The Temporary Betrothal
Lily George
FROM TEMPORARY ENGAGEMENT TO TRUE LOVE?Sophie Handley is a charming flirt—just like the fiancée who jilted Charles Cantrill after he was wounded at Waterloo. Yet her assistance in helping veterans is proving invaluable. And when she offers to feign a courtship to appease his family, he finds their arrangement curiously appealing….Sophie has been groomed from birth for a life of easy comfort. Then financial ruin obliges her to reevaluate all her plans and dreams. Helping veterans and their wives helps her see what’s truly important—and gives her the chance to enjoy the lieutenant’s very appealing company.Somehow Sophie must help his embittered heart to see she’s found her permanent place—by his side, and in his arms.
From Temporary Engagement to True Love?
Sophie Handley is a charming flirt—just like the fiancée who jilted Lieutenant Charles Cantrill after he was wounded at Waterloo. Yet her assistance in helping veterans is proving invaluable. And when she offers to feign a courtship to appease his family, he finds their arrangement curiously appealing….
Sophie has been groomed from birth for a life of easy comfort. Then financial ruin obliges her to reevaluate all her plans and dreams. Helping veterans and their wives helps her see what’s truly important—and gives her the chance to enjoy the lieutenant’s very appealing company. Somehow Sophie must help his embittered heart to see she’s found her permanent place—by his side, and in his arms.
Sophie patted his arm. “Honestly, Charlie, I am not offended that anyone would think our courtship was real.”
His heart beat faster. Really? Was that so?
“I am a career soldier, but I confess I have no idea how to handle this particular battle. I don’t know how to extricate you without damaging your reputation.”
“Remember who I am? What I am? Fickle and flighty Sophie.” She gave a bitter laugh that wrenched his stomach. “If it comes to that, no one will think anything of it if I break our engagement.”
“I don’t think of you that way,” he muttered. It was the truth. He hated for her to think poorly of herself, when he had seen so much good in her.
She turned toward him, her bright blue eyes glowing. “Don’t you?”
“Not at all. I admire you greatly.” It was difficult to say the words, but something told him she needed to hear it.
She reached up and pecked his cheek. “Oh, Charlie,” she whispered. “That means more to me than all the diamond bracelets in the world.”
LILY GEORGE
Growing up in a small town in Texas, Lily George spent her summers devouring the books in her mother’s Christian bookstore. She still counts Grace Livingston Hill, Janette Oake and L. M. Montgomery among her favorite authors. Lily has a BA in history from Southwestern University and uses her training as a historian to research her historical inspirational romance novels. She has published one nonfiction book and produced one documentary, and is in production on a second film; all of these projects reflect her love for old movies and jazz and blues music. Lily lives in the Dallas area with her husband, daughter and menagerie of animals.
The Temporary Betrothal
Lily George
Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful.
—Colossians 3:13–15
For Hoot
Contents
Chapter One (#u3c1318cc-3388-5d1e-aea1-7173327e2853)
Chapter Two (#u4607f04f-bae7-52ed-b174-6da32da7521b)
Chapter Three (#ue02c750d-e455-5722-9f22-d60e11f4242b)
Chapter Four (#uc41fd3aa-865e-5d84-b462-aace06054c9c)
Chapter Five (#u9bf32738-1149-5f62-b2e8-670e3fc5340b)
Chapter Six (#u21415ea5-8d0a-52cb-9b1d-a7827932345d)
Chapter Seven (#u3c9fa9b4-012f-5ea1-a589-0941baeabd27)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
March, 1818
Oh, botheration. All the buildings in Bath looked precisely the same. Sophie Handley clutched her bonnet with one hand, clamping it tightly to her curls as she tilted her chin upward. Her intuition fled—she was completely and utterly lost. There was no sign of a haberdashery anywhere on this street. Sophie scoured the directions, written in Mrs. Wigg’s undulating hand, once more. Very well. She had come up Charlotte Street, just as the housekeeper instructed. But then, had she taken a right or a left at George Street? Neither. She’d walked straight ahead—yes, that was the Circus, directly in front of her. So should she retrace her steps? Or keep going toward the Circus?
Something splashed onto her piece of foolscap, smearing the ink. She scanned the swollen clouds in the slate gray sky. Botheration—an afternoon shower. Rain fell in fat drops, dampening the foolscap so that it folded itself limply across her glove. And she had no umbrella. Of course. She’d left it behind, as this was supposed to be a mere dash to secure a few buttons for Lord Bradbury’s daughter’s frock. And yet here she was, lost in the very middle of Bath, with no parasol.
Sophie bit her lip in frustration. She had come to Bath full of purpose and promise, determined to strike out on her own as a seamstress to a wealthy family. And she was coming perilously close to failure, as she could not even go to the shops without getting lost and drenched.
If only there were a way to catch her bearings, but Bath was nothing like home. To find her way in Tansley Village, she had only to note the position of the sun or the moon and then navigate her way across the fields, the sweet moor grass swaying in the gentle breeze. The scrubby hills and valleys were as familiar to her as the face of a dearly beloved friend—but she wasn’t home any longer. She gave her head a defiant toss. She had chosen to leave home and come to Bath. And she had chosen a life as a servant. So she had better find her way to the haberdasher and quickly, and then return home to continue work on Amelia Bradbury’s riding habit.
