The Painter's Daughter Read online

  Mrs. Thrupton nodded. “I have to say that relieves my mind.”

  Sophie asked, “What happened to that woman—do you know?”

  Mavis nodded, eyes distant in memory. “She went on to marry, her secret never becoming known. But years later, I . . . saw her, and she admitted she deeply regretted it. I tried to comfort her, reminding her she had done what she’d thought she had to. But they were hollow words.”

  “Poor woman.” Sophie sadly shook her head and pressed a hand to her slim abdomen.

  Mavis inhaled deeply and drew herself up. “I can’t tell you what to do, Sophie. You know enough of my history to know I married a man I didn’t love. Mr. Thrupton was not a bad man, but he didn’t love me either. I wouldn’t wish that sort of life for you, my dear. But plenty of people marry for reasons other than love. It’s not the worst fate. I survived, and so can you.”

  Sophie thought of her father, who had enjoyed a loving relationship with her mother, while she lived. Sophie still didn’t understand why he had married Augusta O’Dell a few years ago, a widow with a cruel tongue and three small children. Had he thought he would grow to love her? Or had he believed any marriage would be better than loneliness?

  Sophie asked, “Did you ever come to love Mr. Thrupton, or he you?”

  “Honestly, no. But over the years, I found that the more respect and kindness I showed him, the more respect and kindness I received in return. I know not everyone is as fortunate. Some men repay kindness with cruelty. But hopefully Captain Overtree is not that sort of man.”

  “How am I to know?”

  Mavis pressed her hand. “Perhaps pray about it and ask God to show you. I hope that isn’t hypocritical of me. I admit I have not given God much thought lately. Nor prayed as often as I should.”

  Sophie nodded. “It almost seems wrong to beseech Him for help when I have ignored Him all these years. But I confess I have been praying like never before. I don’t know if He hears me, but I hope He forgives me.”

  “I believe He does, with all my heart,” Mavis assured her. “Now, may I meet this Captain Overtree? I am no infallible judge of character, as I’ve already proven, but I would like to at least meet the captain and convince myself he is a decent man. I will have to answer to your father, you know, and I can’t have you running off with someone I’ve never even met.”

  “Yes, of course you may meet him. I would like that. But he says I must give him my answer by tomorrow morning, and that if we are to marry we must elope to Guernsey without delay.”

  “Does he indeed?” Mavis’s eyes sparked with ire. “As if I shall let you sail away with a strange man without a chaperone! I have learned my lesson, better late than never. I will escort you and confirm his intentions are honorable before he has you alone and in his power.”

  “Oh, I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Sophie said. “He made it clear it would be a marriage in name only.”

  “What?” Mavis gaped at her. “Is the man not flesh and blood?” She shook her head. “Lofty promise, but difficult to swallow. I’d believe a man’s actions before his words. I think we’ve both learned that the hard way.”

  Sophie managed to eat a little something at Mavis’s insistence, and then left the cottage and headed down toward her father’s studio. Thoughts in a whirl, she walked through Lynmouth, past shops and public houses, barely seeing what she passed. Then a familiar face caught her eye and she drew up short. There, through the window of the Village Inn, she was stunned to see Wesley’s friend, Carlton Keith. She had thought he’d left with Wesley. What was he still doing in town?

  She pushed through the inn door and slid onto the bench across from the man before he could say a word. He paused, glass raised halfway to his lips in his one remaining hand. He might be attractive if he were sober and groomed—and if he wiped the ever-present smirk off his face.

  She abruptly began, “I thought you went with him.”

  He shook his dark head, eyes bleary with drink. “I wasn’t invited. No—that’s not fair. I had insufficient funds for the journey, and for once my generous friend was disinclined to pay my way.” He smirked. “Wesley went without me, so I plan to return to Overtree Hall without him.” Mr. Keith lifted his pint. “As soon as my ale money runs out.”

  She didn’t fully trust the man, so she asked indirectly, “You are acquainted with Mr. Overtree’s family?”

  “That I am.”

  “And . . . his brother?”

