“I shan’t be alone. Miss Dupont goes with me.”
Keith’s eyes widened. “Miss Dupont?”
“Yes.”
He clucked his tongue. “My, my. I am surprised. First one brother, then the other. I can’t say I appreciated having to leave the cottage for hours at a time, while Wes ‘painted’ her, but I didn’t take her for a light-skirt.”
Stephen clenched his jaw, stifling the urge to throttle the man. Nearby, a trio of sailors guffawed at some joke, and Stephen leaned closer. “She is not. And I will not hear a word against her, spoken in my hearing or anyone else’s. Do you understand? Miss Dupont is to be my wife.”
Keith’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “Your wife? That’s why you’re going to Guernsey?”
“Yes. As you pointed out, I haven’t much time before I must rejoin the regiment. A wedding on Guernsey seems the most expedient option.”
“Expediency, ay? Not the romantic quality females seem to long for in a wedding. How do you think Mr. Dupont will feel about you eloping with his daughter?”
“I don’t imagine he will like it.”
“And Wesley?”
Stephen met the man’s challenging gaze directly. “What about Wesley?”
“How do you think he will feel about you eloping with his... with Miss Dupont?”
“You tell me. He isn’t here to ask.”
Keith grimaced in thought, ending with a shrug.
Stephen asked, “Had he anyhonorableintentions toward Miss Dupont?”
Carlton Keith opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again, seeming to think the better of whatever he’d been about to say. He shrugged again. “May have done. But it seems to me he made his choice. His art came first.”
Stephen nodded dourly. “And his own pleasure second and third and fourth.”
Keith’s eyes twinkled. “Doing it again, are we?”
“What?” Stephen snapped. Impertinent fool knew him all too well.
“I told Miss Dupont how you saved my life.” Keith smirked. “I think I recognize the signs.”
In the morning, Sophie reached the innyard a few minutes before the hour and stood alone, valise in hand, waiting for the captain. Mrs. Thrupton had offered to take her note for Maurice to the studio because she had a list for him as well—tasks he would need to take care of in her absence. Mavis jested that she would tuck Sophie’s letter somewhere Maurice was unlikely to see it for several hours—among the cleaning supplies he so rarely used. Sophie was only too glad to leave the errand to the stalwart woman and hoped she would manage to slip out before Maurice read the note.
Instead, a few minutes later, Maurice himself wheeled into the yard, open letter in his hand, face an angry mask.
He shook the page before her nose. “Is this a joke?”
“No.”
“What do you mean you’re getting married? I thought that scapegrace left.”
Sophie willed herself to remain calm. “Are you speaking of Mr. Overtree?”
“You dashed well know I am.”
“I am not marrying Mr. Overtree.”
“What? Then who?”
“I... don’t know if that is any of your business.”