She turned back down Gay Street. At the intersection she would try heading in the opposite direction. She shouldered past the milling throngs on the sidewalks, wealthy lords and their well-dressed ladies, scruffy children darting to and fro, and servants soberly dressed in black and white. All of them, every man jack of them, seemed to have an umbrella.
Sophie tossed her now-sodden scrap of paper into the gutter and folded her arms across her chest, holding them closely for warmth. She tucked her chin down, so that most of the moisture rolled off the brim of her bonnet. She assumed a casual air of nonchalance, as though she had forgotten her umbrella on purpose, and hastened her steps along George Street. But oh, it was hard to seem collected when a cold droplet of rain worked its way down your neck and under the back of your frock.
She turned the corner of George Street, colliding with something warm and strong. “Oof!”
“I beg your pardon.” Whatever or whomever she had collided with had a lovely baritone voice. “I hope I haven’t injured you, miss.”
“Oh, no.” Sophie righted her bonnet, which was knocked askew by the force of their collision. She turned her head upward, her cheeks hot with embarrassment. “It’s my fault, really. I was hurrying along and paid no heed to where I was going.”
The brick wall straightened, tilting his umbrella back. His face—she knew that face—
“Lieutenant Cantrill?” she gasped. Of course—she knew he lived in Bath. Her sister, Harriet, had told her that much. But she hadn’t seen a familiar face in her two weeks of living in Lord Bradbury’s home, so it was rather disconcerting to see someone she knew after drifting along an unfamiliar landscape for so long.
“Miss Handley?” One eyebrow quirked, and a half smile crossed his face. He was much handsomer than she recalled. In fact, when he was at Harriet and John’s wedding, she hardly noted his presence. But here, on the sodden streets of Bath, he wore the air of a rescuer, a strong and solid presence in a sea of the unknown and strange. He tilted his umbrella over her and offered her the crook of his elbow. “Are you quite all right? Do you need assistance?”
She shook out her wet skirts and took his arm. It was his damaged one, the one he’d lost at Waterloo. Her fingertips brushed against the leather straps that held his artificial forearm to his biceps. His jacket fit snugly over his shattered limb, so that unless she had touched him for herself, she might never have known that he had been injured. Without thinking, she gave his elbow a slight squeeze—so lightly that he might never discern it.
He coughed a bit—so suddenly and so shortly that it might have been to cover a gasp. She didn’t mean to embarrass or discomfit him. Why had she done that, after all? Better to pretend she stumbled a bit and had grasped him for support. She tangled her foot in the soaking-wet hem of her gown and lurched forward ever so slightly, and squeezed his arm once more. “Oh, thank goodness you came to my rescue.” Sophie affected the breezy tone of voice that always caught men’s ears—the lilting and musical cadence that had, since she was a tiny slip of a girl, gotten her everything she wanted. “I am lost and forgot my umbrella. I was at my wits’ end, I assure you.”
“I see.” He steered her through the milling crowd on the sidewalk, managing to set them on a clear path without bumping into a soul or spearing anyone with his umbrella. How extraordinary. She sidled a bit closer, reveling in the feel of being with someone who knew exactly where he was going and precisely how to get there.
He spoke once the mob thinned out. “Where are you going?”
“Well, I was trying to find the haberdasher at the Guildhall Market. The housekeeper wrote out my directions, for I am new to Bath and get lost easily. And it seems I’ve done it again.” She glanced up at his profile. He wore a stern, almost abstracted expression, his firm lips turned downward and his face bent low, as though he were walking against the wind. “Thank goodness for you, sir. I was quite unsure what to do next.” She prepared to flutter her eyelashes and purse her mouth so her dimples would show, but he never looked her way.
“Guildhall Market? That’s a bit of a hike from here. You really did get lost, didn’t you?” Lieutenant Cantrill turned the umbrella so that the pelting rain no longer touched her gown. “I’ll help you find it. Here—let’s turn down Milsom Street. It’s a good cut-through.”
They passed another row of shops—a confectioner’s called Munn’s, a modiste and a shop that sold nothing but cheese. How extraordinary. A cheese shop. At Tansley, if one wanted cheese, one had to go milk the cow. But of course, they couldn’t afford to keep a cow, so they relied heavily on the one shop in the village that kept everything from sugar to foolscap.
They walked in silence as Sophie drank in the sights. She wasn’t jaded yet after two weeks out of the countryside. Everything still retained the crisp edge of newness. Sheltered from the rain and warmed by the lieutenant as he strolled along by her side, Sophie permitted herself to relax the tiniest bit and enjoy their walk.
“It’s very kind of you,” she murmured as he steered her onto another street. She had no idea what this one was called, and would likely forget, anyway. So...why not try to wheedle a smile from her rescuer? “If it’s not too much trouble, Lieutenant.”
“Not at all.” His voice was pleasant but distant. “I live near there, anyway. Was just on my way home.”
“Oh, really? Where do you live?” She maintained her light and breezy tone. He would pay attention to her soon, wouldn’t he? At least dart a glance her way?
“I have a flat on Beau Street. Near Mrs. Katherine Crossley’s flat.” He still spared her no glance, and his tone remained polite but disinterested.
