Chapter 35 #2
Stephen exchanged a look of surprise with Sophie. His mother, he noticed, did not utter a negative word about the young man—which said a great deal. Apparently she had revised her opinion of David Harrison. And hopefully of Sophie as well.
After dinner, the ladies withdrew to the adjacent parlour, leaving Stephen, his father, and grandfather in the dining room. Mr. Overtree had his usual small glass of port, while the colonel puffed on an after-dinner cigarillo.
His father began, “As you heard at dinner, you just missed your brother. He was here briefly to formally apologize to Miss Blake. But it was too little, too late.” He set down his glass. “So I suppose this is as good a time as any to tell you of my decision.”
“Oh?” Stephen asked, with a curious glance at his grandfather, who appeared as solemn as his father did.
“Yes. I cannot in good conscience allow your brother’s actions, his blatant disregard for duty and family—and every good Christian impulse—to go on unanswered.
I have you and Katherine to think of, not to mention Miss Blake and other ladies like her.
I also have to consider the estate itself, the house and land and tenants—its future.
I can no longer fool myself, or allow your mother to sway me for a little more patience where Wesley is concerned.
No. Were the estate entailed, I would have no choice—it would go to Wesley in its entirety after my death.
But the estate has never been entailed and I may do with it as I think best in my will.
This has not been an easy decision, but I believe it is the right one.
I have decided to disinherit Wesley as heir and future master of Overtree Hall.
Yours are the hands to steer the estate, Stephen. Assuming you are willing.”
Stephen’s heart beat dully at the grave pronouncement. “You know I am always ready and willing to help, Papa. You needn’t make me your heir. I have my military career to think of, and—”
“My military career, I think you mean,” the colonel interrupted.
“My aspirations for you.” He grimaced. “I should not have forced my chosen career on you, nor made service a condition of the trust I offered you. I’m sorry.
I knew, deep down, it was never what you wanted.
” He lifted a hand. “Don’t mistake me. You made me proud and served with valor.
You always put your heart into anything you undertake.
That is your nature. You commit without looking back, whether it be a career, a faith, a wife, a child .
. . I admire that about you, my boy. And I know you will commit yourself in the same way to the preservation and improvement of this great estate. ”
“But, Colonel . . . I am not yet thirty. I am no quitter. I don’t wish to let you or the army down.”
“I think a certain French saber has done that for you. That coupled with Boney’s exile.
His last, if I don’t miss my guess. You might live on your half pay, but why should you, when you are heir to Overtree Hall?
If your country still needed you, that would be one thing.
But the war is over. For good, this time, God willing.
You can sell your commission. Settle down.
You have a wife to think of now. A daughter. ”
“Yes, I have.”
“I am sorry, you know,” his father said.
“About the way we treated Sophie when she first arrived, and after the scandal with Wesley came out. She isn’t the woman your mother and I would have chosen for either of you.
But I understand why you did it. I hope Sophie will understand our concerns and forgive us in time. ”
“And Mamma?” Stephen asked.
“Well, she may take a little more time to get over the whole ordeal.” He lifted a consoling palm. “Don’t mistake me. We admire you and respect what you did. And realize it is Wesley who is truly to blame for the situation in the first place. Not you. Hence our discussion here this evening.”
“Does Wesley know of your decision?”
“Not yet. The lawyers are working on the papers as we speak.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, it is more of a blow to your mother than to Wesley himself, who will probably be relieved to be freed of the responsibility . . . though not the financial benefits that come with it.”
Stephen suggested, “Perhaps you might rewrite the trust, Colonel. Leave Wesley a little something to soften the blow.”
His grandfather inhaled. “It did cross my mind. But I wasn’t sure it would be fair to you.”
“I didn’t serve to receive your money.”
“You served to please me. I know. And you have. I will not countenance leaving it all to him, but I would consider dividing it between the three of you—you, Wes, and Kate.”
“That is very kind of you, Grandfather.”
“Pfff. Not really. I may spend it all yet myself if I live long enough,” he teased. “A third of nothing is nothing.”
“You might have told me that before I rushed headlong into that French saber,” Stephen replied. And the two former military officers shared knowing grins.
In the white parlour, Mrs. Overtree, Sophie, and Kate sat together waiting for the men to join them.
