“I won’t be making prints forever,” O’Dell asserted. “I’m an artist in my own right. I’ll be famous one day. Just you wait.”
“Sadly, I haven’t that much time,” Stephen said dryly. “Now, if I might trouble you for a crate and the name of the local drayage company...?”
“We have several crates in the storeroom,” Miss Dupont said. “Maurice, if you will see the largest delivered to the first cottage.”
“Very well, but don’t expect me to help pack up that fop’s leavings.”
“Then, please mind the shop in the morning while I do.”
She turned to Stephen. “What time shall I meet you?”
“I am an early riser. Shall we say eight—or nine, if you prefer.”
“Eight is fine. I’ll see you then.”
Stephen hesitated. “Are you... all right here, or shall I walk you to the neighbor’s you mentioned?”
“I’m all right on my own. But thank you.”
Sophia Margaretha Dupont watched the black-haired, broad-shouldered stranger stride away, barely believing he could be related to Wesley Overtree. Beautiful, heartbreaking Wesley.
She’d had no inkling that things had changed between them—for Wesley at least. She had shown up at the cottage that morning as usual, smiling, stomach fluttering with happiness, eager to see him again, wondering how best to tell him her news. Only to find the farewell note he’d left and the cottage abandoned. Her smile had quickly fallen then. Her stomach cramped with dread. What had she done wrong?
She knew men did not like to be pressured, so she had not pressured him. Had he simply lost interest, or had he realized she was not beautiful enough for him—either as a model or a wife?
She read the rescued note again, and the conclusion seemed unavoidable. Wesley had not only abruptly left Lynmouth, but he had also lefther. She turned the note over, struck anew that he had written it on the back of one of the dozens of likenesses he’d painted of her. A dozen too many apparently.
Sophie sagged against the studio counter, feeling weary and low. It had been the worst day of her life, except for the long-ago day her mother died. At the thought, she gently clasped the ring she wore on a chain around her neck, close to her heart.
Not only had Wesley left, and her last hope of happiness with him, but then she’d had to endure that mortifying interview with his own brother. The man’s hard, knowing expression left her with the sickly feeling that he’d guessed the truth—that posing was not the worst of her indiscretions.
She remembered Wesley describing his dour and disapproving brother Marsh. And saying“Captain Blackwould sooner strike a man than listen to him.”She had formed an image of a foul-tempered, hardened warrior. A man who had seen terrible things. Who had probablydoneterrible things.
Captain Overtree certainly looked fierce, with that jagged scar, which his bushy side-whiskers and longish dark hair did little to conceal. Had his coloring spawned the name Captain Black or had it been his brooding personality? Perhapsblackdescribed both. He was taller than Wesley—several inches over six feet—and his strong-featured face boasted none of Wesley’s fine bone structure or handsome perfection. His eyes were striking though. Blue, where Wesley’s were light brown. She would never have expected blue eyes.
Her fleeting comparison of the brothers faded as the reality of her situation reasserted itself. This was no time to think of trivial things. Not when her life as she knew it hung in the balance and was soon to change forever.
She had not given God a great deal of thought since her mother’s death. Church had not played a significant part of her childhood. But during these last few weeks she had prayed very hard, hoping what she feared wasn’t true.
Now her prayer changed. She had been so certain Wesley would marry her. But now he was gone. Even if he came back, would it be in time to save her and her reputation?Oh, God, let him return in time....
chapter 2
In the morning, Stephen arose early and breakfasted. Feeling unsettled, he asked the innkeeper to direct him to the nearest church, and then walked there to pray. As a younger man—and a younger son—he had once hoped to make the church his vocation. But his grandfather had other plans for him. In some ways, the military had brought Stephen closer to God than a career as a clergyman ever could have. Even so, he yearned to serve his fellow man in some significant way.
In the solemn silence of the empty nave, he asked God for wisdom concerning what to do about Wesley... and Miss Dupont. He also prayed for the grace to accept God’s will, if his old nurse’s prediction was indeed correct. She had made the unsettling remark just as he was leaving Overtree Hall. Now the scene ran through his mind yet again....
Coming down the stairs, Stephen drew up short, taken aback to see Miss Whitney standing at the open back door. His former nurse usually remained upstairs. Had she come down to say good-bye?
He walked toward her. “What is it, Winnie? Is everything all right?”
“No. But there’s nothing you or I can do about it.” The woman sighed, then looked at the valise in his hand. “Heading off to bring Wesley back?”
“Yes. But don’t worry. Kate will look after you while I’m gone. Everything will be fine.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe it will be. You won’t always be able to save him, you know.”
She looked out the door again, and he followed her gaze, surprised to see his childhood friend and neighbor, Miss Blake, stalking off across the garden.