“Aunt Katherine! I had no idea you two lived so close to one another,” Sophie replied with a merry laugh. “She helped me to get this position with Lord Bradbury. I am on my way to pick up a few notions for Amelia Bradbury—I am her seamstress.”
“Yes, your sister wrote that you would be coming to Bath to live here. She mentioned that you might be willing to assist me in my work with the veterans’ group.” Was that a spark of attention in his voice? She must pursue it.
“Yes, of course I will.” He spoke of that charity for indigent soldiers that Harriet was so interested in. Hattie had told her something about it, but she couldn’t remember much. Seeing it had caught the lieutenant’s interest, she pressed on. “Tell me more about it.”
He looked down at her, and a light sparked in the depths of his brown eyes. “Well, I was hoping you and I could work together, as it were. You see, I get on very well with the soldiers, being a fellow comrade in arms. But the widows are reluctant to ask me for assistance. I know they need help, but they cannot bring themselves to ask a man. So I thought perhaps they would feel more comfortable if another woman were there, helping out.”
Work together? “That sounds fine.” While she had his full notice, she flashed her dimples by giving him a slow, easy smile. He straightened and turned away from her, a flush staining his thin cheek. So he was susceptible to flirtation, then? She chuckled inwardly. It was so delightful to be walking with a young man again, smiling and talking playful nonsense rather than working away in her sewing room. She had almost forgotten how fun being a woman could be.
“We’re here. Guildhall Market.” The lieutenant’s voice was cold and remote once more, as though he had shut a door between them. She didn’t like that tone of voice.
“Oh, Lieutenant. Thank you for getting me here safe and sound.” She should release his elbow, but this lieutenant was too much of an enigma to let go—not before she had spent a bit more time in his company. “Do you mind very much waiting for me, and then you can point me in the correct direction back to Lord Bradbury’s house? I am so afraid I will get lost again.”
His jaw muscle set, and his strong, firm lips tightened. Yet when he spoke, his voice was well mannered and courteous. “Of course, Miss Handley.” He strolled with her over to the haberdashers, and bowed as she went in.
As she sorted through the bins to find the perfect set of buttons, she flicked a glance out the streaming windowpane to Lieutenant Cantrill as he stood outside, waiting. He exuded an air of casual power, as one trained as a soldier should. His broad shoulders were encased in a wool jacket that was simply cut but well made. His face was a trifle thin. Did he have a housekeeper who cooked for him? Perhaps one of the ladies at the veterans’ group? She’d have to be an old woman, not young and sweet.... An unreasonable pang of jealousy tore through Sophie, and she shrugged it off.
What did it matter what he ate or wore, or even whom he kept company with? Lieutenant Charlie Cantrill was merely her brother-in-law’s dearest friend. And while she loved flirting with him—she always loved a challenge, after all—’twas no business of hers what the lieutenant did in his spare time.
* * *
Dash it all, Sophie Handley was far prettier than he remembered. When he attended John and Harriet’s wedding a few months ago, Sophie was among the crowd in the chapel and later at the wedding breakfast, but he hadn’t taken careful note of her. Her cheeks were sallow, and her eyes were still glazed with something like shock back then. Probably their mother’s death, which was surely difficult. But still, that creature bore no resemblance to the rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed sylph who gazed up at him as if—well, as if he was a man and she a woman.
He spied her through the window of the shop as she made her few purchases. Even in a sodden calico dress, she was more graceful and attractive than most of the women plodding along the streets of Bath. He shook his head and turned away from the window. Pretty women had always been his downfall. He should have learned his lesson by now.
Mother’s letter rustled in his greatcoat pocket. Ah, a reminder of his familial duties: to find a young girl, marry, have children and give up that ridiculous charitable fund for soldiers. Well, Mother might want him to marry someone like Sophie. But he preferred his life of simplicity and generosity.
And ’twas better to set some distance between him and Sophie Handley, unless he wanted to be made a fool of once more. Since Sophie was his best friend’s sister-in-law, ’twould be disastrous indeed to find himself being led a merry dance by her.
The door of the haberdashery opened, and Sophie stepped out. “Thank you for waiting.” Her voice was lovely. Perhaps she could sing—that would explain her musical tones.
Careful, man. You have your marching orders. Do not become yet another fool.
He offered his elbow once more. “Did you find what you need?”
“Yes.” She waved the parcel triumphantly, heedless of rain. “Perfect buttons, so cunningly made of horn. They will set off the riding habit just so.” She sighed and snuggled against his side as they strolled along. He stiffened and moved a fraction of an inch away from her—not so much as to be discourteous—but they did need boundaries, after all. If Sophie noticed, she said nothing.
He piloted her down Grand Parade Street. Lord Bradbury lived in the Crescent, he was sure, with the rest of the haute monde of Bath. So they had a good quarter of an hour before they reached his door. Charlie sighed inwardly. He didn’t mind the walk so much, but dash it all, it was pouring by now.
Sophie glanced up at the sky and then turned to him. “The heavens have opened.”
He nodded, tightening his lips into a grim line. “So it appears.”
She paused, causing several pedestrians to push round them. “I hate for us both to get soaked, and since you are so close to being home, I can’t ask you to walk me all the way back to Lord Bradbury’s. Shall I take a hackney?” She darted a glance around his shoulder, scanning the street.
