Mrs. Overtree said, “If she were a great beauty, I might understand, but...”
Sophie slunk back to her bed, torn between offense and mortification to be the object of such scathing criticism.
A short while later, the outside door to the captain’s dressing room opened and candlelight leaked under the door. Low male voices—attempting to whisper but failing—seeped through as well. Captain Overtree and his valet.
“I understand what my mother directed, but I am capable of undressing on my own,” Captain Overtree grumbled, then sighed. “Oh very well.”
A few minutes later, the door into the bedchamber creaked open.
Sophie froze, unsure whether to feign sleep or sit up and send him away. Had he not said he would sleep in the dressing room?
Although faint moonlight came in through the windows, Sophie lay half-hidden by shadows and bed-curtains. She peered at him from beneath her lashes.
Captain Overtree stepped silently into the room, wearing a dressing gown over his white nightshirt, his feet encased in soft slippers. He carried a candle lamp in one hand, and carefully closed the dressing room door behind himself, wincing as it clicked closed.
Her heart hammered. Did he mean to sneak up on her? Join her in bed?
For a moment he stayed where he was, his back against the door, his head cocked to one side, listening. She too heard the faint scuff of shoes and the scraping of drawers within.
Then he took a tentative step toward the bed. Then another. Sophie’s pulse rate accelerated.
He stopped a few feet from the bed. “Are you awake?” he whispered. Or tried to.
Sophie swallowed. Tell the truth, or remain silent? “Yes,” she whispered back, fully opening her eyes at last.
“Don’t be alarmed,” he said in a hushed voice. “I am only awaiting the valet’s departure. It will start rumors belowstairs if it is obvious I am sleeping in the dressing room so soon after our wedding. To hear Father tell it, husbands usually avoid such punishment for a month at least.”
“Oh...” she murmured.
He stood there a moment longer, looking down at her by the light of his candle. How must she appear, hands fisted on blankets pulled to her chin, eyes wide in the shadowy cave of the canopied bed.
He shook his head, mouth twisting. “Poor little rabbit.”
He’d whispered it so softly she thought she had imagined it. He could whisper after all, she realized. When he truly wanted to.
A faint click of a shutting door reached them, and a few moments later Captain Overtree turned and disappeared—not into the dressing room, but rather out the main door. She wondered why. Where was he going at this hour, in his nightclothes?
Curiosity nipping at her, Sophie rose for the second time that night, climbed from bed without stumbling and tiptoed to the door. She inched it open and looked out into the corridor in time to see him creep quietly up the stairs. The furtive sight disheartened her somehow. Since she had not invited him into her bed, was he on his way to meet up with some willing housemaid? It was an uncharitable, baseless suspicion, and she cursed her scandalous imagination. Still, she hoped she was wrong.
chapter 9
In the morning, Sophie found herself surrounded by unfamiliar bed-curtains and wondered where she was. Then she remembered—Overtree Hall. She rolled to her back and looked upward. Above her in the paneled oak canopy, she noticed a square opening to allow smoke to escape, and guessed Colonel Horton must smoke a pipe or cigar. She glanced to the side and saw morning sunlight filtering through sheer lace draperies, the window shutters opened by a stealthy Libby, she guessed. Her gaze quickly darted to the captain’s dressing room, door slightly ajar and silent.
Libby entered through the other dressing room, and seeing her, Sophie sat up and pushed down the bedclothes.
“Is Captain Overtree...?”
“Already gone downstairs, ma’am. Early riser, your husband.”
Sophie climbed from bed, stepped to the washstand, and cleaned her face and teeth.
“What would you like to wear today?” the maid asked.
“I don’t know. What do you think would be most appropriate? I suppose the Overtree ladies wear morning gowns and then change for dinner?”
“Youare an Overtree lady now, ma’am, don’t forget.”
Libby pulled out the deep gown drawers in the dressing room one by one. “If you don’t mind my saying, ma’am. New gowns might be in order. Please don’t be angry!”
