“Oh, come, Miss Overtree.” Darby-Wells rolled his eyes. “I hardly dragged you out here against your will. Save the dramatics. You were not crying like a missish schoolgirl five minutes ago—no need to play one for your parents now.”
Stephen fisted his hands again.
Noticing, his father said, “Young man, you had better leave, and quickly, if you don’t want your left eye to match your right.”
By the time Kate had been calmed, reassured, and settled, Mr. Darby-Wells sent home, resentful and livid in his barouche, and possible repercussions discussed and dissected with his parents, another hour or more had passed.
Finally, Stephen trudged back up the stairs with none of the hopeful fire he’d felt going up with Sophie hours before. He sighed a deep, weary sigh and let himself into his dressing room using the servants’ entrance. Through the door, slightly ajar, he peered into the moonlit bedchamber. Sophie lay in bed on her side. Her back to him. Again.
He didn’t bother calling for his valet, considering the hour, but undressed himself and dropped to his hard sofa. He hoped his wife slept well. He, for one, would not.
chapter 19
The next morning, Sophie awoke feeling uneasy. She had not meant to fall asleep before Stephen returned last night. But when an hour had passed and he’d still not returned, her eyes refused to remain open. She didn’t know what time he’d come up, but he had not woken her. She hoped Kate was all right. A small part of Sophie wondered if Kate had—well, not deserved it, of course—but had encouraged the man’s advances by going out there with him in the first place, dazzled by his looks and charm.
It reminded her of her own foolish reaction to Wesley’s attention. It had gone to her head and made her lose her better sense. Perhaps the same thing had happened to Kate. She would seek her out later and see how she fared. But her first priority was finding Stephen. She wanted to apologize for falling asleep—assure him it had not been a pretense to avoid him. She wanted to tell him how she felt. That although they were not long acquainted, the more time they spent together, the more she admired him, and the more her hope for the future grew.
He wasn’t in his dressing room, where she assumed he’d slept last night. Oh, it should have been in that big bed, with her. Remorse filled her. Thank heavens they had the rest of the day together.
Libby entered in response to her bell, all eagerness to talk about the evening before.
“What a night, ay, madam? Such goings-on as this old house hasn’t seen in ages.”
Sophie formed a vague smile, but her heart wasn’t engaged in the idle chatter. It was already missing Captain Overtree. The only “goings-on” she cared about at the moment were those that had happened in this very room. And those that had not.
“Young James got into the open champagne. He’s as green as a gherkin this morning, poor fool. And we’re all agog about your husband giving that Darby-Wells fellow the setdown he deserved. Miss Katherine isn’t the first female he’s tried to have his way with, not according to Flora. Had it coming, she says.”
Sophie felt a prick of remorse for having briefly entertained the notion that Kate might have been at least in part to blame. Now she was glad Stephen had knocked him down—and hopefully knocked some sense into him, though she doubted it would be the last time he refused to take no for an answer.
“Have you seen the captain this morning?” Sophie asked. “He... rose before I awoke.”
“Oh yes. He’s had his breakfast, and last I heard he was closed up in the library with some men from his regiment who showed up bright and early. I don’t know what it’s about. But lots of exclamations and dark looks from what Edgar said.”
“That sounds ominous.”
The maid shrugged. “Who knows with men? Always ready to declare war over some trifle or another. Now, the blue day dress or the ivory?”
When Sophie was dressed, she asked Libby to let her know as soon as the captain finished his meeting and the callers left. In the meantime, she went to the breakfast room, selected a few things for Winnie, and carried them upstairs. She felt bad that the old retainer had been left out of all the “goings-on” the night before.
When the old nurse replied to her knock, Sophie entered. Inside, Miss Whitney was wearing her customary blue dress with white lace collar, and a smile.
“Good morning, Winnie. I’ve brought you some breakfast.... But, my goodness, it looks as if someone has already brought you a feast!”
“Yes.” The woman smiled somewhat sheepishly at the tray overflowing with plates of roasted meats, salads, slices of cake, and an entire tower of fruit. On the floor nearby, Gulliver lapped smoked salmon from a china dish.
“Don’t tell me Mrs. John sent up all of that?” Sophie asked in disbelief.
“No. But I can’t tell you who did.”
That piqued Sophie’s curiosity, but she didn’t press her. “Well, you deserve every morsel, having to stay up here alone and miss the party last night.”
“Who said I missed it?” Winnie asked, a twinkle in her eye.
Had the woman sneaked downstairs to watch? She thought of the squint Wesley had once used to view that long-ago masquerade ball. Might the nurse know about it as well?
“I don’t miss much,” Winnie added. “In fact, I saw men in uniform arrive a few hours ago. Trouble’s brewing. Mark my word.”
Her words reminded Sophie about Captain Overtree’s doubts about his future. “Miss Whitney, Captain Overtree confided in me about your... well, prediction. Do you really believe it? Surely you might be mistaken, right?”
