Chapter 18
A few days later, Mr. Keith and Colonel Horton rode off together on some mission, but no one seemed to know where they went or how soon they would return.
Mrs. Overtree muttered aloud that it must be nice to go gadding about at one’s leisure while others had a thousand things to do to prepare for a party.
Sophie offered to help but was politely refused.
As one of the guests of honor, she should not have to lift a finger, her mother-in-law insisted.
Personally, Sophie thought Mrs. Overtree liked being in total control, preferred to manage the staff and details like a general commanding her troops and dictating battle plans. She was welcome to it.
Sophie devised her own small battle plan to prepare for the party. She was looking forward to it more than she would have guessed and wanted to look her best for Captain Overtree’s final night at home.
The day of the dinner, Sophie began getting ready hours ahead of time.
Libby, with the help of a footman, carried up a tub, screen, and several large cans of hot water so Sophie could have a real bath in her room, instead of the sponge or hip baths she usually relied upon.
She soaked in the warm scented water and relished the pleasure of Libby washing her hair.
The captain bathed after her, while the tub was set up behind the screen near the fire. She assured him she did not mind. With all the extra work the servants were already doing, there was no need to ask for the tub to be moved into the dressing room—even if it would fit, which was questionable.
Sophie sat at the dressing table, towel drying, then combing out her long hair to help it dry faster and remove the tangles.
She angled her back and faced away from the tub.
The screen had been set up to block the view from the door, should anyone enter.
It partially blocked her view as well. But now and again, she sneaked a glimpse of him in her mirror: muscular shoulders and arms, scarred chest, flat abdomen, damp dark hair, skin glistening . . .
Sophie swallowed. He glanced over and caught her looking. She quickly feigned interest in a tangle and worked to remove it with her comb.
When the captain had dried off, covered himself in a dressing gown, and left the room, Sophie released a long breath.
Libby bustled in to help her dress. She tied silk stockings over Sophie’s knees and cinched long bone stays over her shift.
She had to loosen the laces but made no comment.
She then helped Sophie on with her new gown, doing up the lacings and tiny pearl buttons at the back of the bodice.
The new evening dress was not quite as formal as a ball gown but nearly so, and Sophie felt like a princess in it.
Especially now that it had been altered to fit her expanding figure.
Libby brushed Sophie’s hair until it shone gold, then pinned it high on her head, with two braids looped like garlands at the back. With hot irons she curled spiraling tendrils at each temple.
The maid touched the faintest tint of rouge to her lips and cheeks, and powdered her nose. Then around Sophie’s neck she fastened a simple strand of glass beads that Kate had lent her, insisting it would look perfect with her blue-and-white dress.
Finally Libby stood back and admired her work. “There. You look beautiful, madam. If I do say so myself.”
“Thank you, Libby. You are a real artist.”
Libby winked. “Takes one to know one.”
Sophie rose and turned to regard her reflection in the long cheval mirror.
The maid shook her head, dimples showing, “Just you wait until the captain sees you. My, my.”
Sophie glanced at the closed dressing room door, assuming Captain Overtree had finished dressing and gone downstairs. She longed to hear him say she looked all right. And hopefully not too showy.
Sophie gave her reflection a final inspection.
She was pretty, she thought. No matter what her father said about her being too plain to model.
For a flash of a moment she wished Wesley were there to see her.
To see how lovely she was and regret leaving her.
She willed away the foolish, disloyal thought.
Tonight was about Captain Overtree. And her. And their marriage, such as it was.
She pulled on long white gloves and made her way downstairs.
From the half landing, she saw Captain Overtree standing at the bottom of the stairs in full evening dress.
He looked serious—jaw set, shoulders wide and squared—and wonderfully masculine in black tailcoat, brocade waistcoat, and linen cravat.
Knee breeches and white stockings emphasized his muscular legs.
He glanced up, and then again, mouth parting. “Sophie . . .” he breathed.
She paused to relish the look on his face. The low timbre of the single word more powerful than any long speech could have been.
She continued down the stairs, her stomach tingling.
As she tentatively approached him, he held out both hands. Surprised but happy to do so, she slipped her gloved hands into his.
His warm eyes traced her hair, her face. “So beautiful . . .”
“Thank you.”
He slowly shook his head, drawing in a long breath. “Hang me. I shan’t be able to stop staring long enough to eat a bite or remember a single dance step.”
She smiled. The captain’s black hair, for once brushed back from his brow, showed the strong contours of his face. She had never seen him look more handsome.
