Chapter 16 #2
He looked at her again, emotions flashing behind his eyes. Then he waved the notion away. “There is one hanging downstairs.”
“But it is several years out of date, painted when you were young.”
He smirked. “And I am ancient now, am I?”
“No, but you were only, what, twenty at the time?”
He nodded. “Father hired an artist to paint Wesley when he came of age. Had me sit for him at the same time, since the man came from a distance.”
“It is time for a new one.”
“I prefer the way my face looks in the old one,” he grumbled. “Remember me that way.”
“How can I, when I never knew that Stephen?”
She rarely used his Christian name, and he swiftly lifted his head at the sound.
“More’s the pity,” he said, then heaved a sigh. “Oh, very well. I give in. I should have known I never stood a chance with the two of you joining forces against me.” He sent Kate a mock scowl. “But not today. I have a meeting with the new estate manager, Mr. Boyle.”
“Tomorrow, then,” Kate said. “And while you’re at it, meet with your barber as well. You could use a haircut.”
“Thank you, Kate. You do wonders for my pride.”
“Have him trim your side-whiskers too,” Sophie suggested. “We want to see your face.”
“No you don’t.”
“Yes,” she insisted gently. “We do.”
At the appointed hour the next day, Captain Stephen Overtree took a deep breath and entered the schoolroom.
Sophie turned, her gaze sweeping over him and her mouth parted.
“Kate insisted I wear my dress uniform, but if you prefer, I can change.”
“No, it’s . . .” She hesitated. “I have never seen you in uniform. You look very handsome in it. And I like your hair shorter like that. Your side-whiskers too.”
His uniform was of fine scarlet with stand-up collar, gold epaulets, and yellow facings over light trousers and Hessian boots. He carried an ornamental dress sword in one hand, and a tall black hat with a plume under his arm.
“Please. Be seated.” She gestured toward a chair positioned in front of the easel.
Stephen sat. “Miss Blake came to call, so Kate is detained. She said to proceed and she will join us as soon as she is able.”
“Very well.”
She stood beside her tall stool near the easel for a moment, just looking at him. Uncomfortable under her intense scrutiny, he shifted.
“Turn your head, Captain. No, the other way.”
“But this is my good side,” he said. He’d obliged them by getting his hair and side-whiskers trimmed, but now his scar was more noticeable.
She shook her head. “Look at me straight on. I want to paint your face, not just your profile.”
He wished he could turn away, hide that part of him in the shadows. Instead she had him sit near the window, sunlight spilling over him, revealing every inch of his scar in grotesque detail, or so he feared.
“If I am to have my likeness rendered, I should not like the focus to be on my scar.”
“Is this portrait for you, or for me?” Sophie asked. “Will you be looking at it while you’re away, or shall I?”
“No one shall, if I have anything to say about it.”
She tilted her head, expression thoughtful. “Think of it this way, Captain. A portrait is like an ornamental headstone. It is not for the subject, but for those who look upon it. For those who want to remember.”
“Interesting analogy, Mrs. Overtree,” he said dryly. “Though yes, this is a grim occasion in my view, so an apt comparison.” He lifted his sword. “I salute you.”
She gave him a rueful smile. Then she tilted her head the other way, peering at him. Had he cut himself shaving? Had he food in his teeth? Or . . . ?
She rose and walked toward him. Unsure of her intention, he watched her approach, forgetting to breathe.
She lifted a hand toward him. “May I?”
He managed a nod.
She raised splayed fingers and tentatively rearranged the hair falling over his brow, brushing the stubborn lock into submission.
He tried not to enjoy the feeling of her fingers in his hair. Not to reach out and capture her hand. Or put his arms around her and draw her near for a kiss on her maddening mouth.
She stunned him by lowering to her knees before his chair, taking his free hand in both of hers, and looking up at him—earnestly. Beseechingly. She could have asked for anything at that moment and he would have been powerless to refuse her.
“I know this is difficult for you. But please believe me when I tell you that I like what I see when I look at you. Your scar is much bigger in your eyes than in mine or probably in anyone else’s.
It’s a small part of a big man. It only serves to make you look more .
. . masculine. Now, will you please trust me? ”
His chest tightened, and his heart beat hard. “I do trust you, Sophie.” Probably more than I should for my heart’s sake, he thought.
She squeezed his hand, and smiled gently into his face.
To blazes with resolve, he thought, and leaned down to kiss her. Her eyes widened in surprise as he neared, but she did not pull away.
“Here I am!” Kate announced, bolting breathless into the room.
“Thought she’d never go. And of course I could not tell her why I wanted her to—” She drew up short, looking from Stephen’s posture to Sophie on her knees.
“Oh, you newly married couples!” she protested.
“Shall I leave you alone? And after I have all but pushed Angela out the door so I might watch Sophie paint you!”
“Not at all, Kate.” Sophie blushed. “We were just, em . . .”
Stephen straightened. “As you can see from Sophie’s posture, she was simply begging me to go along with this little scheme of yours,” he teased. “And I have agreed, out of the goodness of my heart.”
Sophie painted for nearly an hour, quietly explaining to Kate what she was doing as she went. Then she checked her watch pin and announced they had better end for the day—the dressmaker was due soon. The captain rose in relief and made his escape.
