Chapter 33 #2
Miss Blake stopped by to wish him well. Mr. Keith joined them and the three talked and teased for several minutes. Then Stephen sobered and said, as much for Angela’s benefit as for Keith’s, “Well, Lieutenant, I am in your debt.”
“How’s that, Captain?”
“You coming all that way to Brussels like that to bring me home.”
“Aw. I’d say that about makes us even, sir. Almost.” He winked.
“It was very brave of you, Mr. Keith,” Miss Blake added, eyes warm with approval.
Carlton Keith held her gaze with a dreamy grin and murmured, “Definitely worth the trouble . . .”
The next day, Stephen insisted on dressing and going downstairs. He ate breakfast with his father and grandfather and then gave in to Kate’s plea for a game of draughts in the parlour. When Miss Blake arrived, he happily relinquished the game to her.
Wesley came in, followed by Mr. Keith, who played a gentle tune on the pianoforte. Stephen was impressed with his ability—disability or not.
Later, his mother entered the room, looking a little brighter than she had upon his arrival. She drew up short in the doorway, looking from face to face.
“My goodness,” she breathed. “What a blessing to have everyone together again.”
“Not quite everyone, Mamma,” Kate spoke up before Stephen could. “We’re missing Sophie.”
Yes, he was certainly missing her.
Thurman brought in the day’s post, including a letter addressed to his parents.
His mother read it first, then looked across the room at Stephen. “It’s from Sophie. She is well, never fear.”
Keith abruptly stopped playing to listen.
“What does she say, Mamma?” Kate asked eagerly.
His mother deferred to him. “It’s written to all of us,” she said. “May I read it aloud?”
Stephen nodded, though a part of him would have preferred to read it in private. But it wasn’t his letter to hoard.
“Dear Mr. & Mrs. Overtree and family,
I am writing to announce the good news of the safe delivery of your grandchild. She is healthy and strong, and reminds me quite a bit of your Kate. I have decided to name her Mary Katherine, after my own beloved mother and your dear daughter. I hope that meets with everyone’s approval.”
Kate let out a little squeal. “How wonderful!”
His mother continued,
“Please share the news with all the family for me. I will write to Captain Overtree myself, but as I am uncertain if he may already be en route back to England, Lord willing, I don’t know if a letter shall reach him. If not, I trust you will pass on the good news for me.
Sincerely,
Sophie”
Relief washed over Stephen. Sophie was well.
The child healthy. He was gratified to know she had written to him personally, though he had left Brussels before the letter could arrive.
He noticed she made no mention of her plans to return, nor asked Stephen to visit them.
But he would. As soon as he was physically able.
The colonel leaned near and whispered, “I’m going upstairs to share the good news with Miss Whitney.”
That surprised Stephen, but he said nothing as his grandfather excused himself and left the room.
His mother reached over and extended the letter to him, but before Stephen could reach it, Wesley stood and snatched it from her. He turned the folded sheet over and looked at the postal markings.
“Lynmouth. Dash it, Angela. You told me she went to Bath, but I should have known better.”
“Wesley . . .” his father warned. “You promised not to interfere.”
“I made no promise, Papa. I said I would think about it and I have. I’m going.”
Stephen rose and grabbed his arm. “Stay away from her, Wesley.”
Wesley shook him off. “I will not. I plan to be on the next Devonshire Express.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.”
“You don’t.”
“Stop it,” Mrs. Overtree commanded, frowning thunderously. “I cannot believe the two of you. This girl has made you lose your better sense. Cast a spell on you both.”
“Mamma, what are you talking about?” Kate protested. “Don’t speak unkindly about Sophie.”
“I had hoped to spare you, Katherine. Such topics are not proper for innocent ears. Why don’t you and Angela walk into the village, or to Windmere.”
“Mamma, no. I am not a child any longer.”
“I believe I will stay as well, Mrs. Overtree,” Angela said. “I am not such an innocent either, I assure you.”
Their mother huffed. “Angela, I know you mean well, but this is family business and doesn’t concern you.”
“Oh, but it does. In its way.”
Stephen noticed the challenging glare she directed at Wesley. Wesley sullenly met her gaze but looked away first.
Angela then glanced quickly at Mr. Keith, sitting motionless at the pianoforte. She took a deep breath and began, “I have remained silent too long. I cannot sit by and say nothing while you vilify Sophie—blaming her, just as my father blamed me.”
