Chapter 31 #3
Wesley went looking for his sister, guessing Sophie may have confided in her. He found Kate in the morning room with Miss Blake. He hesitated upon seeing her there as well. He would prefer not to discuss the situation with Angela present, but was in no mood to wait.
Kate looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “Wesley! Sophie has left us.”
He nodded and asked, “Did you know she meant to leave? Did she say anything?” He did not mention the note in his pocket, not wanting her to ask to read it.
“No, but Angela saw her at the coaching inn this morning with that friend who called yesterday.”
“Oh and what were you doing in the village this morning?” he asked Angela.
“Giving her a ride, if you must know.”
“And no doubt eager to do so. Did she say where she was going?”
“To her family in Bath, I believe. She said she wanted to have her child at home, and who can blame her for that? I am rather surprised she stayed as long as she did after Stephen left.”
Had Sophie gone to Bath? Wesley inwardly groaned. Could he go to her there, with her family present? It would be awkward, to say the least.
He turned and left, considering how best to proceed.
Miss Blake followed him from the room. “You’re not thinking of going after her?” she hissed, eyes narrowed.
“Perhaps.”
Her freckled face puckered most unattractively. “Oh, just leave her alone,” she snapped. “As you did me.”
Wesley had no time for Angela’s complaints, to listen to her dredge up all those past accusations and disappointments. He could hardly believe the woman still suffered from unrequited love after all these years. But there was nothing he could do about it now. His thoughts were consumed with Sophie.
Wesley went upstairs to his room, rang for the valet to bring down a valise from the attic storeroom, and then began gathering a few things for the journey. He could have waited for the valet to assist him, but he was in no mood to deal with the obsequious fellow.
When half an hour had passed, and Edgar had not returned, Wesley stalked from his room, determined to fetch the thing down himself. What the devil was taking the man so long?
Wesley rounded the first landing and began up the narrower attic stairs. Movement caught his eye from above, and he glanced up. He paused where he was, taken aback to see the old nurse standing at the top of the stairs, staring down at him. A valise—his valise—in her hands.
“Is this what you’re looking for?” she asked, an eerie gleam in her eye.
“Yes. How did you . . . ?”
“I told Edgar I would bring it down to you, but you have saved me a trip.”
Wesley frowned and continued up the stairs, irritated at the interfering old woman.
“Thank you,” he murmured disingenuously, and reached for the valise.
She held it tight. “Going after your brother’s wife? That’s a dangerous game, Master Wesley. One that can only end badly. Stay away from her, or it will not go well with you.”
He scowled. “Is this another of your false prophecies?”
“No. Just a feeling in my bones. Something bad is going to happen.”
Wesley shook his head in disgust. “You old croaker. You don’t scare me. You’re off in your attic—everyone knows it. Except your pet, Marsh. I hear you told him he would die in battle, but he didn’t. And I don’t believe this little warning of yours either.”
“I never said he would die. Only that he wouldn’t live to receive his inheritance. But if something happens to you”—she shrugged, eyes glinting—“who inherits then?”
Despite himself, a chill went down Wesley’s spine. He pulled his gaze from hers and yanked at the valise, just as she released it. The momentum nearly knocked him backward down the stairs. His heart clenched and he grasped for the railing, catching himself just in time.
The nurse did not blink. “Be careful, Master Wesley. We all make mistakes, but some falls are more deadly than others.”
When Wesley trudged back downstairs, his parents were standing outside his bedchamber. Eyeing the valise he carried, his father slowly shook his head, and his mother’s lips pinched tight. Excellent, Wesley thought. So much for a stealthy departure . . .
They followed him into his room and shut the door behind them.
His father began, “I take it you’ve heard that Sophie has left Overtree Hall?”
“I have. She wrote to me as well.”
“I cannot say I approve of her sneaking off like this,” his mother said, “but perhaps it is for the best that she is absent for a time—put some distance between you.”
His father gestured to the valise. “I can guess what you are planning, but I beseech you not to interfere.”
“Don’t follow her and make a bigger mess than we already have to deal with as it is,” his mother pleaded. “Like it or not, Sophie is married to Stephen.”
“As I am painfully aware.” Wesley forked a hand through his hair.
“But don’t you see?” his mother asked. “You have been given a second chance. You are free to marry anyone you like. A fine lady of excellent character from the best family.”
“Your mother is right,” his father said.
“Perhaps it is time to find a wife of your own.” His voice gentled.
