Mauricetsked. “War is such risky business. I see now why you took your chances.” He looked around the room and then smiled at her. “Well, are you going to invite me to sit down? Offer me tea? I don’t exaggerate when I say I could drink a whole pot. Warm and dusty on the roads today.”
“Of course.” Embarrassed at her lack of tact, and his, Sophie avoided Wesley’s gaze and rang the bell.
While they waited for tea, Kate and Mrs. Overtree came in, and Sophie’s anxiety increased. She made the introductions with all the civility she could muster, but with no pleasure.
“How do you do, Mr. O’Dell,” Mrs. Overtree said. “Any relations of Mrs. Overtree are welcome.”
Sophie considered denying the family tie, but deemed it wisest not to comment. Maurice, however, did.
“Oh, we are not so closely related, ma’am. Not as closely related as I once thought we’d be. Thanks to your son, there.”
Sophie felt her face heat. Heaven help her—Mauricehadread Wesley’s letter. Would he reveal all to her mother-in-law?
Mrs. Overtree narrowed her eyes. “You must refer to my other son, Captain Stephen Overtree?”
“Ah yes. The one she married.”
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your call, Mr. O’Dell?” Mrs. Overtree regarded him coolly.
“Mr. Dupont and my aunt regret that they have not yet been able to visit Sophie, so I volunteered to do so in their stead. I was passing through the area, en route to fulfill a commission for Sir Cedric Fiennes. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? So generous. Even sent his fine traveling chariot to transport me in style.”
“Why is Father not with you?” Sophie asked.
“Oh, I thought I could manage this commission myself.”
Wesley sent her a knowing look.
Tea was delivered and Sophie began to pour, but her hand trembled. Noticing, Kate deftly took over the task, and Sophie’s heart expanded with a little more love for the girl.
Maurice glanced around at the few paintings on the parlour walls. “I must say I am surprised not to see any of your work on display, Mr. Overtree. I know you spent a prolific season among us this winter.”
“Oh? I have not yet seen his recent paintings.” Mrs. Overtree daggered a look at her son.
“You would find them interesting, I think,” Maurice said. “I suppose your son is naturally modest about showing his work?”
“Not usually, no.”
“Ah, well. Perhaps the subject itself is modest. The Devonshire coast is a fertile area for artists. You will have to take a look at them one of these days.”
“Indeed I shall.”
Maurice returned his gaze to Sophie—that gaze that always had a way of making her uncomfortable, and all the more now. “You are in... robust health, I see, Sophie. Being with child becomes you. Everything is... progressing well, I trust?”
Sophie swallowed. “Yes. Thank you for asking. We hope Captain Overtree will return in time for the birth.”
“Do we?”
“Yes.”
For a moment longer he held her gaze, and Sophie feared he would continue on with his innuendo, or simply announce what he knew, or at least suspected. But instead he smiled and turned to Kate.
“Miss Overtree. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. And are you a budding artist, like your brother? I do hope he has painted your portrait. If he hasn’t, I would be honored to do so.”
“He has,” Kate replied. “Though Sophie has painted another more recently. It’s lovely...”
Sophie relaxed fractionally when Maurice turned his attention to Kate, but Wesley, she noticed, seemed to grow increasingly tense.
When Maurice finally took his leave, Sophie made her escape. But not before she heard Mrs. Overtree hiss to her son, “What was that young man going on about?”