He hated to waste money on hackneys, committed as he was to a simple life, but desperate times meant hiring a carriage. Sophie would be drenched by the time they reached her employer’s if they didn’t, and he wasn’t about to let her travel on her own. “We’ll go together. It will be my pleasure.”
He hailed a hackney with his wooden hand—funny how quickly the drivers halted when he used his prosthesis, though how anyone could see it through the driving rain was beyond him. He boosted Sophie inside and gave orders to the driver before climbing in and shutting the door.
Sophie relaxed against the seat, her gold ringlets sparkling with raindrops. They gave her a fairy queen appearance, and he resisted the urge to brush the droplets off with his gloved fingertips. He sat up straight, pressing his back against the cushion, and stared down at the dusty floor. Looking up at her was too dangerous by far.
“Ah, this is so much better. Thank you, Lieutenant.”
He could not look up, so he merely shrugged. “It was your idea, after all.”
“True.” She fell silent, and stared out the window. ’Twas a relief indeed not to have those luminous blue eyes settling on him. Sophie Handley was a most unnerving creature.
He shifted around, and the letter in his pocket crackled once more. When he got back to his flat, he’d throw the dratted thing in the fire. It made a noise every time he moved, and each time it did so was yet another reminder that his family thought him a wretched failure.
“Lieutenant, I cannot help but wonder if something is preying upon your mind. You seem so distracted.” He could no longer resist looking at her—a magnet was drawing him to her. “You helped me. Can I assist you in any way?”
He started to shrug off her offer, but paused. Could Sophie Handley possibly help him out of this mess?
“I—uh.” Charlie coughed, clearing his throat. “I had a letter from home, and it’s all I have been able to think on this morning. Even when I was working with the veterans as I was earlier in the day, my mother’s words have captured my full attention. I apologize that I am so distracted.”
“Not at all, Lieutenant.” Sophie clasped her hands in her lap and regarded him evenly. “Letters from home can be welcome, or they can serve to remind you why you left home in the first place.”
He surprised himself by laughing aloud. How very true that was. And nicely put, too. “Indeed.”
“My sister Harriet’s letters are always so didactic. ‘Do this. Don’t do that.’ I know she means well, but it becomes tiresome to be lectured to in such a fashion.” She smiled, her lips turning up mischievously at the corners, highlighting her dimples once more. “Of course, with a letter, you can always fling it in the fire. This makes it a much more pleasant way to receive lectures than standing there in person, taking orders.”
He chuckled. He had not been able to laugh about his family to anyone except himself in ages. And laughing to oneself was a bitter, hateful thing. Sharing the trials of family life with Sophie warmed his heart—he did not feel so utterly alone anymore. He glanced up at her once more. The droplets of rain had dried on her curls, but she still had that air of starriness about her. Some women just had that gift of grace, and Sophie was one of the lucky few.
She returned his frank regard, tilting her head to one side. “So, Lieutenant, if we are sharing confidences, you might tell me what your mother wrote that has so plagued you. Perhaps, as a fellow sufferer, I can think of a way to help.”
He hesitated. He had never spoken to anyone about his mother and brother’s demands before. Not even his best friend, John Brookes, knew how much animosity existed between himself and his family members. But why not confide in Sophie? He really had no idea what to do with his mother and brother, and Sophie might be able to advise him, especially as one far removed from the family and its dynamics.
He withdrew the letter from his greatcoat pocket and held it, running his thumb over the broken wax seal. “As you might know, I work a great deal with the veterans in Bath. This has been my life’s work since I returned from Waterloo. But my mother and brother both detest the way I live. My mother wants me to marry and have a family. Robert wants me to return to Brightgate and help him with managing all my family’s business affairs.” He sighed, picking at the wax with his thumbnail. “I have no desire to do either. My work is very important to me. I wish they would understand.”
Sophie nodded, her ringlets bouncing. “Yes, I know just how you feel. When I chose to come to Bath and work as a seamstress for Lord Bradbury, Harriet and John were very uncertain of the wisdom of my choice. Fortunately, I was able to convince them both that living at home would in no way make me a more independent person. After Mama died, I wanted to be more than another girl on the marriage mart, looking for a husband. It’s all I was groomed for, but when my family’s fortunes collapsed and Papa and Mama died, I decided I needed to strike out on my own. And so I have.”
The carriage slowed as they turned onto the Crescent. He could just glimpse the well-matched and imposing facades of the most expensive townhomes in Bath—very different from his own two-room flat on Beau Street. Sophie sensed the carriage’s impending halt, and began to gather her things.
“I shall think of a solution to your problem, Lieutenant,” she informed him in a confident tone. “Just allow me to think on it overnight. I am sure there is a way you can respond to her letter without relinquishing your work with the veterans, or leaving Bath.”
The carriage door opened, and the driver helped Sophie alight. Charlie flung the letter onto the seat and followed, opening his umbrella over her head just as the rain pelted them once again. “I shall return in a moment,” he called to the driver as he followed Sophie up the path toward the house.
Sophie turned and headed for the front door. Was she given special privileges as a seamstress? Most servants and maids entered through the back door. As they neared the front portico, he grabbed her elbow. “Miss Handley? Shouldn’t we go around to the back?”