  “Yes. Better than most, I’d say. I fought with him in Spain. Saved his life, at the cost of my arm.”

  She leaned forward. “What can you tell me about him?”

  A wary look entered his eyes. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’ve met him. He is here looking for Wesley.”

  Carlton Keith sat up straighter and glanced over his shoulder as though the captain might be right behind him. When he spoke again his demeanor changed, his tone less cocksure and more respectful.

  “I may have bragged a bit about saving his life. Truth is, he saved mine. After I lost my arm, I was invalided to England and later discharged. While he was on leave, he took me under his wing, so to speak. Got me on my feet again. That’s how I met Wesley in the first place. The captain asked me to keep an eye on his brother, and I’ve been doing so ever since. ’Til now.” Mr. Keith tipped his head back and drained his glass.

  “He was your commanding officer?” she asked.

  “Aye. Poor sot was stuck with me. I had about as much business with a gun as Gainsborough’s Blue Boy.” He laughed. “Green boy, more like, still wet behind the ears. My father purchased my commission, sure it would be the making of me.”

  She regarded him seriously. “Was it?”

  He flipped up his empty sleeve. “You tell me.”

  She was about to feel sorry for the man, until she remembered her own situation.

  She decided to keep her reasons for asking to herself, because Carlton Keith knew she and Wesley had spent a great deal of time together alone in his cottage.

  “Is he . . . a good man? Can I trust him?”

  Speculative light sparked in Mr. Keith’s green eyes. “Trust him . . . with what?”

  When she made no reply, he watched her face a moment longer, then ordered another pint. “Does he know I’m here in town?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so. Is it a secret?”

  “No. Though he won’t like to hear I’ve abandoned my charge.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “He has his nurse, and Wesley has me. Or he did have, until he left without me.”

  She didn’t understand what he meant about the captain having a nurse, but the publican appeared with a fresh pint, so she didn’t ask.

  Keith drained half of it, then set down his glass with a decisive thunk. “Stephen Overtree is stern, stubborn, and self-righteous. Humorless, and about as much fun as a guilt-ridden puritan. He has a bad temper, little conversation, and is infamous for his black moods and black looks. We soldiers called him Captain Black. And Wesley the same, as well as Marsh. Or sometimes, Blister, because he considers his younger brother an ever-present pain. Of course, Wesley has a nickname for everyone. I’m CK or sometimes Flap, on account of my wing here.” His eyes glittered with challenge. “Do you want to know what he called you?”

  “No.” Sophie exhaled. “I don’t think I do.”

  Mr. Keith rose to leave, and Sophie’s heart sank at his grim assessment of Captain Overtree’s character.

  Then the man turned back. For a moment the ironic humor faded from his florid face and he said earnestly, “I could bear a year in Wesley’s company better than a week in his brother’s. But if I were in trouble, the captain’s the one I’d turn to.”

  Late that afternoon, Sophie sat at Mrs. Thrupton’s kitchen table with a cup of tea.

  Mavis looked at her in concern. “You’ve made your decision, then?”

  Had she? Sophie had let herself get swept away by romance with Wesley, and look where it had gotten her. She could
n’t afford to let her heart rule her any longer. She had to think practically about her welfare and the welfare of her child.

  She took a deep breath. “Yes. Captain Overtree may never love me, but I hope he will care for, or at least provide for, my child.” She pressed a hand to her midriff. “This is his niece or nephew, after all.”

  “Are you sure this is what you want, my dear?”

  “Want? No. But it seems the lesser of evils.” Better to be an unloved wife or even a war widow, she had concluded, than a shamed woman shunned from society and her family. She hoped she was doing the right thing—for the baby’s sake and her own.

  The kindly woman leaned forward and grasped her arm. “Then I shall pray that he will treat you kindly. And never give you cause to regret it.”

  “So shall I.”

  “And I will accompany you. At least to the coast. That way, you may report to your family and his that you were chaperoned on the journey. Besides, my dear, it will give me time to observe him. Assure myself he is of good character and will not ill use you.”

