Chapter 5
Sophie bid Mrs. Thrupton farewell at the bottom of the gangway.
“You’re certain?” Mavis asked one last time.
Sophie braved a smile. “Yes. Quite certain.” She embraced the woman and resisted the urge to hold on too tight or too long.
She released her friend, avoided meeting the captain’s brooding gaze, and preceded him up the gangway.
Together they crossed the deck, passing two other couples and half a dozen crewmen busy with ropes and baggage. He led her down a steep set of stairs toward the cabin he had purchased for the trip.
“Be forewarned. Even the best cabins are small.” He opened the door for her, set his own kit on the floor, and surveyed the room.
The cabin held a narrow bunk and a porthole high on the outside wall.
His broad shoulders seemed to fill the space.
Very close quarters indeed. Did he mean to share it with her?
He would not fit in that bunk with her—unless their limbs were completely entwined.
She swallowed at the thought. The ship tilted as it left its berth and moved toward open water.
Her stomach roiled, and she pressed a hand against the wall to steady herself.
“Try to get some sleep,” he said. “I’ll go up on deck and leave you in peace. Lock the door behind me.”
She breathed a sigh of relief when he left. A relief that was short-lived when the ship lurched to the side and then rose and fell. Her stomach lurched in reply. It would be a long night.
The bedclothes looked dingy and smelled less than fresh, so Sophie laid her cloak over the bed and lay down fully clothed. Eventually she fell into an uneasy sleep.
A few hours later, she rose, feeling ill. Bile soured the back of her throat. She quickly scanned the room, swiped up the basin, and held it in her lap.
Someone knocked softly. “Miss Dupont? It’s me.”
She recognized his low voice.
“Don’t panic. I’ve only come to bring you something to eat.”
She rose on unsteady legs and unlocked the door. Captain Overtree stood there, candle lamp in one hand, a bowl of something in the other.
“Thought you might be hungry . . .” He studied her face by candlelight. “Are you all right? You look unwell.”
“Sea travel doesn’t agree with me.”
“Ah. Sorry to hear it. Maybe eating something will help?”
She took one whiff of the fish soup and her stomach wrung. She turned and retched into the basin. How mortifying! At least she need not worry he would find her attractive and be tempted to rush the honeymoon.
“I’ll see if I can find some bread or something plain.” He left, taking the offending soup and the basin with him. Her ears burned in embarrassment to have him do so.
He returned a short while later and handed her a hunk of crusty bread wrapped in brown paper.
“Better?”
She nodded and accepted it gratefully. “Thank you.” She nibbled a piece, then said, “I have managed a few hours of sleep, if you would like a turn.” She gestured toward the bunk with a nervous hand.
He removed his hat. “Perhaps I’d better, or I shall not be fit for anything tomorrow.”
He stretched out on the bunk fully clothed, crossing his hands over his chest. Eyes closed, he said, “How can I sleep with you watching me?”
“Oh, sorry. Shall I go up and take some air while you sleep?”
He opened his eyes. “No. Please stay. I won’t sleep if I have to worry about sailors ogling you. Or worse.”
“Very well.”
He closed his eyes again. She sat on a small stool in the corner and pretended not to watch him.
He turned on his side—the scarred side of his face pressed into the pillow.
A few minutes later, his breathing slowed and he apparently slept.
Sophie leaned her head back against the wall, took deep breaths to ease her nausea, and prayed.
The bed ropes creaked, and her eyes flew open, thinking he’d awakened. But he had only turned over in his sleep. She leaned near, looking more closely at the jagged, angry-looking scar snaking into his side-whiskers. She wondered how he’d gotten it but doubted she really wanted to know.
When they neared St. Peter Port the following day, Sophie tidied her hair, donned her lace cap and shawl, and repacked her valise. Together they disembarked and easily found their way to the stately brown-brick Town Church overlooking the harbor—its tall steeple visible from the docks.