She stopped short, and the package she held toppled to the ground. He bent and retrieved it before the rain and mud could do much damage. “Here,” he murmured, extending it to her with his wooden hand.
She shook her head as though clearing cobwebs from her mind. “I haven’t left the house much, so I forget. Thank you for reminding me.” She held her head high and accepted the package, tucking it under one arm. Then she took his elbow once more, saying nothing as he led her back down the path and around the large stone mansion.
Even from the exterior, everything about Lord Bradbury’s home spoke of wealth and privilege. Priceless lace curtains graced every window, and he could just pick out a glorious chandelier sparkling in one of the rooms as they passed by. It was no wonder that his lordship could afford to hire a seamstress to work as a personal modiste for his two young daughters. Why, Charlie was no member of the haute monde, but even he knew that Bradbury spoiled his daughters shamelessly, doting on each one after their mother’s passing just a few years before.
They rounded the corner and went through the back gate. The garden was budding out in lilies and irises, flowers that nodded heavily in the pouring rain. He helped Sophie up the back steps and took down his umbrella momentarily, as the porch roof offered ample shelter.
He prepared to touch his hat and take his leave, but Sophie halted his progress. “You rescued me twice today,” she teased in that same lilting voice that enchanted him before. “You saved me from the wind and the rain, and then you saved me from blundering my way in the front door. There must be some way I can repay the favor. I will give your situation careful thought, and come up with a solution.” She withdrew from his side and smiled up at him. “Do you meet with the veterans again soon?”
He blinked rapidly, clearing his mind from the webs of coquetry she spun around his senses. “Yes. I planned to go Thursday morning, after I have attended to a few matters at home.”
“Perfect. Then I shall come with you. I can get started on my work with the widows, and tell you of my solution to your problem. How does that sound?”
He bowed. “It sounds fine to me, but won’t your employer take exception to your absence?”
Sophie smiled and patted his shoulder. A tingle shot through him at her touch, and he moved a fraction of an inch closer, wanting more of her magic, more of her charm. “Thursday is my day off, Lieutenant. I am at my leisure all day. I shall look forward to spending it with you, if you don’t mind me tagging along as you work with the veterans.”
“Not at all. Shall I call for you around ten o’clock? We can walk together, and that way you won’t get lost.” He didn’t mean for the last bit of what he said to sound quite so teasing, but Sophie grinned and chuckled.
“I shan’t get lost so easily once I learn the buildings and my routes,” she replied in a saucy tone. “I shall expect you Thursday at ten, Lieutenant.”
He bowed and held the door open for Sophie as she disappeared into Lord Bradbury’s rambling townhome. Then he put up his umbrella and strolled out to the hackney carriage, waiting patiently on the curb.
Funny how one chance meeting with Sophie Handley had changed his whole afternoon. What had felt tragic and utterly insurmountable this morning now seemed a mere trifle. A joke. Something the two of them could chuckle over. His steps, so leaden earlier in the day, now had a definite spring to them. He leaped back into the carriage bound for Beau Street. As they rolled toward home, he tucked his mother’s letter in his greatcoat pocket and gave it a satisfied pat.
It was good—very good—to have an ally in the war against his family.
Chapter Two
Mrs. Wiggs was in the kitchen as Sophie entered. Judging from the delicious smells emanating from the oven, she was baking bread. Sophie set her parcel down on the long oak table that the other servants dined at every night, and stretched her hands to the hearth’s blaze. She was soaking wet through and chilled to the bone, but a glow warmed her heart. She could not stop smiling, even as miserable as the cold and damp should make her feel.
“Bless my soul, don’t you look a sight? Nancy, run upstairs and fetch something warm and dry for Miss Sophie—there’s a good gel.” The housekeeper dried her hands on her apron and shooed one of the kitchen maids upstairs. “Whatever happened to you?”
“I got lost on the way to the haberdashers, and it began pouring,” Sophie replied with a chuckle. “Of course, in my haste to get the buttons and return home, I neglected to bring a parasol.”
The housekeeper made a tsking sound under her breath, and stirred up the fire. “I best make you some tea, or you’re likely to catch your death.”
A commotion sounded in the hallway, and two young ladies burst through the door, giggling and talking breathlessly over one another. “Sophie, you’re back. Did you find some buttons for me?” Amelia, the elder of the two Bradbury daughters, danced over to the table, seizing the parcel and clasping it to her bosom.
“Amelia, can’t you see she’s soaking wet? Poor Sophie, are you quite all right?” Louisa, the younger and gentler of the two girls, laid her head on Sophie’s damp shoulder.
“I am quite all right, thank you, my dear. It was a bit of an adventure, actually.” Sophie gladly accepted a steaming cup of tea from Mrs. Wiggs, and spooned sugar in it while she waited for the brew to cool down a bit.
“Girls? Where are you?” Lucy Williams, governess to the Bradbury family, called from down the hall.
“In here!” the two imps chorused, and Sophie couldn’t stifle a smile as she stirred her tea. The girls delighted in provoking dear Lucy, who proved to be quite a good sport about it all. Lucy strode through the kitchen door, planting her fists on both hips.
“Really, I turn my back for one moment and find you in the kitchen,” she scolded. “Is that proper behavior for two young ladies?”