  “At least while you are with us.”

  “Well. Hopefully never. He is Mr. Overtree’s brother, after all. He would have mentioned if the man were a criminal or a notorious rake, would he not?”

  “I suppose so. We shall have to ask his permission, I suppose, about your going along. As he is hiring the chaise and driver.”

  Mavis lifted her chin. “I’d like to see him try to refuse me.”

  Sophie bit back a grin. Mavis Thrupton should be the one marrying Captain Black—they would be better suited, despite their age difference.

  “I suppose I must tell Maurice,” Sophie said, dreading the task. “I don’t want to risk him sending word to my father that I’ve disappeared—or worse.”

  “Perhaps you might leave him a note. And you will write to your father as well, I trust?”

  “Yes, I had better. Heaven help me work out what to say. . . .”

  Mrs. Thrupton supplied paper, quill, and ink, and Sophie sat down to write.

  The few, impersonal lines to Maurice came easily. But when she began a letter to her father, she was surprised to find tears blurring her vision. She reminded herself that she would have happily moved away from her family if she’d married Wesley. And that she would be ostracized from them if she married no one. At least as a respectable officer’s wife, she could still visit and be received in their home—and not lose contact altogether.

  Dearest Papa,

  I have some surprising news. By the time you read this, I shall be a married woman. I know this is sudden, and unexpected. I met my intended after you left to fulfill your commission—though I have known of his family for more than a year. His name is Captain Stephen Overtree. You are acquainted with his brother, Mr. Wesley Overtree. At all events, everything between us happened quickly, and because Captain Overtree must depart soon to return to his regiment—too soon to allow time to ask your blessing, or post banns—we plan to marry on the Island of Guernsey as soon as may be. I know this will come as a shock to you, Papa. I am sorry for it, and hope you and Mrs. Dupont will not be overly disappointed.

  The captain and I plan to travel to Bath as soon as we return, so you may become acquainted with him. I hope that will not be inconvenient. In the meantime, I have left the studio in Maurice’s care. I know you have great faith in him, so I trust you won’t mind. Mrs. Thrupton will serve as chaperone for our journey, but promises to help Maurice manage the cottages when she returns to Lynmouth.

  Until we meet again, I remain,

  Your loving daughter,

  Sophie

  She blotted, folded, and sealed the letter, preparing it for the post.

  Mavis had disappeared into her own bedchamber while Sophie wrote her letters, but now she came out, carrying several things in her arms.

  “I don’t know if you have given any thought to what you will wear for the wedding, my dear. Of course, you would be lost in any of my gowns, but I do have this silk shawl, and a cap you might wear, along with one of your finer muslins.”

  Sophie fingered the soft silk shawl, white shot with primrose, with embossed satin flowers, and very handsome fringe. “It’s lovely,” she breathed. “I would be honored to wear it. The cap as well. I like the lace trimming. It’s smarter than anything I own.”

  Mavis handed her a small bunch of silk flowers, “In case the captain doesn’t think to stop for hothouse flowers. If only it were later in the spring we could pick a fine bouquet.”

  “That’s all right, Mrs. Thrupton. These will do very well.”

  Mavis sucked in a breath, then clapped a hand to her cheek. “Oh no! I completely forgot about a ring! He does not wear one on his little finger, does he, that might suffice until he can replace it? I have a plain silver band, but if it fits my sausage fingers, it shan’t fit you. And there’s no jeweler for miles.”

  “That’s all right. Don’t worry.” Sophie tugged gently on the chain she wore around her neck, fishing out its end from within her bodice. “I wear my mother’s ring as a pendant. There is no other ring I would wish for.”

  chapter 4

  Sophie decided not to wait until morning, but to seek out Captain Overtree that very night so Mavis could meet him before the journey.

  Together the women walked to the Rising Sun. There they found Captain Overtree finishing his supper in the inn’s dining parlour.

  No welcoming smile broke over his somber face when he saw them, though his low voice when he greeted them was perfectly polite. “Hello, ladies. Will you join me? I am afraid I have just finished, but I would be happy to ask the innkeeper to bring you something, if you like.”

