Chapter 9 #2
Then they walked up another flight of stairs and through a long echoing gallery, and Sophie imagined the Overtree children riding hobby horses and chasing each other in games of tag and hide-and-seek when the weather kept them indoors.
Mrs. Overtree pointed out Wesley’s bedchamber as well as the room adjacent that served as his studio, and the guest rooms sometimes used by Mr. Keith or Miss Blake.
From there, Mrs. Overtree gestured up the stairwell leading to the highest floor. “Up there are the old nursery, schoolroom, and housemaids’ bedchambers. I doubt you shall have any occasion to venture there.”
Sophie doubted it as well. But she wondered again if Captain Overtree had ventured up there, and why.
On their way back downstairs, Mrs. Overtree paused to point out a portrait among the dozens they had passed unheralded. Sophie sucked in a breath and prayed her expression gave nothing away.
“And this is my eldest son, Wesley Overtree. Oh, perhaps you have met him?”
“Yes. In Devonshire.”
“Ah. You are probably not well-acquainted, but is it not a fair likeness?”
“Yes . . .” Sophie dragged her gaze from the handsome visage to her new mother-in-law, noticing the similarities between them. “He looks a great deal like you, Mrs. Overtree.”
“Thank you. He takes after me far more than either Stephen or Katherine. In looks and in artistic temperament.”
“Oh? Do you paint as well?” Sophie asked.
“When I was young, I painted for my own enjoyment, though I was never trained. If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient.” She sighed.
“But that was before the responsibilities of caring for my children, husband, and household took precedence. You will find out soon enough how becoming a wife and mother changes everything. For better and for worse.”
Sophie forced a smile. Oh yes, she would. And sooner than anyone might guess. If only she could joyfully anticipate the birth of her child like a happily married woman!
Mrs. Overtree nodded toward the next portrait. “And Wesley painted this one of Katherine when she was sixteen.”
Sophie recognized Wesley’s style but didn’t judge it his best work. In the portrait, Kate appeared to be in the awkward throes of adolescence, her nose rather squat. And he had captured none of her vibrant personality.
“And of course you recognize Stephen.” Mrs. Overtree gestured toward a portrait on the other side of Kate’s.
Actually, Sophie had not recognized it. In fact, she might have walked right past without noticing.
She stepped nearer, studying the image. How young he looked.
How innocent. His eyes were clear and blue.
So full of life and hope, with none of the guard and callous irony she saw now when she looked at him.
And no scar marred his face. No overgrown hair and side-whiskers masked its planes.
“He looks so different,” she breathed, an odd ache beneath her breastbone.
“Yes,” Mrs. Overtree agreed. “He was different. He has lived several hard years since then. I hope the worst is behind him, and that marriage will do him good.”
Sophie nodded. “So do I.” But considering the nature of their marriage and his misgivings about his fate, she doubted it.
When they returned to the morning room where they’d begun, Sophie saw that Kate had dressed for the day. Another woman sat across from her.
Kate smiled. “Sophie, allow me to introduce my good friend and neighbor, Miss Angela Blake. Angela, my new sister, Sophie Overtree.”
The woman winced as though a bright light shone in her eyes, but she managed a convincing smile.
Angela . . . Sophie’s attention caught on the name. This, then, was not “Jenny.”
Miss Blake was an elegant redhead with a long, aristocratic face, faint freckles warming china-white skin, and childlike lips, the top lip heavily bowed in the middle.
Her thick ginger hair was swept back to the crown of her regal head, and from there lustrous curls tumbled down her neck.
She wore an ivory gown with a fern green overdress, excellent for her coloring.
She held herself in pristine posture, unlike Kate’s casual ease.
But then, Miss Blake looked to be in her midtwenties, whereas girlish Kate was only eighteen.
“I should not introduce Angela as my particular friend,” Kate said, “as she has been chasing after my brothers since before I was born, growing up just over the garden wall as she has.”
“Don’t say ‘chasing after,’” Miss Blake corrected with a self-conscious laugh. “As though I set my cap at them.”
“Of course not! I only meant that you played together as children, running wild all over the parish, to hear Stephen tell it, and getting into mischief.”
“That I cannot deny.”
Kate turned back to Sophie. “The Blakes live in that pretty red brick manor house. Have you seen it? It’s lovely. Perhaps you might give Sophie a tour one day soon, Angela?”
The woman dipped her head. “If she likes.”
“I have just given her a tour of Overtree Hall,” her mother-in-law said. “Let’s not overwhelm her all at once.”
“Sophie, tell Angela the story of how you and Stephen met,” Kate urged.
Sophie demurred. “Oh, I don’t think Miss Blake wants to hear all that.”
A housemaid appeared, carrying a tea tray, and laid it on the table between them.
“Ah, saved by the tea,” Miss Blake said. “Perfect. Do you want to pour, Kate, or shall I?”
“Please do, Angela,” Mrs. Overtree said, taking her seat. “Katherine is forever spilling it.”
Captain Overtree entered the room. “Ah, Angela. I see you’ve met my . . . Sophie.”
“I have met your Sophie, yes. I must say I was surprised to learn you had married. I thought you were a confirmed bachelor.”
A teasing grin played about the captain’s mouth and his eyes shone. Seeing it, Sophie felt a stab of . . . What? Insecurity? Jealousy?
“Oh? And what about you?” he said. “You are—”
Something flashed in her eyes, and he abruptly changed tack, “You are the one who once told me you pitied the woman brave enough to marry me.”
Miss Blake blinked up at him innocently. “Did I?” She turned to Sophie. “Should I pity you, do you think?”
Sophie hesitated. “I . . . wouldn’t say so, no.”
“Not very convincing.”
Mrs. Overtree accepted a cup of tea and said politely, “I hear your brother has recently become engaged, Angela. Is that right?”
“Yes,” Miss Blake replied, her smile barely forming before disappearing again. “And him only one and twenty. I am surrounded by happy couples. My joy knows no bounds.”
Sophie wondered at her brittle, barely concealed sarcasm .
. . or was it wistfulness? Did she fear herself a spinster?
Miss Blake was no longer in the first blush of youth, but she was still an attractive woman, and still young enough to marry.
Had she wished to marry Captain Overtree herself? Sophie hoped not.
She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to ask a hurtful question or say the wrong thing. Had Miss Blake ever been engaged? Had a suitor? Flirted with the Overtree brothers? Perhaps she would ask Kate sometime. She doubted she’d have the courage to ask Captain Overtree himself.
“I have not seen your marriage mentioned in the papers,” Miss Blake said. “And you know some say the newspaper announcement is more important than the wedding itself, socially speaking, of course.”
Mrs. Overtree interjected, “I intend to remedy that, never fear. I shall write to the Times and the Courier myself. Something simple, I think, like: ‘Lately, Captain Stephen Overtree of the 28th North Gloucestershire Regiment, to Miss Sophie Dupont of Bath.’”
“Nothing about Sophie’s family? Or the wedding itself?” Miss Blake asked.
“Sometimes less is more.”
“So . . .” Miss Blake glanced at the captain, fingering the fringe on the sofa cushion. “I suppose your brother attended as witness? Or was it that friend of yours from the army, Keith something?”
“Neither, actually. Wesley has sailed for Italy again. And Lieutenant Keith was . . . indisposed. Though he did mention he would be coming here. In fact, I am surprised he isn’t here already.”
“Do you expect him soon?” Miss Blake asked.
“Yes, I do.”
“Heaven help us all,” Mrs. Overtree sighed. “I shall have to warn Cook to double her recipes.”