“I don’t know if it’s proper or not, but the kitchen is the most interesting room in the house,” Amelia replied smartly. “Aside from your rooms, and Sophie’s, of course.”
“I agree,” Louisa chirped, flipping a long brown curl over one shoulder. “Here, we can steal biscuits and tea. In your rooms, we can loll around on the beds and talk nonsense.”
“Well, be that as it may, you two must fall into line. Your father returns later this week, and I must have at least a semblance of order and discipline. For his sake, if for no other reason.”
Sophie choked, the hot tea burning a path down her throat. Lord Bradbury planned to come home from London this week? She’d had no idea it would be so soon. For the two weeks she had been in Bath, no one had given any indication that his lordship would be in residence at all.
“Are you all right?” Amelia patted her back with a few solid whacks.
“Y-yes,” Sophie spluttered, trying to take a deep breath. “I—was surprised—that’s all.”
“Surprised about Papa? Don’t be, Sophie. He’s such a dear. You’ll love him,” Louisa assured her as she took the biscuit tin down from the larder.
“Yes, he is,” Amelia added, helping herself to a few biscuits. “He’s been so good to us all. We quite adore him. No need to be alarmed, Sophie. He’ll take one look at you and be satisfied.”
“I don’t want him to be satisfied with me—I want him to be satisfied with my work. It’s a very different thing,” Sophie admonished, draining the last sugary drops from her teacup. Thus fortified, she turned to Lucy. “I haven’t had very much time to begin my work. I’ve only just cut the pieces for Amelia’s riding habit.”
“I would not worry,” Lucy assured her, an encouraging smile lighting her brown eyes. “His lordship is very just and fair, and he knows you’ve only been in residence for a fortnight. I am certain all will be well.”
“Even so.” Sophie rose, shaking out her still-damp skirts. “I would feel better if I accomplished a bit more before his lordship returns. Come, Amelia, let us retire to the sewing room. I need to see if these buttons meet with your approval. They were hard-won notions, after all I’ve been through today.” And though they were hard won, they were well worth the effort. Lieutenant Cantrill, with his lean angular face and velvety eyes, drifted across her mind. ’Twould be difficult indeed to keep her mind on her sewing today. But if she wanted to impress his lordship, and keep her position as a seamstress, she had better try to banish the lieutenant from her thoughts—at least until after supper, when she could turn her mind toward his most fascinating problems, and how she might be able to solve them.
Chapter Three
A knock sounded on the sewing-room door. “Enter,” Sophie called. Perhaps it was one of the servants to bring her breakfast on a tray.
Instead, her dear friend Lucy poked her head around the doorjamb. “Oh, good. You’re alone. I thought perhaps the girls would be with you.”
“No, I think they are still having their breakfasts. Why do you ask?” Sophie tossed aside Amelia’s riding jacket and rubbed her hands together. Working the buttonholes in that stiff wool played havoc with her manicure. Besides, a good gossip with Lucy always broke up the monotony of the day.
“Something’s happened. You’ve been distracted and vague since you returned from shopping yesterday. And you barely said two words throughout supper last night. What is the matter?” Lucy sank down on the settee beside her, a grin crooking one corner of her mouth.
“I met someone.” Had she really seemed distracted? To the point that her absentmindedness was obvious to others? Well, she had been thinking about the lieutenant, after all.
“Really?” A broad smile crept across Lucy’s face. “Is it someone I know? You must tell me everything.”
“No. His name is Lieutenant Charlie Cantrill.” Saying his name aloud was difficult. It sounded so dignified and so...real, when spoken aloud. “He is a good friend of my family’s, and he rescued me when I got lost on the way to Guildhall Market. I literally bumped into him as I was trying to find my way.”
“Lieutenant Cantrill?” The governess’s brows drew together, and she looked off into space. “Why is his name so familiar to me? For I don’t know him, but I have heard of him.”
“He does a lot of work with the veterans of Waterloo,” Sophie added. “I am to help him work with the widows of some of the men who fell during the battle.”
“No, that’s not it. There was some scandal when he returned from the war—”
“Scandal?” Sophie’s heart leaped in her breast, and she leaned forward, grasping Lucy’s hands. “Do tell!”
“I’m trying to remember. Something happened. I think he was engaged to one girl and then the engagement was broken when he returned. As I recall, she was rather well-placed in Society, so it was a bit of a to-do.” Lucy smiled ruefully. “But since I don’t frequent those social circles, I cannot recall much more than that.”
Sophie sat back. Well, this was interesting. Perhaps Cantrill was a bit of a black sheep. That made him infinitely more intriguing. “Did he cry off? Or did the lady?”
Lucinda shrugged her shoulders. “I cannot recall.”
Why, this added an entirely new dimension to his character. Perhaps his moodiness and serious disposition was a mask for his true character. Maybe he was even a bit of a rake, despite his charitable work. Sophie stifled a laugh at the thought.
“I would watch myself around him, you know,” the governess admonished. “Until we know the truth of what happened, you should be on your guard.”
“I am to meet with him tomorrow,” Sophie replied, her eyes widening at the thought. “I can’t miss it. I promised my sister I would help with his work with the widows. The lieutenant is my brother-in-law’s closest friend.”
