Wesley,
I am sorry to leave without saying good-bye in person. But you can hardly blame me for that. I know you would make it difficult for me to leave, perhaps even try to forbid me or prevent me. You do not have that right. I am leaving to have my baby somewhere I will feel safe and loved and welcomed. I think it best for the child and certainly best for me at this time. Do not be concerned for my well-being or safety in traveling. Mrs. Thrupton accompanies me. I do not wish my child to become a pawn between you and your brother, if and when he returns. I will write to your parents to announce the birth when I can.
Please try to understand.
Sophie
Wesley threw down the letter in frustration. Yet could he really blame her for wanting to leave after the mortifying scene he and his parents had put her through? Why hadn’t he restrained himself? Kept a level head? He might yet have convinced her to leave with him before the whole sordid thing came to light. He had only thought of freeing Sophie from Marsh, of establishing their prior relationship and his claim to the child. It was his child, after all. And no matter what Sophie said, it did give him some rights where she was concerned.
Yes, he should have handled things differently. But it was not too late. He would go after her. He noticed with irritation that she had refrained from mentioning her destination. Either Bath or Lynmouth, he supposed—and with Miss Thrupton as her companion, Lynmouth seemed most likely. Though the woman might simply be escorting her back to her family in Bath, so he couldn’t be sure.
Wesley went looking for his sister, guessing Sophie may have confided in her. He found Kate in the morning room with Miss Blake. He hesitated upon seeing her there as well. He would prefer not to discuss the situation with Angela present, but was in no mood to wait.
Kate looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “Wesley! Sophie has left us.”
He nodded and asked, “Did you know she meant to leave? Did she say anything?” He did not mention the note in his pocket, not wanting her to ask to read it.
“No, but Angela saw her at the coaching inn this morning with that friend who called yesterday.”
“Oh and what were you doing in the village this morning?” he asked Angela.
“Giving her a ride, if you must know.”
“And no doubt eager to do so. Did she say where she was going?”
“To her family in Bath, I believe. She said she wanted to have her child at home, and who can blame her for that? I am rather surprised she stayed as long as she did after Stephen left.”
Had Sophie gone to Bath? Wesley inwardly groaned. Could he go to her there, with her family present? It would be awkward, to say the least.
He turned and left, considering how best to proceed.
Miss Blake followed him from the room. “You’re not thinking of going after her?” she hissed, eyes narrowed.
“Perhaps.”
Her freckled face puckered most unattractively. “Oh, just leave her alone,” she snapped. “As you did me.”
Wesley had no time for Angela’s complaints, to listen to her dredge up all those past accusations and disappointments. He could hardly believe the woman still suffered from unrequited love after all these years. But there was nothing he could do about it now. His thoughts were consumed with Sophie.
Wesley went upstairs to his room, rang for the valet to bring down a valise from the attic storeroom, and then began gathering a few things for the journey. He could have waited for the valet to assist him, but he was in no mood to deal with the obsequious fellow.
When half an hour had passed, and Edgar had not returned, Wesley stalked from his room, determined to fetch the thing down himself. What the devil was taking the man so long?
Wesley rounded the first landing and began up the narrower attic stairs. Movement caught his eye from above, and he glanced up. He paused where he was, taken aback to see the old nurse standing at the top of the stairs, staring down at him. A valise—his valise—in her hands.
“Is this what you’re looking for?” she asked, an eerie gleam in her eye.
“Yes. How did you...?”
“I told Edgar I would bring it down to you, but you have saved me a trip.”
Wesley frowned and continued up the stairs, irritated at the interfering old woman.
“Thank you,” he murmured disingenuously, and reached for the valise.
She held it tight. “Going after your brother’s wife? That’s a dangerous game, Master Wesley. One that can only end badly. Stay away from her, or it will not go well with you.”
He scowled. “Is this another of yourfalse prophecies?”
