Libby bustled in to help her dress. She tied silk stockings over Sophie’s knees and cinched long bone stays over her shift. She had to loosen the laces but made no comment. She then helped Sophie on with her new gown, doing up the lacings and tiny pearl buttons at the back of the bodice. The new evening dress was not quite as formal as a ball gown but nearly so, and Sophie felt like a princess in it. Especially now that it had been altered to fit her expanding figure.
Libby brushed Sophie’s hair until it shone gold, then pinned it high on her head, with two braids looped like garlands at the back. With hot irons she curled spiraling tendrils at each temple.
The maid touched the faintest tint of rouge to her lips and cheeks, and powdered her nose. Then around Sophie’s neck she fastened a simple strand of glass beads that Kate had lent her, insisting it would look perfect with her blue-and-white dress.
Finally Libby stood back and admired her work. “There. You look beautiful, madam. If I do say so myself.”
“Thank you, Libby. You are a real artist.”
Libby winked. “Takes one to know one.”
Sophie rose and turned to regard her reflection in the long cheval mirror.
The maid shook her head, dimples showing, “Just you wait until the captain sees you. My, my.”
Sophie glanced at the closed dressing room door, assuming Captain Overtree had finished dressing and gone downstairs. She longed to hear him say she looked all right. And hopefully not too showy.
Sophie gave her reflection a final inspection. Shewaspretty, she thought. No matter what her father said about her being too plain to model. For a flash of a moment she wished Wesley were there to see her. To see how lovely she was and regret leaving her. She willed away the foolish, disloyal thought. Tonight was about Captain Overtree. And her. And their marriage, such as it was.
She pulled on long white gloves and made her way downstairs.
From the half landing, she saw Captain Overtree standing at the bottom of the stairs in full evening dress. He looked serious—jaw set, shoulders wide and squared—and wonderfully masculine in black tailcoat, brocade waistcoat, and linen cravat. Knee breeches and white stockings emphasized his muscular legs.
He glanced up, and then again, mouth parting. “Sophie...” he breathed.
She paused to relish the look on his face. The low timbre of the single word more powerful than any long speech could have been.
She continued down the stairs, her stomach tingling.
As she tentatively approached him, he held out both hands. Surprised but happy to do so, she slipped her gloved hands into his.
His warm eyes traced her hair, her face. “So beautiful...”
“Thank you.”
He slowly shook his head, drawing in a long breath. “Hang me. I shan’t be able to stop staring long enough to eat a bite or remember a single dance step.”
She smiled. The captain’s black hair, for once brushed back from his brow, showed the strong contours of his face. She had never seen him look more handsome.
Kate appeared,oohing andahhing over Sophie’s dress and hair. The younger woman was a picture of loveliness in the pale pink gown, pearls, and gloves, and her brother was quick to compliment her. Then he excused himself to greet one of the guests.
When he’d stepped away, Kate leaned near and whispered, “You’ll never guess who just arrived.”
“Mr. Harrison?”
“Why, yes!” Kate’s dark eyes sparkled. “I encouraged him to come—assured him we were expecting him.”
“I’m happy for you.” Sophie hesitated, then asked, “How did your mother react?”
Kate wrinkled her nose. “Oh! That reminds me. Mamma wants us to welcome Mr. Darby-Wells. So pleased with himself. Though I suppose Mamma is right and I should try to like him. He is handsome, I own. Tell me what you think.”
Kate took Sophie’s arm and led her across the hall. In the anteroom, they first encountered the vicar, his wife, and son. Kate drew up short, pulling Sophie to a halt beside her.
“Mr. and Mrs. Nelson. Mr. Harrison!” Kate enthused. “I am so glad you came.” She turned. “Sophie, you remember the Nelsons and Mr. Harrison, I trust? You met in church, I believe.”
“Yes.” Sophie greeted them warmly. She felt a tug of empathy for Mr. Harrison, who looked uncomfortable in formal evening attire and stiff cravat.
“Did you know Mr. Harrison is writing a book?” Kate beamed.
