Surely Winnie’s sixth sense, or whatever it was, hadn’t picked up on something as ordinary as a humble painting of garden flowers. Perhaps Winnie had simply peeked into the schoolroom looking for Gulliver, who even now lay curled in a patch of sunshine near the window.
Sophie explained, “Your brother ordered the supplies and set all this up for me, knowing I am private about my work, or rather, pastime. So kind of him.”
“It’s clearly more than a pastime. You’re very good, Sophie. I may not be an expert, but I did grow up in the same house as Wesley, so I’m not completely ignorant.”
“Of course not. And... thank you. But I grew up in the same house as Claude Dupont, so I know not to esteem my little skill.”
“I think your father was too hard on you,” Captain Overtree said from the doorway.
Kate turned and greeted her brother. “Hello, Stephen. How romantic of you to set up a studio for Sophie!”
“It was nothing, Kate. Please don’t mention it to others.”
“Very well.”
The captain returned his gaze to Sophie. “Perhaps your father didn’t want you to become vain. Or wanted to push you to keep improving your skills.”
“Or perhaps he is simply a realist,” she said. “Amateur drawing and watercolors may be admired in accomplished young ladies, but art as a profession is not.”
Kate said, “But I’ve heard of several professional female artists.”
“Yes, but those women are the exceptions. In general, it is frowned upon.”
“Why?” Kate asked.
“It is thought to divert women from their prescribed roles as wives and mothers.”
Captain Overtree’s eyes glinted like glass. “Is that how you see it? Do you regret you’ve taken on the prescribed role of wife and someday mother?”
She stared at him, taken aback by his hard expression. “No. I never said that. I... have always hoped I would one day marry and have children.” She instinctively laid a hand over her apron-covered midsection.
Kate looked from one to the other, a wrinkle of confusion between her brows at the tension between them. She said in forced brightness, “Then all is as it should be. You are blessed, indeed. For you have a husband who supports your interest in art.”
Sophie replied to Kate, but kept her focus on the captain as she did so. “Iam blessed, yes. You are perfectly right, Kate.”
He held her gaze, and his expression softened.
“Will you give me lessons, Sophie?” Kate asked. “We can have them up here, if you like. I can understand not wanting Mamma peering over your shoulder. I wouldn’t want her peering over mine either. At least not until I have improved the rudimentary skills my poor governess tried to teach me. Wesley has offered, but he’s never here long enough.”
“I don’t know, Kate,” Sophie said. “I have never taught anyone before. I am sure if your parents knew you wished to learn, they would hire a qualified instructor for you.”
“But I would be far more comfortable with you. And it would give us an excuse to spend time together and become better acquainted.”
The girl’s sweet dark eyes widened and it was difficult to refuse her appeal.
“I shall teach you if we have a suitable model to paint.” Sophie turned to Stephen. “If you, Captain, will sit for us. How fortunate that I have a husband who supports my interest in art.” She slanted him a challenging look.
He raised his hands. “Oh no. No one need paint this battered mug. Not when more pleasant alternatives abound.” He gestured toward the vase of flowers, then hesitated, looking again at the cracked vase with a frown. “I’m sure we could find you a better vase.”
“No, thank you. I like that one.”
He turned back and for a moment studied her face.
Kate implored, “Oh, please, Stephen? I painted plenty of flowers while Miss Flynn was here. But I’ve never tried a portrait. Please?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Tell you what—practice on flowers or what have you for now, and maybe later... We’ll see.”
“But you leave soon, Stephen.”
