Wesley crossed his arms. “Later.”
“Oh, but the light is just right now for reading sheet music. I do so hate trying to squint by candlelight to read those reeling notes.”
He offered Sophie his arm. “Mrs. Overtree.”
“Thank you, Mr. Keith.” She squeezed his arm. “And I mean that sincerely.”
During dinner that night, Wesley could not keep his gaze from sliding across the table to Sophie, admiring her like a favorite painting. She was even more beautiful than he recalled. Her cheeks were rounder and pink with the blush of health. Her figure more womanly than he remembered. Had the flush of happiness, of wedded bliss, put those roses in her cheeks? Wesley doubted marriage to his stern, dour brother could have done so. Whatever the case, the more he looked at her, the more he regretted letting her go.
As they enjoyed Mrs. John’s sponge cake and orange jelly, Kate said, “I came looking for you today, Wesley, but I could not find you. Where did you go?”
Sophie flashed him a concerned look, clearly worried he would tell them.
“Careful...” Keith warned under his breath.
Beneath the table, Wesley shifted his leg away from Keith’s chair, just in case Keith was tempted to kick him in return.
“Well, Kate. You happened to mention Sophie’s little studio in the attic, so I thought I would pay a call. See what all the fuss is about.”
“Studio?” the colonel asked. “In the attic? What are you on about?”
“Oh yes, it’s quite true,” Kate said, all smiles. “Stephen secretly set up and supplied an art studio for Sophie in the old schoolroom, knowing how much she likes to paint. Such a romantic gesture.”
Marsh—romantic?Wesley lost his appetite.
“I don’t understand,” his mother said, a little frown line between her brows. “Why all the way up there? Sophie, you might have done your little watercolors or what have you in the morning room or the garden like most young ladies.”
Sophie hesitated. “I...”
“She is modest, Mamma,” Kate defended, “and prefers to paint in private.”
“Then why did Wesley think it necessary to intrude?”
He felt his mother’s pointed look on his profile, but ignored it. He said easily, “Simply to see it, and to judge whether or not it might be a good setting in which to paint Sophie’s bridal portrait.”
“That again. You have always painted in the room adjacent to your own.”
“Yes, but there is surprisingly good light up there. Wish I had thought of it sooner.”
With a glance at Keith, Sophie said evenly, “I have been thinking. If you insist on painting my portrait, Wesley, perhaps Kate might like to sit with us while you do so. She has expressed interest in learning to paint and might find the experience valuable.”
“Oh yes. That’s an excellent notion,” Kate agreed.
Sophie added with a sheepish little laugh, “I might even try to paint her while you paint me.”
“What?” his mother asked, brows high.
“Mamma, Sophie is an accomplished painter,” Kate said. “You should see her portrait of Stephen—though it isn’t finished yet.”
“I don’t pretend that my skills are on par with your son’s,” Sophie said quickly. “Nor would I expect my efforts to ever hang on any wall. I just thought it might prove a pleasant diversion to break up the long monotony of sitting.”
“A portrait of someone painting a portrait?” Wesley asked with a smile. “What a novel idea.” Was she remembering when they had done the same at Castle Rock?
She nodded. “I saw an artist attempt it once.”
“Oh?” he asked. “And how did it turn out?”
She met his gaze. “Not well.”