Lucinda nodded. “If he is a friend of your family, then perhaps there is no need for caution.”
Sophie nodded. “Do you know, I promised the lieutenant I would come up with a solution to a problem he has, since he was so kind as to rescue me yesterday. But I must confess that, even though I have been pondering it, I have no idea what to do to help.”
Lucy shrugged. “Tell me. Perhaps we can come up with a plan together.”
“Well, his family is very concerned with status and his place in Society. His mother wrote that he must give up his work with the veterans and look for a wife. His brother has ordered him to return to Brightgate and assume some of the responsibilities of the family estate.” She sighed. “I understand how the lieutenant must feel. I struck out on my own, and though Harriet supported me, she was reluctant to let me come to Bath at first.”
Lucy traced a pattern on the rug with the toe of her slippered foot. “Well, perhaps he could give the semblance of returning to Society and status while still remaining devoted to his cause,” she replied, a thoughtful crease marking her straight, fine brows. “After all, as long as he just gives the appearance of being a part of Society—that may be enough to appease his family.”
“True. But how could he compromise?”
“I don’t know. If his mother is concerned about the lieutenant finding a wife, perhaps he could pretend to be looking for one.” Lucy rose and walked over to the door. “I had better go find my charges. I would wager my last pound they aren’t in the schoolroom doing their Latin lessons.” She paused in the doorway. “Oh, and Lord Bradbury has arrived, and would like to meet with you this morning. If you would go down to his study in fifteen minutes or so, he will be expecting you. He likes to meet all the servants in person and will probably plan out Amelia’s Season with you. So be prepared.”
“Of course.” All thoughts of helping the lieutenant fled. Now she must prove her worth to her employer. Sophie rose, gathering a stack of fashion plates to show his lordship. “I shall go down at once, Lucy. Thank you for your help.”
Lucy winked. “Think nothing of it.”
* * *
Though Sophie had been downstairs a few times since her arrival, the labyrinthine corridors were confusing. And why were all the doors painted the same color? Goodness, it was difficult to know where one was going. The clock in the hallway tolled the hour. She was going to be late to her first meeting with Lord Bradbury. That did not bode well for her continued employment, did it?
In exasperation, she grasped the last latch on the right and rushed headlong into the room. An older man with a handsome and serious face rose in surprise from a massively carved desk. “Miss Handley, I presume?”
Sophie bobbed a quick curtsy, spilling her stack of fashion plates and foolscap on the floor. “Yes. Oh, bother.”
He came around the side of the desk and helped her scoop the papers into a pile. “There you are, Miss Handley. Pray be seated.” He motioned her to a coffee-colored leather chair poised in front of the desk.
His manners were so smooth, so urbane. Droplets of perspiration began to bead Sophie’s brow. She furtively wiped them away as he took his place behind the desk. Then he smiled at her and clasped his hands over his ink blotter.
“You are younger than I expected, Miss Handley.” His hazel eyes raked over her figure as if trying to determine the exact day and hour of her birth. “My daughters already seem to adore you.”
“Um, yes.” Sophie cast about for something intelligent to say. Anything that wouldn’t get her sacked. “Well, you see, I am young but I have been sewing for most of my life. I feel I am very talented despite my youth, Lord Bradbury. And I do think I can make some wondrous creations for your daughters.”
“Please don’t feel you need to defend yourself, Miss Handley.” He gave her an easy smile that sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Why was she reacting so? He was much older than most of the men she knew—too old for her by half. “I was merely commenting on the obvious.”
She nodded uncertainly. He would have to take the lead from now on. She was in uncharted waters.
“My daughters lost their mother a few years ago, and I am being very frank when I say that I am making up for their loss with material pleasures.” He ran a hand through his thick black hair, ruffling it a bit. “No girls should have to grow up without a mother. It preys upon my mind.”
Sophie tilted her head to one side. Had she come to Bath merely to solve every man’s marital woes? “Perhaps you should remarry, your lordship.”
He leveled a piercing gaze at her that made her catch her breath. “I may do so someday. However, my first wife was nothing short of remarkable. I don’t think I could find the likes of her again....” His voice trailed off.
Sophie nodded and fell silent. Nothing she said seemed to be the right thing to say, so ’twas better to be quiet.
He turned toward the window, looking out on the sleet as it ran in rivulets down the pane. “You are Sir Hugh Handley’s daughter, are you not?”
“Yes, your lordship.” Any mention of her family connections made Sophie uneasy.
“What makes you take a position in service?” He flicked a glance her way.
She hated having to defend her choices. If her family approved, why should Lord Bradbury care? “I desire to make my own way in the world, doing what I love best,” she replied, raising her chin with defiance.
He turned to face her again, an inscrutable look crossing his face. “I see,” he replied. “Well, Miss Handley, I give you free rein with my daughters. All of my funds are at your command. Doll them up in any way you see fit.”
She leaned forward, grabbing the pile of papers from his desk. “Do you wish to see my ideas, my lord?”
He waved his hand in a listless fashion. “No, I trust your judgment. Nothing too immodest, I assume?”
Heat flooded Sophie’s cheeks. “Certainly not.”
He stood, signaling the end of the interview. “Very well, then. I hope you enjoy your work. Do not hesitate to come to me if you need bigger lines of credit at the shops.”