Sophie had long ago guessed Wesley had broken Angela’s heart, but she had been stunned and grieved when Stephen had told her about the child. Now she said tentatively, “I was sorry to hear Miss Blake visits less frequently. She is . . . in good health, I trust?”
“I believe so,” Kate said with an uneasy little smile. “When I saw her in church on Sunday, I assured her she is more than welcome here, so hopefully she will call again soon.”
Mrs. Overtree changed the subject. “I have been thinking that we ought to host a christening dinner. Mary Katherine hasn’t been baptized yet, I trust?”
“No. Stephen wanted to wait and have her christened in the church here, with all of you in attendance.”
“Very thoughtful. Yes. It is a little unusual, waiting this long. But not unheard of to wait even longer, say, during an especially cold winter. No one wants to carry a little lamb out in the frigid weather, especially after being doused with water. Who shall serve as her godparents?”
“I was thinking Kate might, as her namesake. And . . . you and Mr. Overtree, perhaps?”
Her eyebrows rose. “Very good. Have you been churched yet?”
“I was. Mrs. Thrupton insisted upon it.”
“Excellent. We should send out cards announcing the birth.” She looked at Sophie. “Have you any visiting cards upon which we may write Mary Katherine’s name and date of birth? Or perhaps we should use the baptism date, so there is no . . . confusion.”
“No. I’m afraid I haven’t any cards.”
“What a pity. I doubt there is time to have them printed. Ah well. I will at least send my cards to some dear friends and neighbors, to let them know we will be receiving afternoon callers. I shall ask Mrs. John to have biscuits and tea ready. Many of our neighbors will wish to see Stephen’s”—she hesitated—“the newest Overtree.”
“It’s all right, Mrs. Overtree,” Sophie said gently. “Mary Katherine is and shall be Stephen’s daughter. Henceforth and forever.”
“Good. Well. That’s good then. Easier. For everyone.” She shifted on her chair, then glanced down and brightened. “There you are!”
To Sophie’s surprise, a grey cat arched against Mrs. Overtree’s skirt, and the woman bent down to stroke it. Sophie recognized the white patch that spotted the cat’s nose like cream—the smallest of Gulliver’s kittens, now an adolescent.
“Mr. Harrison helped us find homes for the others,” Kate explained with a fond smile. “But Mamma couldn’t give this one up.”
“Now, Kate, you know Mrs. John needed a good mouser. And besides, it would have been uncharitable to turn out the poor creature.”
Sophie bit back a grin as the cat’s rumbling purr grew louder. “And how is Gulliver?” she asked.
“Already up to her old tricks,” Kate replied. “Sneaking down the old passage from Winnie’s room and out the scullery door. No doubt visiting her beau in the churchyard.”
The grey cat curled up next to her chair, and Mrs. Overtree straightened, taking charge of the conversation once more. “May I ask how Wesley reacted? We know he went to see you, but he would say nothing of it while he was here. He didn’t put up a fight?”
Sophie paused to consider how best to answer. She said evenly, “He met Mary Katherine, agreed she looks like Kate, and handed her to Stephen.” All true, though the explanation left so much unsaid. Perhaps it was for the best.
The parlour doors opened, and Mrs. Overtree turned. “That was quick.”
But it was not the men come to join them—it was Angela Blake. The footman announced her, then departed, closing the door behind himself.
“I hope you will forgive the intrusion,” Angela began. “But I knew you would have eaten already and I couldn’t wait to meet the newest Overtree.”
“We are very happy to see you, Angela,” Kate said. “You know you are always welcome.”
Mrs. Overtree rang the bell and sent the footman to ask Winnie to bring down the child.
While they waited, Angela handed Sophie a wrapped package.
“I’ve brought a little something for her.”
“Thank you, that was very kind.” Sophie accepted the gift and unwrapped the tissue. Inside was a small baby blanket embroidered with white hollie point lace. “It’s beautiful. My goodness. Did you do this needlework yourself?”
“I did, yes. A long time ago. But it hasn’t been used—never fear.”
“I wouldn’t mind if it were. It’s lovely.
Thank you.” Had Angela embroidered all that delicate white work for her own child?
Only to give the child away to a foundling home before the blanket might ever be put to use?
A hollow ache filled Sophie’s chest at the thought of losing Mary Katherine like that.
She silently prayed that Angela’s child, wherever he or she was, had been placed in a caring home and was growing up content and healthy.
