Chapter 33
Stephen leaned forward to look out the post-chaise window, then leaned back against the upholstered seat.
“Almost there.”
He would be immensely relieved when they reached Overtree Hall at last. If he didn’t travel farther than the adjacent church in the next twelvemonth, that would suit him perfectly well.
He was worn out from days of travel by ship and carriage.
Sore too. The wounds in his right shoulder and hand had healed, but his left shoulder was still bandaged and bound in a sling to help stabilize it for travel.
All the jarring and lurching over the rutted roads of Gloucestershire sent daggers of pain through his arm and shoulder with every hole and sway.
He gritted his teeth and prayed for strength. Only a few minutes longer.
He felt Carlton Keith’s scrutiny on his profile and attempted to keep his expression impassive. He hoped the pain didn’t show on his face.
“All right there, Captain?”
“I will be,” he replied between clenched teeth, “as soon as we set down at home.”
Perhaps he ought not to have been so stubborn in refusing the surgeon’s offer of laudanum for the journey. But he wanted to be alert when he reached Overtree Hall. When he saw Sophie for the first time in months.
He wondered again how she and the child fared—she must have had the baby by now. No doubt letters containing the news were even now in a sack of post somewhere en route to him in Brussels. He prayed again for her and for the child, hoping they were both in good health.
He prayed, too, for kindness, gentleness, patience, and self-control in dealing with his brother.
The hired chaise turned the corner, and there it was—tall, stately Overtree Hall, its stone facade glowing golden in the afternoon sunlight.
There the church, the dovecote, and entrance gate.
When the chaise passed under its archway, Stephen closed his eyes to relish the familiar, missed sound of carriage wheels on the pea gravel drive.
At last the chaise lurched to a halt. Outside the guard hopped down, opened the carriage door, and let down the step.
Keith said, “Let me go first, Captain, and lend a hand.”
“I’m all right,” Stephen insisted and pushed himself up and through the door. When his feet hit gravel, his legs wobbled and his head spun. Perhaps Keith had been right. Pride goeth before the fall, he thought, and felt about to topple.
Keith took his arm. “Steady on, Captain. You’ll get your land legs in a moment.”
Ahead, the front door opened and the footman James exited.
On the man’s heels, his family, not waiting for a formal entrance, spilled out after him.
There his father, his sister, his mother, her arms outstretched.
But no Sophie. She might still be confined to her bed, he realized, remembering that a month of bed rest was often prescribed after birthing.
“Stephen! Thank God. Welcome home.”
His father looked the same as Stephen remembered, but he noticed how thin his mother looked, and the shadows under her eyes. He kissed her cheek. “Hello, Mamma.”
He shook his father’s hand, then turned to his grandfather as he puffed down the stairs to join them. The colonel ignored his hand and pulled him into an embrace, slapping his back and his shoulder in the bargain. Stephen winced.
“Careful there, Colonel,” Keith said.
“Oh! Forgive me. What an oaf. I completely forgot for a moment.”
The throbbing shoulder allowed Stephen no such luxuries.
Kate threw her arms around his neck. “I missed you, Stephen.”
He planted a kiss on her head. “And I you.”
She released him, her face shining. “I shall return directly,” she said. “But I promised to tell Angela the moment you arrived.” She hurried off across the drive in the direction of Windmere.
Wesley came languidly down the steps, surveying him head to toe. “You don’t look on death’s door to me. Surprised they invalided you back to England.”
“Oh, Grandfather has his ways as you know.”
Stephen glanced toward the door once more, his heart eager and reluctant at once. He told himself not to be disappointed she’d not come out to greet him.
“And . . . Sophie?” he asked, hoping to sound casual.
His mother looked at his father, then back to him, a worry line between her brows. “She is not here.”
“What do you mean she is not here?” He whirled on his brother. “What did you do?”
Wesley raised his hands. “Nothing.”
Keith said under his breath, “Doesn’t mean he didn’t try.”
Wesley lifted his chin. “I merely told Mamma and Papa the truth. After that, she chose to leave.”
Anger coursed through Stephen. “You selfish wretch . . .” Poor Sophie! How mortifying for her.
