“I tried to find her later, when I had sobered up and realized what I’d done. But her father’s business had collapsed like so many in those years and no one could tell me where they’d gone. So I could not make amends. But I promised myself I would never do the same again.”
“You did more than most men would have.”
Stephen shifted uneasily. “I hope that isn’t true. Whatever the case, I vowed to abstain from hard drink after that. It wasn’t easy. Especially after a particularly gruesome battle or the death of a friend. When I wanted to forget....”
He grimaced at the memory. “Sometimes I gave in. Sometimes I managed to resist, with fervent prayer and staying clear of the mess tent or the sergeant with the ready bottle. And the more I resisted, the easier it became to resist again.”
He sighed, weary to recall the struggle. “You see me now. I drink spring water or ask for coffee, tea, or ginger beer. I limit myself to one glass of wine with dinner. I enjoy it, but no more. But when I first stopped, I couldn’t allow myself even that. For one glass made it too easy to say yes to another, then three, then four.”
Stephen shook his head in self-deprecation. “I have only been foxed once in the last five years. Care to hazard a guess when? Not after a particularly horrible battle. Not after someone died. But after my own wedding.”
Keith’s brows rose nearly to his hairline. Then he chuckled, shaking his own head. “Poor Marsh. Not the wedding night either of you dreamed of, ay?”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Stephen rubbed his neck. “I hated her seeing me like that. I promised her I would never do so again, and I shan’t with God’s help.”
Stephen tilted his head and regarded Keith. “Whydoyou drink so much? Does the arm still pain you? Or are you trying to forget the war, or...?”
“No. I don’t know. I suppose it helps me act the jolly fool, all bluster and bravado. Angling for a laugh. Doing anything to keep women, or at least a particular woman, from feeling pity for me.” He snorted. “Stupid, I know. And apparently I’ve been successful. Miss Blake doesn’t feel sorry for me. She feels disgust.” Keith shook his dark head. “That strategy may have won a battle but cost me the war. But I will try. For her sake, I shall give it up.”
“You’ll need help.”
“No, Captain. You’ll be off fighting, or drilling your men. You don’t have time to play nursemaid to me.”
“I wasn’t thinking of me. Ask God to help you. Every day. Every hour. Every time you’re tempted.”
“I haven’t your faith.”
“That may be part of the problem.” Stephen raised a hand. “No, I don’t say it’s the cure. All men struggle with some temptation or another, but God will help you. It would also be wise to have someone keep you accountable. My grandfather, perhaps.”
“The old colonel frightens the wits out of me,” Keith admitted. “But I’ll try.”
“Good.” Stephen rose, then turned back. “And Carlton? You heard Angela. Don’t do it for her—do it because it’s the right thing to do. Because life is precious and you don’t want to waste it. Otherwise, if she chooses another man in the end, you’ll go right back to your old ways. Or if she does marry you, you might be tempted to think, ‘I have her now, what can a few drinks hurt?’ Then you will end up finding out just how much you can hurt your wife and your children.”
“Like my own father did.”
“Right.”
He pressed Keith’s shoulder in a rare display of affection. “You can do it, Lieutenant. It’s all uphill from here.”
Keith gave a rueful grin. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
chapter 18
Afew days later, Mr. Keith and Colonel Horton rode off together on some mission, but no one seemed to know where they went or how soon they would return. Mrs. Overtree muttered aloud that it must be nice to go gadding about at one’s leisure while others had a thousand things to do to prepare for a party.
Sophie offered to help but was politely refused. As one of the guests of honor, she should not have to lift a finger, her mother-in-law insisted. Personally, Sophie thought Mrs. Overtree liked being in total control, preferred to manage the staff and details like a general commanding her troops and dictating battle plans. She was welcome to it.
Sophie devised her own small battle plan to prepare for the party. She was looking forward to it more than she would have guessed and wanted to look her best for Captain Overtree’s final night at home.
The day of the dinner, Sophie began getting ready hours ahead of time. Libby, with the help of a footman, carried up a tub, screen, and several large cans of hot water so Sophie could have a real bath in her room, instead of the sponge or hip baths she usually relied upon. She soaked in the warm scented water and relished the pleasure of Libby washing her hair.
The captain bathed after her, while the tub was set up behind the screen near the fire. She assured him she did not mind. With all the extra work the servants were already doing, there was no need to ask for the tub to be moved into the dressing room—even if it would fit, which was questionable.
Sophie sat at the dressing table, towel drying, then combing out her long hair to help it dry faster and remove the tangles. She angled her back and faced away from the tub. The screen had been set up to block the view from the door, should anyone enter. It partially blocked her view as well. But now and again, she sneaked a glimpse of him in her mirror: muscular shoulders and arms, scarred chest, flat abdomen, damp dark hair, skin glistening...
Sophie swallowed. He glanced over and caught her looking. She quickly feigned interest in a tangle and worked to remove it with her comb.
When the captain had dried off, covered himself in a dressing gown, and left the room, Sophie released a long breath.