  “No, thank you,” Sophie replied. “Captain, this is my friend and neighbor, Mrs. Thrupton. Mrs. Thrupton, Captain Overtree.”

  “How do you do, sir.”

  “Mrs. Thrupton.” He acknowledged her without warmth, then turned to Sophie. “I did not expect to see you until tomorrow morning. Have you a question, or am I to understand you have come to a decision already?”

  “I have, sir.”

  His stern expression threatened to steal her courage. Did he hope she would refuse him, so he could wash his hands of her and the whole sordid mess?

  “And . . . ?” he prompted.

  She swallowed. “I have decided to accept your offer. If you are still willing.”

  “I said I was. And I am not given to changing my mind, as I believe I mentioned.”

  “Yes, but I wanted to be sure.”

  He nodded. “Very well. The hired chaise will be waiting in the mews at nine in the morning, if that will be convenient?”

  So soon. She forced a wooden nod. What had she expected? Smiles of pleasure? Whoops of congratulations? An embrace? Glancing at his flinty expression, she knew none of the above would be forthcoming.

  In her mind’s eye, Wesley’s affectionate gaze appeared. She blinked it away, along with the stab of pain that accompanied it. This was certainly not how he would have reacted.

  Mavis spoke up. “I would like some assurance that you have honorable intentions toward my young friend here. How do I know you will follow through on your promise to marry her?”

  His eyes glinted. “I suppose you shall have to take my word for it.”

  Mavis swallowed. “Then I wish to come along as chaperone, at least as far as the coast. Plymouth, is it?”

  “Yes. We will find a ship to carry us the rest of the way from there. If Miss Dupont wishes your company, I have no objection, Mrs. Thrupton.”

  Sophie hoped the dear woman had not expected gratitude. After all, the time to save her reputation, or at least her virtue, was long past.

  Mavis added with a timid smile, “And will not your family approve when they learn Miss Dupont traveled with a chaperone?”

  He pulled a face. “Considering the circumstances, Mrs. Thrupton, I doubt they will approve of our nuptials in any case. But the gesture can’t hurt. I might ask where this urge to chaperone Mi
ss Dupont was a few months ago, but I shan’t.”

  Mavis breathed, “Well, I never . . .”

  “And therein lies the problem.” He laid his table napkin beside his plate, and asked coolly, “Any other questions, ladies?”

  Sophie looked at Mavis, a part of her hoping the woman would find a reason to object to their marriage, another part of her afraid she would. But the usually outspoken woman seemed as intimidated as she was and remained silent.

  When the women left, Stephen sat there a few minutes longer, his heart beating dully in his chest. He could hardly believe he was soon to marry a woman he barely knew. An attractive woman, yes, but one who loved his brother and carried his child. His stomach knotted at the thought. Had he done the right thing? God forgive him if not. If this not be your will, Lord, show me. . . .

  He settled his bill with the innkeeper, then walked toward the stairs leading up to his chamber. He glanced into the taproom as he passed, the long counter lined with men bent over pints or glasses of something stronger. The smoke of cigars, pipes, and several cheerful fires hung hazy in the lamplight. There was a time when he would have joined those men—sat too long and drank too much. But those days were over, thank God.

  A familiar face caught his eye, and Stephen paused, scowling.

  “Keith?”

  His former lieutenant looked up, then raised his hand in surrender. “Sorry, Captain. You know how your brother is. Off on a whim without so much as a by-your-leave. He’s gone to Italy, to paint in the land of Michelangelo.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Stephen said dryly. “Why didn’t you go with him?”

  “I found myself with insufficient funds for the journey, and Wesley disinclined to pay my way.”

  “I gave you a hefty purse. . . .”

  “I know you did, sir. I know you did. But the expenses here—everything must be carted in from Barnstaple. Very costly to eat and drink and well . . . everything.”

  Stephen sat on the stool next to Keith’s and waved away the barman’s offer of a pint. “Did Wesley leave an address with you, or tell you when he would return?”