He rose to his feet as well, his steadfast gaze holding hers.
A knock interrupted them, and Sophie jumped. She prayed Wesley hadn’t returned.
Mrs. Thrupton’s muffled voice came through the door. “May I take Mary for you?” she offered. “I thought she and I might call on your Papa for an hour or so, if that suits....”
That would give them privacy, without fear of an audience in the next room, or the baby awakening at an inopportune moment.
Stephen murmured, “It’s up to you. I’m in no hurry to send her away.”
Sophie went to the door and cracked it open. “Thank you, Mavis. That is very kind.” She settled the child into Mavis’s arms.
“It’s good of you, Mrs. Thrupton,” the captain added.
“No trouble.”
Mavis turned away, but not before Sophie saw the sparkle in her eyes and heard her coo to the child, “Better late than never...”
Sophie closed the door and turned to face him. Gripping her hands, she looked up at him shyly. “I, um...”
Stephen stood awkwardly, several feet away from her, a line between his brows. “Sophie, I don’t want to rush you. Mary Katherine is only, what, five or six weeks old? We can wait. I would never want to hurt you.”
“I feel perfectly well. But... perhaps we could be very careful?”
“Of course. I will be as gentle as I can, but I confess I have had little experience, so...”
“Well, thankfully we have our entire lives to practice.”
His gaze flew to hers. “As you wish.”
In two strides, he closed the gap between them, gathered her in his arms, and kissed her soundly. Her lips parted as she returned the pressure of his kiss. He melded his warm mouth to hers, her body to his, until her legs felt weak, and her heart... strong.
He was gentle with her and wonderfully patient. Her time with Wesley seemed like a distant and regrettable memory.
Late that night, the three of them fell asleep together—her and Stephen in the narrow bed, and Mary Katherine in her cradle beside them. As her eyes drifted closed, Sophie thanked God again for His forgiveness and self-sacrificing love—as well as her husband’s.
chapter 35
The following week, Stephen and his wife and daughter traveled to Overtree Hall in a hired chaise. He and Sophie held hands on the bench between them, and took turns holding the baby. Eventually, Sophie fell asleep against his good shoulder, lulled by the rocking of the carriage. He put his arm around her and held her securely against him, while he cradled Mary in the crook of his other arm. He felt more content than he had in his entire life.
He thought back with warm pleasure over their last several days in one of the hillside cottages, enjoying a makeshift honeymoon—thanks to Mrs. Thrupton’s help with Mary Katherine. How he had relished sleeping with his wife curled against him when Mary slept. Or walking the child when she fussed in the wee hours, so his lovely, exhausted wife could rest.
Stephen hoped his parents would welcome Mary Katherine more warmly and eagerly than they had initially welcomed Sophie. And he prayed relationships would improve between his wife and his parents. The truth was, each one of them was partly to blame, himself included. But if they continued to condemn Sophie, he would not subject her to long or frequent periods in their company. Her happiness was too important to him. If necessary, they would visit now and again, but live in Lynmouth the rest of the time. At least until he recovered enough to return to duty. How he dreaded the prospect. He did not wish to leave his wife and daughter.
And what about Wesley? Stephen wondered. Would he remain true to his intention to step back and relinquish any claim to Mary Katherine, and be an uncle to her only, both publically and in private? He hoped so, or visits to Overtree Hall could be more tense and stressful yet, especially as Mary Katherine grew older.
Almighty God, direct our paths, he prayed.Soften hearts. After all, you are the Kingof redemption and restoration.
His parents were still away at a midweek service when they arrived at Overtree Hall. Stephen was glad for a little time to settle into their room, and feed and change Mary Katherine.
“Why do you not rest a while, my love?” Stephen suggested, after she’d nursed the baby. “We can wait and go down for dinner. No doubt Thurman will tell them we have arrived.”
“I shall try to rest if you do,” she said, Mary in her arms. “But I shan’t hide in here—if you go down, so shall I.”
“I didn’t mean you should hide. The past is the past, thanks be to God.”
She smiled tenderly up at him. “And thanks to you.”
He helped her off with her pelisse, pressed an affectionate kiss to her cheek, and turned her toward the bed, shooing her toward its comforts with a gentle pat to her bottom. She put a few pillows around the sleeping Mary to keep her from rolling off the bed, then climbed in herself.