Their father said soothingly, “Come into the house, Stephen. Let’s everyone remain calm, and we will explain the situation as best we can in private.”
“Where is she? Has she had the child? Is she well?” His concerned questions tumbled out one after another as he followed his parents into the house and through to the parlour.
“I am sure she is well,” his mother asserted. “She promised to write when the child was born. Calm yourself. Unfortunately, the letter she posted to you in Brussels before she left has been returned here, undeliverable.”
“You didn’t mention a letter to me,” Wesley objected.
His mother’s expression remained flat. “No, I did not.” She turned to the hovering Thurman. “Please send for Dr. Matthews directly.”
“Very good, madam.”
She returned her gaze to Stephen. “I shall bring you the letter. But first—a bath and dinner.”
“Hear, hear,” Keith agreed.
Stephen thought about demanding to read the letter first and insisting that he didn’t need to see yet another doctor. But at the moment he was too weary to protest and allowed his Mamma to take care of everything, as much for her sake as for his.
After a bath, clean civilian clothes, and a good meal, Stephen felt a little better physically.
Dr. Matthews arrived and examined him somberly, without his usual unruffled ease, but in the end, declared he thought both arms would heal in time, though the mobility of the left one would always be limited and he did not envy the aches and pains that were sure to plague Stephen every time the weather changed when he grew older.
His mother, finally satisfied all had been done, brought the letter to him in his bedchamber. Her hand lingered on his and rare tears shone in her eyes. “I am so glad you are safe.”
He squeezed her hand. “Thank you, Mamma. And thank you for praying for me.”
She nodded. “I did. Every day.” She stepped to the door, then turned back. “Sophie did as well.”
She held his gaze a moment longer, and then left him. Too weary to do anything else, Stephen stretched out on the bed that had been his grandparents’—that had been Sophie’s—and read her letter.
Dear Captain Overtree,
By the time this letter reaches you in that distant place, I will long have left Overtree Hall.
I have decided to return to Lynmouth with my dear friend Mrs. Thrupton and have my child there.
I think I would be more comfortable with her at such a personal, vulnerable time, than here among people I have known so briefly.
Especially as you are not among them. I hope you will understand and not think the worst of me.
Regretfully, I have become a cause of strife among your family. I am sorry for that. I regret inflicting further worry and pain, especially when you are injured and far from home. What a way to repay your kindnesses to me!
Don’t mistake me—your family has been very good to me and provided well for me while I was with them.
I grew quite fond of your grandfather and of Kate especially.
But things deteriorated when Wesley returned and have become awkward and uncomfortable.
Please believe me when I tell you I am not leaving to be with Wesley but rather to avoid him.
Your parents suspect there is something between us.
And I admit that when we were told you had died, I briefly thought some future relationship with him might be God’s will.
But once we learned you were alive, I knew I was wrong and resisted his entreaties.
I was sincerely relieved to learn you were alive—are alive—and will someday return to England.
I realize that when you hear from Wesley himself, or from your parents about me, you may wish to find some way to wash your hands of me forever.
But I nurture no such wish to be freed from you.
Please believe me. No matter what you may hear, I have never betrayed my marriage vows, nor will I.
I wish I could promise you a happy, strife-free return to Overtree Hall, and be there to warmly welcome you home.
But I fear I have tainted my chances of happiness there forever.
I don’t know what the future holds. In great part, that is up to you.
But for now, I feel it best for the child, and for me, to live elsewhere.
I will write to share news of the birth when the much-anticipated event occurs. I know you are a man of faith, and I would covet your prayers for a safe delivery.
Yours sincerely,
Sophie
Oh, Sophie, he thought, his heart aching for her in more ways than one. He thanked God that the letter laid to rest his doubts about her wanting to be with Wesley. And he would lay to rest her doubts about his feelings for her as soon as he could.
Stephen rested the next day at his mother’s insistence.
It felt good to be coddled, to be warm in bed and well fed.
But he knew himself, and knew the idle pleasure would soon wear thin.
He would travel to Devonshire as soon as he felt a little stronger.
In a day or two, even though he knew his parents would protest.
And Wesley? Stephen would keep his plans to himself for now.