He paused. “May I ask how far along you are?”
Again she reddened. “About two months.”
He nodded, silently estimating. Might Wesley return in time to wed her himself? Would he, even if he knew? It would be risky to wait.
He paced across the room once more. “It should be Wesley offering to marry you. But he is not likely to come back for several months, if not longer. I haven’t time to wait that long, and neither have you. I cannot offer love, of course, as we are barely acquainted. However, I can offer you marriage in name only, and moreover, it may be a short-lived marriage, as I have reason to suspect I may not be long for this world. But even if that happens, you will have born your child with benefit of marriage—and he or she will be legitimate, bear my name, and the protection of my family.”
She stared at him blankly, then her face curdled in incredulity or repugnance. “Youare offering to marry me? You yourself?”
“As I said. Did I not speak clearly, madam?”
“Your words were plain but difficult to fathom. Why would you do that?”
“I hold no dishonorable motives, if that is what you fear.”
“I... ” She hesitated, then frowned. “What do you mean by ‘may not be long for this world’? Why do you think you won’t survive, especially now with Napoleon in exile. Are you ill?”
“No. But military service is always risky.” He decided not to expand on that topic. “So let me be plain about what I am offering and what I am not. Maybe not a long future together. Definitely not wealth—I am a second son. Although if I die you would have a widow’s pension and my family would see you and the child provided for.”
Her eyes widened. “But you cannot know you won’t come back. You aren’t God, after all. And what happens if you do? You would be saddled with a wife you don’t know or care for, and a child who isn’t your responsibility. What will you do then?”
He nodded gravely. “We shall cross that bridge if and when we come to it. But I am a man of my word. If I vow before God to love, honor, and protect ’til death do us part, then that is what I shall do.”
Could Sophie say the same? She stared at the stranger before her, mind whirling. She could not deny that she was desperate for a way of escape from her predicament. But which would be worse—to marry a stranger, or to be discovered with child without a husband? She’d not been exaggerating when she said it would kill her father. And how her stepmother would gloat and rail. Perhaps even insist her father put her out. Maurice, nearly two years her junior, might marry her. But once he found out about the child, he’d never let her forget what she’d done. He would make her life—and the life of her child—a misery. Would Captain Overtree do the same—make her live to regret marrying him?
Her heart twisted. And what if Wesley came back, realized he loved her, and asked her to marry him? It would be too late—she would be married to his brother. Would Wesley feel betrayed, or relieved that someone else had fulfilled his duty for him? Even if Captain Overtree did not live long, as his widow she couldnotmarry Wesley. The laws of England didn’t allow in-laws to marry. Saying yes to his brother now would mean giving up Wesley forever.
She asked, “May I have some time to think about it?”
He ran a hand over his scarred face. “I am afraid I must ask you to decide quickly. I return to my regiment in less than a fortnight. Which reminds me—if we proceed, we shan’t have time to post banns in our home parishes and wait the usual interval before marrying. We shall have to elope.”
“Elope?” The word inspired thoughts more scandalous than romantic, and would spark the very rumors she wished to squelch. “All the way to Scotland?”
He shook his head. “Too far. But marriage laws are more lenient in the Channel Islands as well.”
“I didn’t realize...” Sophie murmured, considering. She knew her father would not approve of an elopement. But he would forgive that more readily than an illegitimate child.
She thought again of the brief parting note from Wesley. No words of love. No promises. Sophie stepped to the window, unable to meet his brother’s forthright gaze. Quietly, she said, “He isn’t coming back, is he. For me, I mean.”
She felt him focus on her profile and steeled herself for his answer.
“I don’t claim to be a prophet,” he said gently. “But knowing him as I do... No. I don’t believe he is.”
The captain drew himself up. “Well. I will give you until tomorrow morning to decide. Let you sleep on it.”
Sleep? Sophie doubted she would sleep all night, even after she paced the rest of the day as she was certain to do, thinking about Wesley... and his brother.
Wesley Dalton Overtree sat alone in the parlour of an inn overlooking the bustling port. The schooner had reached Plymouth that morning, and soon he and the Italian couple would board the larger merchant ship that would carry them on to Italy. He had two hours to kill. Two hours to remember... and regret.
His traveling companions seemed to sense his desire to be alone and retreated into the dining room without him. A young servant knelt before the sooty embers in the hearth nearby and coaxed a reluctant fire to life. Smoke stung Wesley’s eyes and made them water. He swiped a hand across them, wishing he could wipe away his remorse as easily.
He should have said good-bye to Sophie in person.
When the opportunity to go to Italy had first presented itself, he had been tempted to simply leave a note and slip away. A selfish part of him had thought it would be easier. Wiser. Cut all ties before anyone tied him down. But in the end, he could not do it. He was still a gentleman, after all, no matter what Marsh said about him. And so he had gathered his courage and gone to the Dupont studio.
But only that surly assistant, O’Dell, had been there to greet him.
“She’s not here,” O’Dell said, his tone barely civil.