Winnie brought in Mary Katherine. The old nurse looked spry and smugly met Mrs. Overtree’s cool glance.
“Miss Blake would like to see her,” Sophie explained.
Winnie nodded and laid the child in Angela’s arms.
“She’s beautiful . . .” Angela breathed, tears welling in her green eyes. “She looks so much like—”
“Sophie says she looks like Kate, and we all agree,” Mrs. Overtree interrupted in a burst, her composure so ruffled that she’d called her daughter by the disapproved-of pet name.
Angela blinked up at her, lips parted. Then looked back down at the little girl. “Yes, I see it now. You are perfectly right.” Her eyes lingered on the child’s face a moment longer, then she lifted a determinedly bright face to Sophie.
“Have you heard my news?”
Sophie shook her head.
“Mr. Keith and I are engaged to be married.”
Sophie gaped. “Are you indeed? That is wonderful news.”
“Is it? I think so, though not everyone agrees. My father berated me for ‘not landing one of those Overtree boys,’ as though that had ever crossed my mind.” Fragile humor shone in her eyes.
Sophie gave her a gentle smile for brave effort.
“We thought of eloping, as did you and Stephen. What is good for the captain is good for the second in command, after all. But my father insists on a proper wedding. He sees me only a few days a month but suddenly takes an interest in my affairs.”
Sophie lifted a cautioning hand. “Don’t regard us as the standard bearers, I beg of you.” She chuckled in self-deprecation and was pleased to see the woman manage a tentative grin.
Angela said, “Father is glad to know there will be a man about the place to manage things during his absences.” Her grin widened. “And so am I.”
Sophie leaned over and pressed the woman’s hand. “Mr. Keith will be an excellent help to you and an excellent husband. I am very happy for you both.”
When Stephen left the smoky dining room ahead of the other men, there stood Winnie outside the door, eyes clear and bright, Mary Katherine in her arms. It was good to see her on the main level again, in the company of others.
She stood in quiet conversation with Sophie, but both women looked up in anticipation as he exited. Had they been waiting for him?
Winnie searched his face. “He told you then?”
Stephen held the dear woman’s gaze. “He told me.”
Her eyes lit in triumph. “Did I not tell you? I said you would not receive your rightful inheritance. You shall have your brother’s and he shall have yours, or at least a portion of it.”
Stephen looked at her in surprise. “Now how did you know that detail? The colonel only just decided it.”
“Did he?” Winnie said innocently. “A lucky guess—that’s all.”
Stephen winked at Sophie and said, “Told you she has second sight.”
Sophie grinned. “Oh, I don’t think it’s second sight so much as squint sight, but no need to quibble.”
“And now the two of you shall be happy,” Winnie proclaimed. “Or should I say the three of you.” She planted a kiss on the small charge in her arms.
Stephen had rarely seen his old nurse look younger or more pleased with herself.
“You predict a happy future for us, do you, Winnie?” he asked with an indulgent grin.
“Hah. You don’t need to be a prophet to know that. You have already had to fight to stay together. The battle is half-won.”
Stephen raised his eyebrows. “Half-won? And here I thought my fighting days were over.”
“This is real life, Master Stephen. Happily ever after takes effort. But you two will triumph. I believe it with all my heart.”
“I am excessively glad to hear it.”
His grandfather came out of the room and drew up short at the sight of them clustered together.
“Ah, Miss Whitney. I see you have your hands full.” He glanced over guiltily to make sure the parlour doors were closed. “I suppose that means our game is off for tonight?”
“Game?” Stephen asked in surprise.
“Yes, Colonel. I am otherwise engaged and couldn’t be happier.”
“As I see.” He smiled warmly at her.
Stephen’s brow furrowed. Beside him, Sophie whispered, “I’ll explain later.”
“It’s been too long since there’s been a wee one in this house,” Winnie said. “Thought I’d outlived my usefulness. But see here—it’s as if Master Stephen knew all along and that’s why he arranged for me to stay on when others would have sent me away. Perhaps he is the prophet and not me.”
His grandfather clapped his back—but not too hard. “And all this from the young man who once told me he doubted he would ever marry, let alone have a family.”
“God had other plans, apparently,” Stephen said, uncomfortable with all the attention.
Sophie looked up at him, eyes shining, and squeezed his hand. “And I am thankful indeed He did.”