Wesley stared at her, wide-eyed. “When did my little sister become a young woman?” he breathed.
“While you were off traveling somewhere, no doubt,” Kate said. “Or had your nose stuck in a canvas.”
Was Sophie imagining it, or did his eyes mist over? He certainly looked remorseful.
He smiled fondly at Kate and tweaked her chin. “Sophie is perfectly right, Kate. You are beautiful. If I don’t miss my guess, you shall soon have your pick of gentlemen, flattering portrait or not.”
The following week, Sophie received a brief letter from Captain Overtree, posted from Dublin, where his regiment had been garrisoned.
Dear Sophie,
Only have a moment to write. Everyone rushing to prepare for departure. We embark soon for Belgium to join Wellington. Know that the warmth of our parting remains near, and gives me great encouragement. My thoughts and prayers are with you always.
Yours,
Stephen
Her heart welled with a sweet pain, followed by guilt for her lingering memories of Wesley. Letters like these would certainly help in that regard.
She wrote back to the captain but refrained from mentioning his brother. She didn’t want to worry him.
Over the next few weeks, life continued without incident at Overtree Hall. Every afternoon, the colonel and Mr. Overtree read the newspapers and reported on recent developments. First, those in authority debated over whether or not to reenter the war. Then came reports of Wellington’s struggles to amass sufficient troops. The colonel exchanged letters and visited friends with connections to both Wellington and parliament and shared news as he could with the family.
With all the correspondence arriving, Sophie hoped for another letter from Captain Overtree, but nothing else came for her. She reminded herself that Stephen might not have even reached Belgium yet. And once there, he would probably be too busy to write letters.
But she continued to check the post anyway, just in case. And to tread carefully in Wesley’s presence in the meantime.
Early one morning, Wesley suggested Carlton Keith join him for a ride. The man struggled to mount without his left hand and was mortified to require the groom’s help, but once in the saddle he managed to ride fairly well. After a few miles, they paused at a stream to allow their horses to drink.
As they waited, Wesley looked over at Keith. “It’s strange how the tables have turned. In the past, Marsh sent you along to protect me. But now you’re trying to protect Sophiefromme.”
Keith said, “Look, I have sympathy for your cause, Wes. But I promised the captain...”
“Once the underling, always the underling, ay, Lieutenant?” Wesley muttered.
Keith gave him a humorless smile in reply, but Wesley knew the man well enough to see his comment had stung and regretted it. “Sorry, old man,” he said. “Don’t mean to take out my anger on you.”
“I understand. I know what it’s like to pine for a woman who’s out of reach.”
Wesley wondered whom he referred to but didn’t pursue the topic.
They remounted and began trotting toward home. “If you don’t mind, I’ll ride ahead,” Wesley said. “Meet you back at the stables, all right?”
Keith nodded.
Wesley spurred his horse to a gallop on the straightaway, needing to vent his frustration and put some distance between himself and Keith before he said anything else he would regret.
Afterward, as the two men walked from the stables toward the house, they came upon Miss Blake and Kate playing battledore and shuttlecock in the garden. Sophie, he noticed, sat nearby on a garden bench, a large-brimmed bonnet shielding her face.
It was the first he’d seen of their neighbor since arriving home. He inwardly groaned. And in Sophie’s company yet. He hoped Angela would behave herself and play fair.
Kate glanced up. “There’s Wesley. He’ll play.”
Miss Blake turned her ginger head in his direction, her green eyes watchful and wary as he approached. They had known one another so long, he could read every expression on her long, freckled face, every quirk of her mouth with its heavily bowed upper lip. It saddened him that they’d lost their former camaraderie and knew he was partly to blame. But there was nothing he could do about it now.
“Ah... the prodigal son returns,” she said with a little smirk. “Hello, Wesley.”
“Angela.” He acknowledged her with a dip of his head, determined to be polite.
