But when she began a letter to her father, she was surprised to find tears blurring her vision.
She reminded herself that she would have happily moved away from her family if she’d married Wesley.
And that she would be ostracized from them if she married no one.
At least as a respectable officer’s wife, she could still visit and be received in their home—and not lose contact altogether.
Dearest Papa,
I have some surprising news. By the time you read this, I shall be a married woman.
I know this is sudden, and unexpected. I met my intended after you left to fulfill your commission—though I have known of his family for more than a year.
His name is Captain Stephen Overtree. You are acquainted with his brother, Mr. Wesley Overtree.
At all events, everything between us happened quickly, and because Captain Overtree must depart soon to return to his regiment—too soon to allow time to ask your blessing, or post banns—we plan to marry on the Island of Guernsey as soon as may be.
I know this will come as a shock to you, Papa.
I am sorry for it, and hope you and Mrs. Dupont will not be overly disappointed.
The captain and I plan to travel to Bath as soon as we return, so you may become acquainted with him.
I hope that will not be inconvenient. In the meantime, I have left the studio in Maurice’s care.
I know you have great faith in him, so I trust you won’t mind.
Mrs. Thrupton will serve as chaperone for our journey, but promises to help Maurice manage the cottages when she returns to Lynmouth.
Until we meet again, I remain,
Your loving daughter,
Sophie
She blotted, folded, and sealed the letter, preparing it for the post.
Mavis had disappeared into her own bedchamber while Sophie wrote her letters, but now she came out, carrying several things in her arms.
“I don’t know if you have given any thought to what you will wear for the wedding, my dear. Of course, you would be lost in any of my gowns, but I do have this silk shawl, and a cap you might wear, along with one of your finer muslins.”
Sophie fingered the soft silk shawl, white shot with primrose, with embossed satin flowers, and very handsome fringe. “It’s lovely,” she breathed. “I would be honored to wear it. The cap as well. I like the lace trimming. It’s smarter than anything I own.”
Mavis handed her a small bunch of silk flowers, “In case the captain doesn’t think to stop for hothouse flowers. If only it were later in the spring we could pick a fine bouquet.”
“That’s all right, Mrs. Thrupton. These will do very well.”
Mavis sucked in a breath, then clapped a hand to her cheek.
“Oh no! I completely forgot about a ring! He does not wear one on his little finger, does he, that might suffice until he can replace it? I have a plain silver band, but if it fits my sausage fingers, it shan’t fit you. And there’s no jeweler for miles.”
“That’s all right. Don’t worry.” Sophie tugged gently on the chain she wore around her neck, fishing out its end from within her bodice. “I wear my mother’s ring as a pendant. There is no other ring I would wish for.”