“Does he blush? I would not have guessed it.”
“You’re right. He probably won’t. Still, it will be amusing to see him squirm a bit.”
Mrs. Overtree rubbed a finger over her brow. “Katherine, that is enough foolishness for now. You have monopolized Sophie’s attention quite long enough. Now, please play something quiet and soothing and give my poor nerves a rest.”
“Very well, Mamma.” Kate rose. “But don’t tell any secrets while I’m out of earshot.” She dutifully went to the pianoforte and began playing a sweet, simple melody.
Mrs. Overtree sighed. “Much better. Now, Sophie, do tell me more about yourself. Your mother is...?”
“She passed away. Seven... no, nearly eight years ago now. It’s hard to believe it has been so long.”
“And your father remarried? I heard you mention young sisters.”
“Yes. My father married a widow with three children. I have a four-year-old stepbrother and two stepsisters, aged six and eight.”
The woman’s brows rose. “Such young children—at their ages?”
“Yes, well, my stepmother is some ten years younger than my father.”
“I see. And your father is an artist. Would I have seen any of his work?”
Interesting way to probe into his prominence. “I could not say, Mrs. Overtree. He has painted several distinguished people in London, Bath, and elsewhere. Sir Thomas Acland, for example. And he teaches and mentors younger painters, like your eldest son.”
“Wesley is beyond needing teachers now. Quite a natural talent, that one. But yes, we paid for the best masters and academies in his youth. And now he journeys to Italy again, no doubt to increase his skill. He studied there, you know. Several years ago.”
“Ah,” Sophie said noncommittally, though Wesley had told her a great deal about his time there.
“Your father is successful, then?”
“I would say so. He isn’t wealthy, but the commissions keep arriving and he even on occasion must turn down requests. So yes, he does as well as any painter without a court appointment can expect.”
“I am surprised he thinks it wise to turn down commissions, if he is, as you say, not wealthy.”
Sophie forced a smile. “He has taken on an assistant—a promising young painter, related to his wife. So he hopes to increase his capacity soon.”
Mrs. Overtree nodded her understanding, then raised a dismissive hand. “Well, enough of that. We don’t want to talk about business, do we?”
She had been the one to bring it up, but Sophie did not remind her of that.
“Have you been to London?” Mrs. Overtree asked.
“With my father, yes. Several times.” But not to participate in the season, Sophie thought, though she did not clarify. Instead she asked, “You have been there, I imagine?”
“Yes, but not in years. Mr. Overtree’s health prohibits us.”
“Ah. I am sorry to hear it.”
She waved away Sophie’s sympathy and continued her questions. “And who are your father’s people—your family? Would I have heard of them?”
“Unlikely. His father was a printmaker who married a vicar’s daughter. My mother’s parents were from Holland, as I mentioned, but I don’t know much more about them.”
“Why not?”
“They died before I was born, but I gather they didn’t approve of their daughter’s marriage and severed all ties with her.”
“I understand. Sometimes parents must take a hard line when children stray.”
Yes, Janet Horton Overtree no doubt empathized with Sophie’s disapproving ancestors. She hoped Stephen’s relationship with his parents wouldn’t suffer irreparable damage due to his marriage to her.