“What do you know about it?” their mother snapped.
“Enough. I know about her and Wesley. I heard them speaking together. From the squint.” She turned to face Wesley, expression as brittle as ice.
“You showed me the hidden passages when we were young, remember? And from the squint in the hall, I heard you begging Sophie to run off with you. But she refused you. She showed more strength of character than I ever did.”
Confusion, dread, and alarm flashed through Stephen in rapid turns.
Wesley crossed his arms but refused to meet her gaze.
Angela released a ragged breath. “I wish she were still here, so I could apologize. I was not always kind to her. I admit I was jealous. Was it not enough that she married one Overtree? Did she need to have the other one chasing after her as well?”
Angela shook her head. “Wesley is not the innocent party here, Mrs. Overtree. Nor is Sophie the first woman he’s left with child and abandoned. My father said I must have done something to lead him on, to give him the idea that I was a woman of easy virtue.”
“Never!” Kate exclaimed.
Angela shrugged and went on, speaking as though Wesley were not standing right there. “Perhaps I did. I was in love with him, after all. And I once thought he loved me. I would have forgiven him, said yes to him five years ago when he left me with child.”
Shock washed over Stephen. Kate gasped. His mother grabbed his father’s hand.
Angela continued, “I would have said yes to him the following year, when I gave up my child to a foundling home.” She let out a cracked little laugh.
“I would have said yes last week—I am sorry, Mr. Keith, but it’s true—so strong is his effect on weak-willed women like me.
But today? Today I wash my hands of him. He will never change.”
Wesley slowly shook his head, a disgusted twist to his lips, but he said nothing.
Angela returned her gaze to his mother. “I am sorry, Mrs. Overtree. I know you idealize your eldest son. I don’t say this to hurt you, though I know it does.” She turned to his sister. “I’m sorry, Kate. I know you’ve looked up to me, and now I have disillusioned you. Disillusioned you all.”
Kate’s eyes filled with tears.
Wesley frowned. “That’s enough, Angela. You’ve had your revenge. I hope you’re happy.”
She whipped her white face toward him, lips tight. “Do I look happy?”
She inhaled slowly and drew back her shoulders, reining in her emotions, but Stephen did not miss the tremble of her chin.
He had known of Miss Blake’s youthful adoration of Wesley.
Noticed how her eyes followed him, how she’d hung on his words, and tried too hard to gain his attention.
And yes, Stephen had been disappointed when she’d switched her attentions to his brother.
But that had been years ago. He did remember worrying about her when she suddenly left for an extended absence with a relative, but he’d never thought the rumor he’d heard could be true.
And he certainly never suspected that his brother had taken advantage of his old friend.
And worse yet, had heartlessly abandoned her, forcing her to abandon their child.
Stephen turned to her. “I am so sorry, Angela. I didn’t know.”
“I know you didn’t. No one did—save Wesley, my aunt, and my father. Would you have rescued me, as you did Sophie?”
Stephen met her glistening gaze, his heart aching for her. “Yes. Had it been in my power to do so. I would have made Wes do his duty by you.”
“Which is why I never told you,” she said coolly, “I didn’t want him to be forced to marry me. I foolishly held out hope that he would marry me out of honor and love. What an imbecile I was.”
“No, Angela. You are not to blame.”
“Wesley, tell me this isn’t true,” their mother implored. “Miss Blake is a gentleman’s daughter. Our neighbor . . .”
Wesley said, “I offered to help her. But she said she didn’t need my help.”
Angela’s lip curled. “I didn’t want your money. I wanted your love. But no . . .”
His father’s face turned a dangerous shade of purple. “By God, he will do his duty now, Miss Blake, if it’s the last thing he does.”
Angela rose. “Thank you, Mr. Overtree. But you are five years too late.” She turned, head held high, and strode from the room.
Mr. Keith followed her out, stunned and anxious. “Miss Blake, wait . . .”
Stephen turned on Wesley. “How could you abandon her like that? Have you no feeling? No conscience?”
Wesley threw up his hands. “She waited to tell me until the eve of my departure! I was leaving to study under Signor Tofanelli for the year. The timing was impossible. Was I supposed to give up my life’s ambition?”
Stephen shook his head in disgust. “You never deserved Angela, and you certainly don’t deserve Sophie.”