Kate appeared, oohing and ahhing over Sophie’s dress and hair. The younger woman was a picture of loveliness in the pale pink gown, pearls, and gloves, and her brother was quick to compliment her. Then he excused himself to greet one of the guests.
When he’d stepped away, Kate leaned near and whispered, “You’ll never guess who just arrived.”
“Mr. Harrison?”
“Why, yes!” Kate’s dark eyes sparkled. “I encouraged him to come—assured him we were expecting him.”
“I’m happy for you.” Sophie hesitated, then asked, “How did your mother react?”
Kate wrinkled her nose. “Oh! That reminds me. Mamma wants us to welcome Mr. Darby-Wells. So pleased with himself. Though I suppose Mamma is right and I should try to like him. He is handsome, I own. Tell me what you think.”
Kate took Sophie’s arm and led her across the hall. In the anteroom, they first encountered the vicar, his wife, and son. Kate drew up short, pulling Sophie to a halt beside her.
“Mr. and Mrs. Nelson. Mr. Harrison!” Kate enthused. “I am so glad you came.” She turned. “Sophie, you remember the Nelsons and Mr. Harrison, I trust? You met in church, I believe.”
“Yes.” Sophie greeted them warmly. She felt a tug of empathy for Mr. Harrison, who looked uncomfortable in formal evening attire and stiff cravat.
“Did you know Mr. Harrison is writing a book?” Kate beamed.
“Is he indeed?” Sophie smiled at the young man.
“It’s quite true.” The vicar’s chest puffed with pride. “A history of the county.”
“Papa . . .” Mr. Harrison self-consciously ducked his head. “Mrs. Overtree doesn’t want to hear about that.”
“On the contrary. I think it wonderful.”
“He was going to stay home tonight and work on it,” Mrs. Nelson added.
“But I assured him it was no doubt an oversight that his name was not included on the invitation. He thought it would be impolite to presume. Then I reminded him, had not Miss Overtree personally told him her family was expecting him?”
“Indeed I did, Mrs. Nelson,” Kate said. “You are all very welcome.”
Sophie knew that wasn’t wholly true but nodded her agreement.
Across the room, Captain Overtree and his parents approached an elegant blond gentleman. Mrs. Overtree glanced their way and tried to catch her daughter’s eye.
Noticing, Kate’s smile faltered. “Well, if you will excuse us, I see Mamma beckoning. Someone else she wishes Sophie to meet, no doubt. I will look forward to talking with you more later. In the meantime, do enjoy yourselves.”
“I am sure we shall,” the vicar assured her. “Thank you, Miss Overtree.”
His son seemed less convinced.
Heedless, Kate smiled at Mr. Harrison and might have kept standing there had not Sophie gently taken her arm and led her through the milling crowd.
As she and Kate approached the others, Sophie heard Mr. Darby-Wells offer the captain hearty congratulations on his marriage. Then he turned and congratulated Mr. and Mrs. Overtree as well.
When he spied Kate, he smiled at her. “Miss Overtree. What a pleasure to see you again. You are lovelier than ever.”
With a glance at her mother, Kate returned his smile. “Thank you.”
Poor Mr. Harrison, Sophie thought. Mr. Darby-Wells was well-spoken and indeed handsome, with fine features and confident bearing.
But when the young dandy bent over her hand, Sophie caught an oily gleam in his eye as his gaze lingered on her bosom—fuller now than it had ever been, though still, she hoped, modest.
Mr. Darby-Wells returned his attention to Kate, asking to dance with her after dinner. She sweetly agreed.
While the two young people talked, Mrs. Overtree stepped between Sophie and Stephen and whispered, “A charming young man, don’t you think?”
“Apparently,” Stephen agreed.
Sophie held her tongue.
At that moment, her attention was captured by Carlton Keith, elegant in evening clothes. There was something different about him. . . . Then she realized. Both of his sleeves were filled, and a gloved hand protruded from each.
Astonished, Sophie walked over to him. “Mr. Keith! How well you look.”
He grinned at her. “Limbs suit me, don’t you think? Two arms are all the crack these days, so I thought I’d give it a go.”
She returned his grin, then asked, “But how did you manage it?”
“Colonel Horton took me to see a Scottish bladesmith he knows who makes these contrivances. Not bad, ay?”
“It’s very realistic.”
“Made of metal, actually.” He tapped it against a nearby door latch, producing a muffled clank.