“Oh, but I do fear.”
“Excuse me?”
He gestured toward the chairs at the table. “Please. Sit down.”
“I don’t wish to sit down. We are here to pack up your brother’s things, and that is all. Then I shall have Bitty put the place to rights for the next lodger, if there is one. It’s not likely this early, but—”
He pulled out a chair with a whining scrape and gave her his most imperious look. “Sit.”
“I am not a soldier in your command, sir.”
“Sit, please.”
“Very well. For a moment.” She sat, fingers folded primly in her lap. “I am feeling a little queasy still, I admit. But it shall pass.”
“Yes, in about eight or nine months, I imagine?”
She gaped up at him, eyes wide in shock. “How dare you...? It’s... it’s... none of your business.”
He grimaced. “But it is, I’m afraid. Family business.” He ran a hand through his coarse hair. “Look. I’m sorry to be so blunt. But it’s not in my nature to speak in polite generalities when there is a specific problem to solve. Nor have I the time to mince about.”
“It is not your problem.”
“Is it not? I came here to find my brother. To send him home to help our father before I must return to my regiment. Instead I find he has sailed for Italy, leaving a young lady in a serious predicament. He is the man responsible, I take it?”
Her full lips thinned to an offended line. “You, sir, are presumptuous beyond belief.”
“No. That was Wesley. I am the one trying to help. What do you plan to do?”
For a moment she stared at him, eyes glittering and face set. Then she released a long breath and sank back against the chair. “I don’t know. It’s early days yet. I don’t know what Icando. Please don’t tell anyone—it would kill my father.”
“But you won’t do anything... dire, I hope? When I saw you on the cliff’s edge, I feared you meant to do yourself harm.”
She shook her head. “I confess the notion went through my mind. But, no.”
“I am glad. Life is precious. A gift from God.”
“I am surprised to hear a military man say that. Are you religious, Captain?”
He shrugged. “When a soldier knows he might die at any moment, he either ignores God to ‘eat, drink, kill, and be merry,’ or becomes very aware of the brevity and blessedness of life.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose I might go away and have the baby in secret, and surrender it to a foundling home. But I don’t want to give up my child.”
Her eyes rested on the top portrait lying in the open crate. “Once again, I didn’t think through the consequences in advance. I thought Wesley would marry me. I suppose I still hope he will return in time....”
She probably believed Wesley would realize his mistake, beg her forgiveness, and vow his undying devotion. Stephen would like to believe that too. But he had known his brother all his life, and he doubted it. It was possible that personal resentments colored his opinion unjustly, but he didn’t think so.
He recalled his prayer in the church that morning, and the verse that had gone through his mind. Surely this wasn’t what God had been prompting him to do. Was it?
Stephen was accustomed to taking care of his brother’s responsibilities, and covering for his mistakes. But it was more than that. Foolish or not, he felt protective of this woman whose face had smiled softly at him through nearly a twelvemonth of deprivation and battles. He’d become strangely attached to her. And he wanted to do something good with his life—make some sort of recompense for what had happened with Jenny. Especially with Winnie’s morbid prediction hanging over his head.
Should he? Would Miss Dupont reject his offer outright? Be offended? She was in love with his brother, after all—golden boy Wesley, far more handsome and charming than Stephen had ever been, and all the more since the Peninsular War had left him with a long scar across one cheek.
But Wesley wasn’t there.
Hands behind his back, Stephen paced in front of Miss Dupont’s chair. He stated his case as resolutely as a general laying down battle plans.
“Wesley has gone to Italy. Who knows when he will return, or if he would do his duty by you if he did. I don’t say this to hurt you, but at this point neither of us can afford the luxury of wishful thinking. We must be realistic.”