Inside they saw another couple before them, a doe-eyed brunette and her attentive lover. Their adoring gazes and secret smiles made Sophie feel all the more self-conscious, standing beside this stiff, austere man who barely glanced at her and certainly wasted no smiles on her.
They met the Reverend Mr. Partridge, who smiled enough for the rest of them, and who would conduct the wedding for a fee. His amiable wife and grown son, who also served as parish clerk, would act as witnesses.
When their turn came, Sophie and Captain Overtree walked up the aisle to the altar. Sophie held the silk flowers Mrs. Thrupton had given her, chagrined to see them tremble in her hands.
How awkward she felt standing with this stranger, forming vague smiles as the cheerful clergyman explained what would happen next, and asking the requisite questions: had they both come of their free will to be married, their ages, and so on.
Tension emanated from Captain Overtree. Was he having second thoughts? She could not blame him if he were. For her part, Sophie felt oddly numb. Her decision made, she went through the motions without resistance or deep thought, as though performing a role in a play.
With his wife and son looking on, the parson began, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God . . . to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony; which is an honorable estate . . . signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and His Church; and therefore is not by any to be enterprised unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, to satisfy men’s carnal lusts and appetites, but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God . . .”
Sophie’s heart beat hard at the parson’s words. Were they entering into holy matrimony “unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly”? A chill went up her neck at the thought.
The parson continued, “First, it was ordained for the procreation of children, to be brought up in the fear and nurture of the Lord . . .”
Would she and Captain Overtree have children together?
Sophie wondered. It seemed difficult to imagine when he would barely look at her, let alone touch her.
But he was a man of faith, apparently. So might he help her raise the child she already carried to love and fear the Lord?
She hoped so—if he lived. Even though faith had not played a role in her upbringing, she wanted it for her own child.
“Secondly, it was ordained for a remedy against sin, and to avoid fornication . . .”
Sophie flinched at the word. What must Captain Overtree think of her?
“Thirdly, it was ordained for the mutual society, help, and comfort . . . both in prosperity and adversity. Into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined. Therefore, if any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”
Sophie instinctively glanced toward the door. Captain Overtree gave her a cynical look, his mouth ruefully quirked. He no doubt guessed whom she hoped to see.
The parson now spoke directly to them, “I require and charge you both, that if either of you know any impediment why ye may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, ye do now confess it. . . .”
Last chance, Sophie thought to herself. She glanced up and found the captain watching her. She blinked and returned her gaze to the parson.
Hearing none, Mr. Partridge continued, “Stephen Marshall Overtree, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony?
Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live? ”
He lifted his chin. “I will.”
Then the clergyman looked at her and asked her a variation of the same questions.
Heart thudding, Sophie ran her tongue over dry lips. “I will.”
Then the smiling parson took Sophie’s right hand and joined it with the captain’s. Would he notice her sweating palms? The captain’s fingers were cool and loose, and she might have easily slipped from his grasp.
“Repeat after me,” Mr. Partridge said. “I, Stephen Marshall Overtree, take thee, Sophia Margaretha Dupont, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth. ”
Captain Overtree repeated the words in a low monotone, then released her hand.
Mr. Partridge turned to her. “Now take your groom by the right hand and repeat after me. . . .”
Sophie repeated the words, a marionette on a string, her mouth opening and closing while a little voice in her mind cried out, “What are you doing? How can you vow to love, cherish and obey this man till death, when you love another?” She ignored the voice, and repeated the words by rote.
Words she had heard recited at several weddings in her life—including her father’s own recent nuptials.
It seemed as if she were listening from across the room, as if someone else were intoning the words, while her heart remained aloof.
Mr. Partridge leaned forward and whispered to the captain. “The ring?”
The captain stiffened.
“Oh!” Sophie exclaimed. She had forgotten to give it to the captain in advance. She fished it from her bodice, unclasped it from the chain, and handed it to him, her face burning all the while.