“But this is my good side,” he said. He’d obliged them by getting his hair and side-whiskers trimmed, but now his scar was more noticeable.
She shook her head. “Look at me straight on. I want to paint your face, not just your profile.”
He wished he could turn away, hide that part of him in the shadows. Instead she had him sit near the window, sunlight spilling over him, revealing every inch of his scar in grotesque detail, or so he feared.
“If I am to have my likeness rendered, I should not like the focus to be on my scar.”
“Is this portrait for you, or for me?” Sophie asked. “Will you be looking at it while you’re away, or shall I?”
“No one shall, if I have anything to say about it.”
She tilted her head, expression thoughtful. “Think of it this way, Captain. A portrait is like an ornamental headstone. It is not for the subject, but for those who look upon it. For those who want to remember.”
“Interesting analogy, Mrs. Overtree,” he said dryly. “Though yes, this is a grim occasion in my view, so an apt comparison.” He lifted his sword. “I salute you.”
She gave him a rueful smile. Then she tilted her head the other way, peering at him. Had he cut himself shaving? Had he food in his teeth? Or...?
She rose and walked toward him. Unsure of her intention, he watched her approach, forgetting to breathe.
She lifted a hand toward him. “May I?”
He managed a nod.
She raised splayed fingers and tentatively rearranged the hair falling over his brow, brushing the stubborn lock into submission.
He tried not to enjoy the feeling of her fingers in his hair. Not to reach out and capture her hand. Or put his arms around her and draw her near for a kiss on her maddening mouth.
She stunned him by lowering to her knees before his chair, taking his free hand in both of hers, and looking up at him—earnestly. Beseechingly. She could have asked for anything at that moment and he would have been powerless to refuse her.
“I know this is difficult for you. But please believe me when I tell you that I like what I see when I look at you. Your scar is much bigger in your eyes than in mine or probably in anyone else’s. It’s a small part of a big man. It only serves to make you look more... masculine. Now, will you please trust me?”
His chest tightened, and his heart beat hard. “I do trust you, Sophie.”Probably more than I should for my heart’s sake, he thought.
She squeezed his hand, and smiled gently into his face.
To blazes with resolve, he thought, and leaned down to kiss her. Her eyes widened in surprise as he neared, but she did not pull away.
“Here I am!” Kate announced, bolting breathless into the room. “Thought she’d never go. And of course I could not tell her why I wanted her to—” She drew up short, looking from Stephen’s posture to Sophie on her knees. “Oh, you newly married couples!” she protested. “Shall I leave you alone? And after I have all but pushed Angela out the door so I might watch Sophie paint you!”
“Not at all, Kate.” Sophie blushed. “We were just, em...”
Stephen straightened. “As you can see from Sophie’s posture, she was simply begging me to go along with this little scheme of yours,” he teased. “And I have agreed, out of the goodness of my heart.”
Sophie painted for nearly an hour, quietly explaining to Kate what she was doing as she went. Then she checked her watch pin and announced they had better end for the day—the dressmaker was due soon. The captain rose in relief and made his escape.
Kate remained to help Sophie clean her brushes, and then the two women left together. They paused at Winnie’s door to greet her, but she was not there. They continued downstairs and parted ways toward their respective rooms to wash hands before the fitting. As Sophie approached her bedchamber, she was surprised to see a brown-paper-wrapped package propped against her door. She picked it up and opened it. Inside she found an old book, and angled it to look at the title:The Rearing and Management of Children.
Her breath hitched and she looked around, relieved to not see anyone nearby. Sophie went inside and closed the door behind herself, breathing a little too hard. Surely Captain Overtree would not leave such a thing out in the corridor. But who else knew she was expecting? She quickly flipped through the yellowing pages, and saw they were dog-eared and underlined.
Winnie...Who besides a nurse who’d had the charge and care of children for decades would possess such a well-used book? Did Winnie know she was with child? Or was she simply looking ahead to a likely eventuality? In either case, Sophie rewrapped the book and tucked it deep into her bedside table drawer for the present. She didn’t want anyone else to see it and deduce the truth. Not yet.
Mrs. Pannet arrived on schedule for the final fittings on the dresses for the dinner party. Mrs. Overtree called the girls into her boudoir, where she could sit in comfort and oversee and approve. The dressmaker’s assistant helped Kate into her pink satin gown, and did up the fastenings, while Mrs. Pannet surveyed the girl from all angles. “Well, madame?”
“Perfect,” Mrs. Overtree declared.
Then it was Sophie’s turn. The blue-and-white gown settled into place, and the assistant laced up the back, pulling tighter, and struggling to fasten the little decorative buttons at the back of the bodice.
The dressmaker frowned. “Have you put on weight since I first measured you?”
