“Never you mind. I can manage. Might it be better if I hire a gig and pick you up here? A woman in your condition ought not carry a valise nor walk such a distance, especially alone.”
“No, thank you. I’ll be all right,” Sophie assured her. She did not want horse hooves and carriage wheels crunching up the drive and announcing her departure. She doubted Mr. and Mrs. Overtree would put up much fuss. Probably bid her farewell and good riddance. But the colonel and Kate? Not to mention Wesley, with his impulsive, passionate nature? She dreaded a confrontation in front of the servants, and in the hearing of the vicar and any passersby.
“Very well, I will wait for you,” Mavis said. “The coach leaves at eleven.”
Fortunately, Kate remained occupied with Miss Blake, and Wesley in his own studio. So Sophie felt at liberty to quietly begin gathering her things—her knitting from the morning room, her sketchbook, the brushes Captain Overtree had picked out for her. Then she surreptitiously returned the novel and necklace Kate had lent her. She packed only her personal belongings and as few of the garments given her by Mrs. Overtree as possible.
She shut the valise she’d come with and slid it under the bed, in case any housemaid—or Kate—should pop in. Then she sat down to write three difficult letters.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Overtree,
I have decided to take my leave of Overtree Hall and have my child in peace and among friends. I am sorry I caused strife among your family. I do appreciate your many kindnesses and generous hospitality while I remained under your roof, but I have no wish to fuel further tension. I am not leaving to be with Wesley, I promise you. As I’m sure you do, I think it would be best if he married a gentlewoman of excellent character from the best family. And the sooner the better.
Wesley has made some harsh accusations against Stephen about his method and motives for marrying me. But in my heart of hearts, I believe Captain Overtree married me with the best and noblest of intentions.
I regret causing him further inconvenience and pain, especially when he is injured and far from home and family. I will write to him as well, and hope my letter reaches him in Brussels. If it does not, I trust you will apprise him of the situation in the manner you think best. I know you hold me responsible, and I do not blame you for that. But as in any rift, rarely is one person solely at fault while the other is completely innocent. So I would ask that you be fair in your account of recent happenings, even though I have given you reason to dislike and mistrust me. Regardless of what you think you saw, or the conclusions you may have drawn, I have never betrayed my marriage vows.
I will write to share news of the birth when I am able, in the event you are interested.
Sincerely,
S. Overtree
She wrote letters to Stephen and Wesley as well. Then she returned to the old schoolroom, gave the kittens a final pat, and gingerly straightened. Sophie slowly surveyed the room one more time. She looked at the dust motes floating in a shaft of sunlight and instead saw Stephen nervously showing her the new studio as his surprise, so hopeful she would be pleased. She looked again at the portrait of Stephen in uniform, remembering the precious hours they had spent together—him sitting, her painting. Smoothing back his hair, then suddenly realizing he meant to kiss her....
Unbidden, a few moments spent there with Wesley returned to her as well. Painting side by side. Finding he’d repaired the portrait for her when she could not. Taking her in his arms.... But then his parents’ shocked and condemning looks reappeared in her mind’s eye, and she blinked the memories away.
Sophie was sad to leave the painting behind, but it was too large to take. Besides, she wasn’t sure it belonged to her any longer—the painting or the man. Especially if Stephen had received the angry, accusing letter Wesley had sent—telling him she and Wesley wanted to be together. No wonder Stephen had not written to her.
On her way past, Sophie left a little package outside Winnie’s door. A ball of yarn for the cats, a packet of seed for her birds, and a pair of fingerless gloves Sophie had knit to keep Winnie’s hands warm when she fed her birds in chilly weather.
Then Sophie returned to the bedchamber she had—almost—shared with Stephen, and memories both wonderful and regretful assailed her there as well.
In the morning, after the maid helped her dress and departed, Sophie decided to wear one article of clothing Mrs. Overtree had given to her—a billowy, full-length mantle, which would disguise or at least minimize her advancing condition. She laid a coin and a little drawing she had made for Libby on the dressing table, picked up her valise, and left the room.
Sophie placed the letters for Wesley and his parents where they would be sure to find them. And then, taking her valise and her letter for Stephen, she slipped from the house.
As Sophie crossed the drive, she felt a shiver creep up her neck. She looked over her shoulder and, sure enough, Winnie stood in her window, again dressed in black. Sophie knew by now that it was her dress of mourning. Of farewell. The woman solemnly raised a hand, and Sophie returned the gesture.
Then she stepped through the estate gate and turned down the road with a sigh of relief. She had made it away without incident. She was almost free...
Suddenly the rumble of horse hooves from behind startled her. Heart lurching, she stepped to the side of the road, drawing the mantle’s deep hood over her head. Listening to the jingling tack drawing nearer, she hoped whoever was coming was simply a stranger passing by with a delivery of some sort.
Instead, when she glanced over, her stomach dropped to recognize Angela Blake at the reins of a small gig.
“May I give you a lift, Sophie?” She halted her horse and looked down at her expectantly.
Sophie studied her face. The redhead seemed a little smug, and a little sad, all at once.
“Were you... headed into the village this morning for some reason?” Sophie asked.
Angela gave her a hand up into the carriage. “No. Just had an inkling you might need a ride. I noticed you’d returnedSense and Sensibilityto Kate, though I know you hadn’t finished it, and that you’d gathered up your knitting as well. Not to mention whispering urgently with your visitor yesterday.”
“Very observant,” Sophie murmured.
Miss Blake urged the horse into motion. “May I ask why you are leaving Overtree Hall now, when you are so near your time?”
Sophie forced a smile. “I decided to depart while it is still safe for me to travel. I want to have my child at home. Mrs. Thrupton is a dear friend and has attended many a lying-in.”
