“But the next ship for the mainland doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning,” Mr. Partridge said. “We find most couples are, em, eager to consummate their nuptials, straightaway, you see. Eloping as so many are without a father’s blessing.” He leaned nearer the captain and suggested knowingly, “Best to do a thorough job of things, you see. Dissuades an offended father from contesting the match. All done, all in. Too late to make a fuss.”
His wife added, “So why not share your first night in one of my clean and tidy rooms? Bed ropes recently tightened. Plump new ticking. My maid washed the bedclothes herself. And a good roast dinner with my famous fish stew for starters. Hmm? What do you say?”
Helplessly, Sophie looked at Captain Overtree. He returned her gaze with a bemused expression. “My wife does not care for fish stew, I’m afraid, Mrs. Partridge. But I am amenable to the other arrangements, if... the missus agrees...?”
Four pair of eyes looked at her expectantly.
She swallowed. “I... well. If we cannot sail ’til morning, we shall have to sleep somewhere, shan’t we?”
“Very true, madam,” Mr. Partridge said. “We all must sleep, wedding night or no.”
But Sophie was almost certain she saw him wink at the captain.
An hour later, Sophie and Captain Overtree sat in the inn’s parlour. The captain sawed at his roast with relish while Sophie picked at a potato.
He paused and surveyed her full plate. “Is the food not to your liking?”
“Hmm? Oh no, it’s good. I am just not very hungry.”
He set down his fork and knife with a clank. “See here. There is no need to be terrified. I have no intention of...” He lowered his voice. “I will not press you or expect anything from you. You needn’t sit there trembling like a cornered mouse.”
He wiped his mouth and tossed down his table napkin. “I realize your affections lie elsewhere... on a ship bound for Italy. I am not a brute. No matter what you think me after that incident yesterday.”
“Th-thank you,” she managed.
“Yes, I thought you’d like that. Now eat something, so we can go to bed.”
Her gaze flew up to his.
“To sleep,” he clarified, eyes hard.
Sophie ate a few more bites before surrendering to her nervous stomach.
“Look,” he said. “Go up alone and I’ll ask them to send up a maid to help you undress or... whatever it is ladies do before bed. I’ll stay down here for a while. Give you some privacy.”
For how long, Sophie wondered. All night? She dared not count on it. And why should he spend his wedding night alone? They were married, she reminded herself. Like it or not. For better or worse.
Sophie went upstairs into the room they’d been given, which was as clean and tidy as Mrs. Partridge had promised. In a few minutes, someone scratched on the door and opened it. A young maid of eighteen or nineteen entered, all coy smiles.
“Your husband sent me to help get you ready for your wedding night.”
Sophie’s heart pounded. What happened to“I will not press you, orexpect anything from you...”? Did he intend to consummate the marriage tonight after all?
Her stomach knotted at the thought.
“Joe’s bringing up the slipper bath so you can have a nice soak. Then I’ll help you into your night things.”
“Oh. Um, thank you.” Perhaps it didn’t mean what it seemed, she told herself. Perhaps he was only being thoughtful—realizing she’d had to basically live and sleep in the same clothes for two days of traveling and would like a bath before she changed for bed. Yes, that was probably all it meant.
Sophie bathed and then the maid helped her into a nightdress. The cheeky girl winked, then left her waiting nervously. Sophie wrung her hands, listening to the woman’s retreating footfalls and expecting them to be replaced by a heavy tread climbing the stairs in reply to whatever saucy announcement of her readiness the maid had delivered.
But the stairs remained quiet.
Was he finishing his drink? No, Wesley had distinctly told her his puritanical brother did not drink—another weakness he disapproved of in others, according to Wesley.
A quarter of an hour passed. Then half an hour. Then an hour. She was growing both exhausted and irritable at once. She was tempted to climb into bed and feign sleep, hoping it would dissuade him from touching her. But how could she sleep when her nerves were wound tight, waiting every second for him to barge through the door and demand his conjugal rights?
Another hour passed. The rumble of voices in the taproom below diminished. Still he didn’t come. Had he paid for a second room without telling her? Found some more willing female with whom to spend the night? She grew more vexed the longer she allowed her imagination to play havoc with her peace of mind. Finally, she gave up wondering. She tied a dressing gown over her nightdress and tiptoed down the stairs.
