“When my girls are a little older, they shall have music lessons,” Mrs. Dupont said as they finished their pudding. “Learn to sing and play the pianoforte or harp. Fine needlework too. And French, perhaps. All the accomplishments. Poor Sophie never had the opportunity. Her father let her potter about with his paints and tag along in his studio for hours on end when she ought to have been learning or doing something useful. She helps with the mending, when I ask, though she is not a dab-hand with anything finer. She speaks some Dutch and Italian, though to what advantage I don’t know. She is good with the children, I own. But now...”
She halted her litany and asked, “Where will she live when you rejoin your regiment, Captain? We haven’t much room here, but this is her home, and she is helpful, in her way....”
The captain’s eyes glinted. “I am afraid that will not be possible, ma’am. My wife and I journey to Overtree Hall next to meet my family. Sophie is a married woman now. Certainly you can appreciate that she will no longer have the time to spend on your mending and child-minding.”
He smiled and continued on casually, “And who knows? Lord willing, she may have her own children one day. Have I mentioned twins run in the Overtree family? You will have no trouble accommodating us all, I trust?”
Sophie pressed her lips together to keep from protesting. Or laughing.
Mrs. Dupont blanched. “Here? Heavens no. Sophie is always welcome, of course. But we have our hands—and rooms—full as it is.”
“Then how fortunate that there is plenty of room for us at Overtree Hall. In fact, we shall depart tomorrow.”
“So soon?” Mr. Dupont asked, brows high.
Sophie was surprised as well.
“I am afraid so. I must rejoin my regiment in less than a week now, and want to have time to introduce Sophie to my family and to familiarize her with the estate and parish. You understand.”
“Of... course.”
Sophie spoke up, “I’m sorry, Papa, if I am leaving you in the lurch. If you need me in the studio, perhaps after Captain Overtree leaves to rejoin his regiment, I might—”
“Your father doesn’tneedyou, Sophie,” Mrs. Dupont retorted. “What a high opinion we have of ourselves. He is perfectly capable on his own. After all, he was a renowned portrait painter while you were still in pinafores. Is that not right, my dear?”
Mr. Dupont hesitated. “Well, of course. But Sophie has always been a help to me. Preparing paints and canvases and whatnot.”
Captain Overtree began to protest, “She does far more—”
Sophie squeezed his hand beneath the table to forestall him.
“And I have been happy to do so, Papa. But as Mrs. Dupont says, you don’t need me. And besides, you have Maurice now. My place is with... my husband.”
“But thank you for understanding and for hosting us,” the captain added, keeping hold of her hand as he rose. “We shall trouble you no longer.”
He led her from the dining parlour and started toward their bedchamber, but Sophie tugged his hand in the opposite direction, down a quiet passage. She paused before a painting of her mother from when she was young, with fair hair, a broad forehead, button nose, and blue-green eyes.
“I wanted you to see this. My mother, right before she married Papa.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“Yes.”
“You look like her. Did your father paint this?”
“No. Look at her eyes... A Dutch painter you would not have heard of.”
He looked at her instead. “How do you stand to hear your stepmother belittle your contributions and abilities?”
She shrugged. “It’s nothing really. She’s right. My help is trivial. I am a dabbler—that’s all. Papa is the real artist.”
He shook his head. “Your father takes you for granted.”
“Please don’t speak poorly of Papa. I love my stepsiblings, of course, but really... Papa is the only family I have.”
He held her gaze and pressed her hand. “Not anymore.”
Sophie’s heart warmed, but she looked away from his earnest gaze. “Come. The girls will be up soon and want their story.”
