Keith said under his breath, “Doesn’t mean he didn’t try.”
Wesley lifted his chin. “I merely told Mamma and Papa the truth. After that, she chose to leave.”
Anger coursed through Stephen. “You selfish wretch...” Poor Sophie! How mortifying for her.
Their father said soothingly, “Come into the house, Stephen. Let’s everyone remain calm, and we will explain the situation as best we can in private.”
“Where is she? Has she had the child? Is she well?” His concerned questions tumbled out one after another as he followed his parents into the house and through to the parlour.
“I am sure she is well,” his mother asserted. “She promised to write when the child was born. Calm yourself. Unfortunately, the letter she posted to you in Brussels before she left has been returned here, undeliverable.”
“You didn’t mention a letter to me,” Wesley objected.
His mother’s expression remained flat. “No, I did not.” She turned to the hovering Thurman. “Please send for Dr. Matthews directly.”
“Very good, madam.”
She returned her gaze to Stephen. “I shall bring you the letter. But first—a bath and dinner.”
“Hear, hear,” Keith agreed.
Stephen thought about demanding to read the letter first and insisting that he didn’t need to see yet another doctor. But at the moment he was too weary to protest and allowed his Mamma to take care of everything, as much for her sake as for his.
After a bath, clean civilian clothes, and a good meal, Stephen felt a little better physically. Dr. Matthews arrived and examined him somberly, without his usual unruffled ease, but in the end, declared he thought both arms would heal in time, though the mobility of the left one would always be limited and he did not envy the aches and pains that were sure to plague Stephen every time the weather changed when he grew older.
His mother, finally satisfied all had been done, brought the letter to him in his bedchamber. Her hand lingered on his and rare tears shone in her eyes. “I am so glad you are safe.”
He squeezed her hand. “Thank you, Mamma. And thank you for praying for me.”
She nodded. “I did. Every day.” She stepped to the door, then turned back. “Sophie did as well.”
She held his gaze a moment longer, and then left him. Too weary to do anything else, Stephen stretched out on the bed that had been his grandparents’—that had been Sophie’s—and read her letter.
Dear Captain Overtree,
By the time this letter reaches you in that distant place, I will long have left Overtree Hall. I have decided to return to Lynmouth with my dear friend Mrs. Thrupton and have my child there. I think I would be more comfortable with her at such a personal, vulnerable time, than here among people I have known so briefly. Especially as you are not among them. I hope you will understand and not think the worst of me.
Regretfully, I have become a cause of strife among your family. I am sorry for that. I regret inflicting further worry and pain, especially when you are injured and far from home. What a way to repay your kindnesses to me!
Don’t mistake me—your family has been very good to me and provided well for me while I was with them. I grew quite fond of your grandfather and of Kate especially. But things deteriorated when Wesley returned and have become awkward and uncomfortable. Please believe me when I tell you I am not leaving to be with Wesley but rather to avoid him.
Your parents suspect there is something between us. And I admit that when we were told you had died, I briefly thought some future relationship with him might be God’s will. But once we learned you were alive, I knew I was wrong and resisted his entreaties. I was sincerely relieved to learn you were alive—are alive—and will someday return to England. I realize that when you hear from Wesley himself, or from your parents about me, you may wish to find some way to wash your hands of me forever. But I nurture no such wish to be freed from you. Please believe me. No matter what you may hear, I have never betrayed my marriage vows, nor will I. I wish I could promise you a happy, strife-free return to Overtree Hall, and be there to warmly welcome you home. But I fear I have tainted my chances of happiness there forever. I don’t know what the future holds. In great part, that is up to you. But for now, I feel it best for the child, and for me, to live elsewhere.
I will write to share news of the birth when the much-anticipated event occurs. I know you are a man of faith, and I would covet your prayers for a safe delivery.
Yours sincerely,
Sophie
Oh, Sophie, he thought, his heart aching for her in more ways than one. He thanked God that the letter laid to rest his doubts about her wanting to be with Wesley. And he would lay to restherdoubts about his feelings for her as soon as he could.
Stephen rested the next day at his mother’s insistence. It felt good to be coddled, to be warm in bed and well fed. But he knew himself, and knew the idle pleasure would soon wear thin. He would travel to Devonshire as soon as he felt a little stronger. In a day or two, even though he knew his parents would protest.
And Wesley? Stephen would keep his plans to himself for now.
Miss Blake stopped by to wish him well. Mr. Keith joined them and the three talked and teased for several minutes. Then Stephen sobered and said, as much for Angela’s benefit as for Keith’s, “Well, Lieutenant, I am in your debt.”
“How’s that, Captain?”
