Stephen noticed the way Keith’s gaze lingered on Angela, and felt uneasy. A woman like Angela Blake—an accomplished young lady from a leading family of gentry—was not likely to return the affections of a disabled former lieutenant with no fortune and few prospects.
Finding Mr. Keith looking at her, Angela ducked her head self-consciously. Also strange, for Angela was never shy or retiring.
She shifted and changed the subject. “And you, Mr. Keith? Did you enjoy being an officer and all it entailed?”
Keith screwed up his face. “Not in the least. I never wanted to be a soldier—wasn’t cut out for military life. I had about as much right to wield a gun as Marsh has to wield a paintbrush. Really, it was ridiculous.”
“I don’t agree,” Stephen grumbled. “I am quite effective with a paintbrush. Painted the barracks singlehandedly one year.”
Keith replied, “Only because Major Wilson wanted to put you in your place.”
But Angela ignored their little exchange, her eyes fastened on Keith. “Then... why choose that profession?”
“Because when my father died, every farthing of his fortune was gone, gambled away, except for the commission he’d purchased for me. He left me no choice.”
Stephen could relate. He’d been given little choice in his career either.
Keith glanced over and saw Kate and Miss Blake hanging on his words. Something flashed in his eyes as he continued.
“I know you ladies like the notion of a brave soldier. But if a woman was tempted to look at me that way—to idealize me, or romanticize this—” He lifted his empty sleeve. “Then she is certain to be disappointed. Isn’t me. Never has been, and never will be.”
Miss Blake watched him closely. “Then what will you do with your life? You have been honorably discharged, and your father isn’t here any longer to force you to do anything. Can you not choose what sort of man you want to be?”
Keith held her gaze. “I’m afraid the man I want to be seems far from reach, Miss Blake.” He poured another glass.
Sophie watched the volley of words between Mr. Keith and Miss Blake like a spectator at a shuttlecock match. So much reverberated beneath the words—those said, and those not said. Sophie had never before felt sorry for Carlton Keith, but seeing the bleak longing in his eyes when he looked at Angela Blake, she thought she just might.
Mr. Keith rose and ambled somewhat unsteadily toward the wagon.
Miss Blake watched him go—part wistful, part irritated. “My father warned me about him,” she said in a low voice. “He was some acquainted with the elder Mr. Keith—a heavy drinker and gambler. Like father like son, I suppose.”
Sophie glanced at the captain, wondering if he would contradict her, but he did not. Probably could not.
A few minutes later, Keith walked back, two fishing rods in hand. The men had packed gear in the wagon along with the hampers.
“Care to fish, Captain?”
“In a minute. You go ahead.”
Keith yanked off his boots and stockings, baring his calves, and then stepped into the shallows in knee-length pantaloons. “Hang me, that’s cold!” He lifted his knees in a little jig as he cast his line into the current.
Kate and Angela discreetly rolled off their own stockings beneath their long skirts and tucked them into their shoes at the side of the blanket. Together they giggled and walked across the stream on a series of rocks spaced apart almost like a path. Sophie could imagine them as younger girls doing the same, against the warnings of their mammas or governesses.
“Sophie, come and join us!” Kate called, arms outstretched like a tightrope walker.
She waved at them. “I shall find it more diverting to watch you two.”
“Hear, hear,” Keith agreed.
“Come on. Don’t be a spoilsport,” Kate cajoled.
Sophie turned to Captain Overtree on the blanket nearby. “Is it deep?”
“Only about three or four feet, depending on recent rains.”
She glanced down at the dress she wore. “Your mother had this dress altered for me. I wouldn’t want to spoil it.”
“Sophie!” Kate called again.