Kate remained to help Sophie clean her brushes, and then the two women left together.
They paused at Winnie’s door to greet her, but she was not there.
They continued downstairs and parted ways toward their respective rooms to wash hands before the fitting.
As Sophie approached her bedchamber, she was surprised to see a brown-paper-wrapped package propped against her door.
She picked it up and opened it. Inside she found an old book, and angled it to look at the title: The Rearing and Management of Children.
Her breath hitched and she looked around, relieved to not see anyone nearby.
Sophie went inside and closed the door behind herself, breathing a little too hard.
Surely Captain Overtree would not leave such a thing out in the corridor.
But who else knew she was expecting? She quickly flipped through the yellowing pages, and saw they were dog-eared and underlined.
Winnie . . . Who besides a nurse who’d had the charge and care of children for decades would possess such a well-used book?
Did Winnie know she was with child? Or was she simply looking ahead to a likely eventuality?
In either case, Sophie rewrapped the book and tucked it deep into her bedside table drawer for the present.
She didn’t want anyone else to see it and deduce the truth. Not yet.
Mrs. Pannet arrived on schedule for the final fittings on the dresses for the dinner party.
Mrs. Overtree called the girls into her boudoir, where she could sit in comfort and oversee and approve.
The dressmaker’s assistant helped Kate into her pink satin gown, and did up the fastenings, while Mrs. Pannet surveyed the girl from all angles. “Well, madame?”
“Perfect,” Mrs. Overtree declared.
Then it was Sophie’s turn. The blue-and-white gown settled into place, and the assistant laced up the back, pulling tighter, and struggling to fasten the little decorative buttons at the back of the bodice.
The dressmaker frowned. “Have you put on weight since I first measured you?”
Sophie felt her face heat, flashed a look at Mrs. Overtree and faltered, “I’m afraid I may have . . .”
Mrs. Overtree said, “We eat well here at Overtree Hall. Don’t we, Sophie?”
“Yes,” Sophie agreed. “I confess I am not accustomed to sweets and puddings with every meal. I shall be plump in no time at this rate.”
“Yes, a young lady must take care with her figure. Even when newly married. Unless . . .” Mrs. Overtree let the phrase dangle, unfinished. Her eyes surveyed Sophie head to toe and lingered on her middle.
“I shall have to alter this,” the dressmaker said, long-suffering and officious. “But I will have it finished in time for the big day—never fear.”
The dressmaker and her assistant gathered their things and took their leave, while the Overtree ladies remained on the comfortable sofa and armchair in Mrs. Overtree’s boudoir. Libby brought the ladies tea, and they sat sipping and talking.
Mrs. Overtree said, “Only a few days from now and still so much to do.”
“Mamma, you did invite Mr. Harrison, did you not?” Kate asked.
“No, I did not. Not specifically. Though of course I had to invite Mr. and Mrs. Nelson and they will probably bring him along.”
Kate nodded. “He is their son, after all.”
“No, he is not. They have only raised him out of the goodness of their hearts. Which I do admire—don’t mistake me. But why must they try to pass him off as a gentleman? I know they are fond of him, but really. It isn’t fair to put the rest of us in such an awkward position socially.”
Sophie recalled what Angela Blake had told her in confidence about the circumstances of the young man’s birth. She asked tentatively. “Is his background so bad?”
“Yes. His mother was unmarried. His father, we know not who. Our vicar and his wife, never having children of their own, took the boy in as a lad and raised him after the poor girl died. Very Christian of them, I am sure. And were he to come here seeking a post or collecting donations for the poor fund, I would look on him kindly enough. But to come here as our equal? To dress and act the gentleman and turn our Katherine’s head with his good looks and toothy grins? I think not.”
“Mamma!” Kate protested. “You are unfair. He is educated and gentlemanlike in his manner and, yes, extremely good-looking.” Kate’s dimples appeared as she said the final phrase.
“You may train and dress a man to play the part, but a gentleman is born and bred.”
Kate pouted. “Mamma, I like Mr. Harrison. And he, I think, admires me. I—”
“Of course he does, Katherine. I give him credit for taste at least. But you are above his station. He ought to know his place and keep it.”
“Mamma. You sound the shrew.”
“And you the impractical romantic. This is the real world, Katherine. You may think me shrewish all you like, but that does not change the facts. If you married him, many doors would be closed to you. Your father and I could not approve of a match between you. Not to be cruel, but because we want what is best for you. So you would do well to put it from your mind.”
She began to pass Sophie the plate of biscuits, thought the better of it, and handed the plate to Kate instead. “You should be pleased to know we have invited Sefton Darby-Wells. A very handsome man, you cannot deny.”
“I don’t deny it, but he has never shown a whit of interest in me.”
“He is well connected and from a good family. And his Mamma wrote to me to hint that he would welcome an invitation to Overtree Hall.”
“Really? I am surprised to hear it. I thought he seemed interested in Miss Parkland.”
“Apparently not. Just promise me you will give him a chance, Katherine. Don’t let your fancy for young Mr. Harrison cause you to overlook a man ten times his consequence.”
“Very well, Mamma. At least Miss Blake and I shall have another partner. I do recall Mr. Darby-Wells being an excellent dancer.” She sniffed and murmured into her teacup. “But I still hope Mr. Harrison comes as well.”