Then Sophie sobered. “Have you... talked to Mr. Harrison since the party?”
Kate sighed. “I tried to. But he says we must respect my parents’ wishes and not further our acquaintance. He says it’s all for the best, as he needs to focus on the book he is writing.”
“Kate, we haven’t discussed what happened with Mr. Darby-Wells. Are you all right? Anything you want to talk about?”
Kate shrugged. “I’m all right. Embarrassed that I put myself in that compromising position in the first place. I confess I thought hemighttry to kiss me, but I never guessed he would push for more like that. I don’t like that I’ve disappointed Mamma’s hopes for the future now that I’ve run him off.”
“You didn’t ‘run him off.’ He is the one who behaved badly. You were only trying to protect yourself.”
“Well, thankfully Stephen was there to stop him—even if Mamma didn’t approve of his methods.” Kate shrugged again. “Considering everything, it could have been worse.”
“Yes,” Sophie agreed. Much worse, as she knew too well.
The following week passed uneventfully, and Sophie settled in to a pleasant routine at Overtree Hall: painting, reading, spending time with Kate and Winnie. She wrote to her father and stepsisters, prayed for Captain Overtree, and for the most part, managed not to think about his brother.
Then Sophie received a letter from Mavis Thrupton—a thick letter. Mavis must miss her. Sophie certainly missed the dear woman, and took the letter into the morning room to read at her leisure. She sat in a comfortable chair and broke the seal. As she unfolded it, a second note fell into her lap. She read Mavis’s letter first:
My Dear Sophie,
I hope this letter finds you in good health and faring well in your new home. Has Captain Overtree returned to his regiment? I will pray for him and for you. Do write when you can and let me know how you do.
I am enclosing a letter for you that was sent to your father’s studio. I confess I hesitate to forward it on at all. As you will see, it was posted several weeks ago. I discovered it recently when I stopped by the studio in search of a missing payment a lodger assured me he’d sent. I found the place in complete disorder and searched for the payment amid an overflowing stack of bills and correspondence on the desk. And what did I find at the very bottom, half hidden beneath the blotter? A letter addressed to you in a hand I think you will recognize.
Maurice came in and demanded to know what I was doing. I berated him for the state of the studio and asked why he had not forwarded your post. He shrugged and said he must have mislaid it. I didn’t believe him. He wanted the letter back, saying he would take it with him to Bath, but I told him you were no longer there. I insisted I had your new address and would send it to you myself. (I didn’t want the letter to end up in Mrs. Dupont’s hands.) Even so, I had to all but wrest it from him. The seal, as you will see, has been broken. I fear he may have read it. The young man seems quite bitter towards you. It is well that you are away from here—and even Bath—where he would have lived under the same roof with you.
Hopefully old hurts and rumors will fade in time, my dear. In the meanwhile, remember what I told you, and make the best of your new life.
As for me, I have engaged a new woman (Mildred Dooley) to clean the cottages. Bitty has gone off with her sailor. I continue in good health, but my mother continues ill. I have left the cottages in Mildred’s care and spend all the time I can with my mum while I have that privilege. I know you, dear girl, will understand how I dread the loss to come.
All my love,
Mavis
Tears pricked Sophie’s eyes, both from the remembrances of her own mother sparked by the words, and in nostalgia for the dear woman she missed almost as much as her beloved mamma.
She wiped them away, then picked up the second letter. With a thudding heart, she recognized the loopy artistic handwriting—both from the letter of farewell he’d scratched on the back of her portrait, and from the bold way he signed his paintings.
Miss Sophie Dupont
Dupont Studio
Lynmouth, Devon
It had been posted from Plymouth only a few days before she, Mavis, and Stephen had traveled there. With trembling fingers she opened the folded sheet and read the lines written in that familiar, admired hand.
Dear mia Sophia,
I am imagining your lovely face as I write this. Your deep, sorrowful eyes. More sorrowful now, I fear, because of my thoughtlessness. How sorry I am that I did not say good-bye to you in person—that I left you that way. That I left you at all. I regret to think of that hasty and heartless parting note. I allowed the prospect of a trip to my beloved Italy to overwhelm my better judgment.
I hope and pray that everything is all right with you. But I know it cannot be, really. (You may remember me mentioning my younger sister. And if a man trifled with her in such a manner, I would horsewhip him.) You deserve better than that. I know I have disappointed you. The truth is, I have disappointed myself.
I did not lie to you. The feelings I expressed were true. But I confess I allowed fear a foothold when I realized you held my heart in your hands. A vulnerable, frightening prospect for this independent man, I can tell you. So when the unexpected invitation came, I acted out of self-interest and accepted it. You know I created some of my best work in Italy. And you have heard me recount (too many times, no doubt) my unforgettable experiences there several years ago. Therefore I hope you understand, at least in part, my desire to go back. How often is an artist granted such an opportunity? I justified that it would be foolish to let the opportunity pass me by.
So I made my choice, and we departed. But my spirit has been troubled ever since.
We sailed here to Plymouth and from its port will shortly board a merchant ship bound for Naples. The voyage is paid for, the plans made. But my heart is not in them. I am tempted to return to you even now. To forego the ocean journey altogether and return to L & L overland. Would you welcome me back? Forgive me? I believe you would, dear loving woman that you are. With that hope, may I ask you to wait for me? I don’t know how long you plan to remain in Lynmouth before returning to Bath. But I will come and find you as soon as I can. Will you be patient a little while longer, mia Sophia? I pray you will be, and will be there waiting for me, when I return.
Yours ardently,