“If you married, your wife would help you forget Sophie. And the children the two of you bring into the world would comfort you in the loss of Sophie’s child.
You have your own heir to think of. The heir to Overtree Hall. ”
Traditionally, heirs were firstborn sons, but since the estate was not entailed, Wesley knew he would be able to choose his own heir someday, once he was master of Overtree Hall. However, there was no need to worry about who would inherit what for several decades to come.
His mother added, “Did you not once admire Miss Blake?”
He puckered his face. “A hundred years ago, maybe. When I was young.”
“Why not now? She is very pretty, in her way.”
Wesley shook his head. “I don’t know that I agree. She has a pleasantly shaped faced, I grant you. But all those freckles . . .”
“Wesley, be serious. I cannot believe you would object to a perfectly suitable marriage partner for so superficial a reason.”
“It is more than that, Mamma, I assure you. Her sharp tongue does her no favors either.”
His father wrinkled his face in disgust. “I would not be as fastidious as you for a kingdom, Wesley.”
“He cannot help his sensibilities, my dear,” his mother said.
“Though I trust he is overstating his case to vex us, because he doesn’t like us interfering.
” She turned back to him. “But do be reasonable, Wesley. Miss Blake would make you an excellent wife. I am sure she would have you, if you asked. She has long wished to marry an Overtree, I believe.”
“Has she?” his father asked. “I thought she had seemed a little cool towards Wesley lately.”
“Yes, she has,” Wesley agreed. Though he didn’t explain why.
His father gripped his shoulder—a surprisingly strong grip.
“Be that as it may be. Please honor us in this by not going after Sophie. Stay here.”
The nurse’s warning echoed through Wesley’s mind once again: “Stay away from her, or it will not go well with you. . . . Some falls are more deadly than others.”
Wesley swallowed. “I shall . . . think about it,” he allowed. “But I make no promises.”
In the hospital ward, Carlton Keith sat on a rickety chair near Stephen’s cot, drinking lukewarm tea and watching him with an expectant look. “Come on, Captain. I grow tired of this place. Why not finish your recovery within the comforts of Overtree Hall?”
Stephen huffed. “I don’t know, Lieutenant.”
“It’s time you went home before Wesley gets into mischief—or convinces Sophie to do something she doesn’t want to do.”
But what if she did? Stephen asked himself. What if she still wanted Wesley? Did he even want Sophie to stay with him out of guilt or sense of obligation?
Yes, God help me. He wanted her no matter what.
But would he always wonder if she was thinking of Wesley, missing him, wishing it were him kissing her . . . ?
“All you have to do is go to the C.O. with the colonel’s letter and I’m sure he will approve an early release.”
“Stop pushing me, Keith. You’re not my commanding officer.” He immediately regretted his sharp tone, and added evenly, “I’ll . . . think about it.”
Later that night, Stephen climbed from his cot, gritting his teeth against the pain. He slipped from the ward and into the makeshift chapel at one end of the hospital corridor. There, he knelt before the little altar the chaplain had erected.
He began to pray for Sophie, and for God to help him accept losing her if Wesley had his way. As distasteful as the scandal would be, he would not want her to be unhappy her entire life.
“Thy will be done, Lord. . . .”
But he soon found his mind wandering to memories of Sophie’s increasing warmth toward him. Her sweet parting words and encouraging letters. She had been fond of him, at least, he thought. Had it been more than that? Or merely gratitude?
Knowing Sophie must be near her time, Stephen prayed for her safety in childbirth, for the lives of both mother and child. Let her live, Lord, whomever she chooses.
Stephen prayed for nearly an hour, asking God for wisdom.
For direction. He was surprised at the peace that descended over him, not a martyr-like “woe is me, she’d be better off without me.
” Not a “let her go and let God comfort” kind of peace, but a conviction to pursue his wife all over again.
That it was right—his right—to fight for his wife.
Was he not a commander of men? Had he not faced enemy after enemy in hand-to-hand combat and lived to tell the tale?
Surely he could muster the courage to admit the truth to himself and to her: He loved Sophie body and soul and knew he would love and respect her and her alone far better than Wes ever could.
Stephen rose. He was determined to gather Sophie close, declare his love, and ask her to marry him all over again.
And as for his old nurse’s prediction?
None of us knows the number of our days, Stephen thought, but I have wasted enough of them.
He returned to the ward, where Keith sat slumped in a chair, softly snoring. He tapped his shoulder. “You’re right, Lieutenant,” he said, picking up his grandfather’s letter. “Let’s go home.”