“That’s for her to decide,” Wesley retorted. “She didn’t exactly wait here like the devoted wife to welcome you home, did she?”
“Shut up, Wesley,” their father snapped.
“Sophie left because we humiliated her and blamed her unjustly,” their mother said, expression guilty and pained. “Me most of all.”
“And to avoid your repugnant advances,” Stephen accused. “So stay away from her. She’s my wife.”
“Nothing a trip to Italy or France can’t fix. I know your sham of a marriage has never even been consummated.”
Stephen felt like a French saber had struck him once more, stunned and hurt that Sophie had revealed their secret. He met his brother’s gaze and said with more confidence than he felt, “An oversight I plan to address as soon as time allows.”
Wesley reeled back his fist and struck. Stephen instantly ducked, and Wesley’s fist landed only a grazing blow to his jaw.
“Wesley, don’t!” Kate cried.
Anger erupted, but hearing his sister’s horrified shriek, Stephen restrained himself—barely—from striking back. “Shall we step outside, Wes,” he said. “Settle this like gentlemen, though I doubt you know the definition of the term.”
“Stephen, no,” his mother pleaded.
Keith charged back into the room. “Sorry, Captain, that’s my privilege.” He slammed into Wesley like a battering ram, head first.
Wesley grunted, and the two men went flying, crashing to the ground.
Keith sat atop Wesley pinning him with his knees, and landed a punch to his face. “I can’t believe I once thought you the better man.” His voice hitched. “Miss Blake? How could you?”
Wesley took advantage of Keith’s emotional state and single arm, and shoved him to the side. He rolled out from under Keith and lurched to his feet.
Keith scrambled up as well. “She says she’ll have no husband because you’ve ruined her. And ruined my chance at happiness in the bargain.” He reeled back his fist again.
Stephen grasped Keith’s shoulders from behind, trying to forestall his attack.
He knew his slight, soft brother was no match for his enraged former lieutenant—missing an arm or not.
Lord, help us. He prayed none of them would succeed in killing the other.
Especially in front of his mother and sister.
Keith lunged again, jerking them both forward. Flame seared Stephen’s shoulder, and he felt his stitches tear and pain knife deep. He fell to the floor.
“Stephen!”
He opened his eyes to find his mother and sister kneeling beside him.
“I’m all right.” He grimaced and sat up, his shoulder screaming and his vision dotted.
Wesley wiped blood from the corner of his mouth and scowled at Keith. “You are welcome to Angela, CK. Not that she’d have a one-armed drunkard like you. Sophie is the woman I want. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a coach to catch.”
“The devil you do,” Stephen called after him, trying to lunge to his feet. But his father kept hold of him, his grip surprisingly tight.
“Hush, Stephen,” his mother commanded. She pulled back his coat. “Oh no. You’re bleeding.”
Stephen protested, “If anyone goes to Sophie, it will be me.”
“You’re not going anywhere, my boy,” his father insisted. “At least not until Dr. Matthews takes another look at your shoulder.”
“Yes, my dear. Send for him, quickly.”
His father drew himself up. “Mine is the fastest horse. I will go for Dr. Matthews myself.”
“No, not all that way. Think of your chest—”
“My chest is fine, woman. I am through thinking of it. I am thinking of Stephen now. You are not the only one who needs to feel useful.”
She blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback. “Very well, my love,” she said gently. “If you think it best.”
“I do.”
It was the first time in years Stephen had heard his father stand up to her. Perhaps it had been what she was waiting for.
Stephen acquiesced, cursing every minute the physician took in reaching Overtree Hall, and his tedious examination.
The stitches in his left shoulder had reopened during the skirmish, and his parents insisted he wait until the doctor restitched, redressed, and bound the wound.
The doctor prescribed a day or two of bed rest, but Stephen refused.
Thankfully the tear was superficial, and the physician concluded that the muscle beneath was intact and mending nicely.
“Papa, I have to go. I love her. And who knows what Wesley might say to try to persuade her otherwise.”
“If she could be so easily swayed, she isn’t worthy of you,” his mother said.
“I happen to agree with poor Miss Blake in this instance,” his father said. “Sophie possesses great strength of character. She will not be persuaded to do anything she doesn’t want to do.”
Stephen prayed that was true.
He was willing to accept God’s will. Or hers. But not Wesley’s.