She grasped her papers in one hand and rose, bobbing a shaky curtsy. “Thank you, Lord Bradbury. I shall endeavor not to disappoint.”
* * *
Charlie Cantrill opened the door to his club with a sigh. As the son of a wealthy merchant, there were certain things you could give up, though the other fellows might sneer about it. Liquor and light skirts, for example. He had been living as simply as could be following Waterloo and Beth’s rejection. And yet, one thing remained eternal and unchanged. Devotion to one’s club remained constant, no matter how one might cut corners in other aspects of life.
He nodded as a valet scurried forward to take his coat and hat. Then, scanning the open hallway, he spied one group of gentlemen playing a game of whist in the next room. He made his way to the lounge, where Lord Bradbury lay before the fire, deep into a glass of Scotch.
“Cantrill! What ho, man. It’s good to see you.” Rising, Bradbury extended his hand toward Cantrill.
“Bradbury, good to see you back in town.” Cantrill shook hands and then sank into the opposite chair. “Tea, if you please.” He smiled briefly at the hovering butler.
Bradbury took up his Scotch with a laugh. “Never could understand how you make do without spirits, Cantrill. They’ve kept me sane these years since Emma died.”
“I find myself saner without them.” Time for a change of subject. He never enjoyed talking about his abstinence with anyone who wasn’t a close friend. Just as he kept his faith close to the vest, he kept other parts of his life from public scrutiny. It was a private matter, after all. “I understand that a friend of mine is recently in your employ.”
“Really?” Bradbury leaned forward, cradling the glass in both hands. “Whom are you speaking of?”
“Miss Handley.” He found it difficult to speak the words. Why was it so hard to say her name?
“Ah, yes.” Bradbury sat back, a satisfied smile crossing his face. “I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Handley today. What a lovely creature. I was quite surprised to find she was seeking employment—because she is a Handley, and because she’s so beautiful.”
“I believe she wants to establish some measure of independence,” Cantrill remarked. He didn’t like the light that was kindled in Bradbury’s eyes. The man looked too satisfied and pleased with himself.
“Oh, I am sure she would be happy to give up that much-vaunted independence when the right offer comes along,” Bradbury said with a laugh. “Pretty young ladies like that needn’t stay employed for very long.”
The tea arrived, giving Cantrill the distraction he needed to calm down from Bradbury’s comment. After all, wouldn’t marriage be an excellent thing for Sophie Handley? She was a lovely girl, and would likely get an offer of marriage from someone soon. He flicked a glance over Bradbury. The man was older than him by a decade, and yet retained a distinguished and sportive air. His name had been linked to at least one high-born widow in the past year. Might he be in the market for a match? And if so, why did Charlie’s stomach revolt at the thought? It was none of his affair, surely.
Bradbury glanced over at Cantrill. “How is she connected to your family?”
Cantrill busied himself with pouring tea into his cup. “Her elder sister married a good friend of mine—Captain John Brookes. Really, he’s almost a brother to me.”
Bradbury sipped his Scotch with a meditative air. “I see. And she is Sir Hugh Handley’s daughter, is she not? Why on earth would she be working to earn her daily bread?”
“Well, as I am sure you heard, Bradbury, her father died bankrupt. The family estate was sold at auction and the two girls and their mother went to live in a small cottage in Tansley. After her sister’s marriage, Miss Sophie came to Bath. And that’s really all I know of their story.” He hadn’t meant to sound rude, but the look on Bradbury’s face was raising his hackles. ’Twas none of his affair, and yet...well, he had an obligation to Brookes and to Harriet to make sure that Sophie was protected during her stay in Bath.
“Well, my daughters adore her, but I must make sure she is the proper kind of young lady for the job, you know. I have acquaintances in Liverpool—I will ask around to find out more about the Handleys and what happened when her father died.” He polished off his Scotch and rose. “Funny. I expected a spinster. Imagine my surprise when Aphrodite burst into my office this morning.”
Cantrill peered up at the older man, trying to read his thoughts. On the one hand, he seemed to regard Sophie in more than just the usual master-servant manner. And yet, he also seemed unwilling to believe that she was a genuinely good girl, one who was seeking her way in the world in a manner that was admirable. He rose, setting the teacup to one side, as Bradbury began to stroll out of the room.
“Miss Handley is a fine young woman, and you have nothing to fear from your daughters associating with her,” he responded, willing the flush that was rising up his neck to stay hidden under his cravat.
Bradbury turned back, a gleam in his eye. “Oh, I am not worried about my daughters associating with her. I am more worried about myself.” With that, Bradbury quit the room.
Chapter Four
Thursday morning dawned crisp and cool, but at least the rain had stopped. There was even a bit of watery sunshine peeping through the clouds. And since today was her day off Sophie could do exactly as she pleased in Bath. Not that she minded her work, of course. But there were some days when a girl just wanted to lounge in bed, even if she had the most wonderful job imaginable. Of course, her eagerness to enjoy the day had nothing whatsoever to do with meeting Charlie Cantrill. No. It was just a remarkably fine day. That was all.
Sophie turned on her side and stared out the window. One of the kitchen servants would be in soon with her morning cocoa. She stretched lazily toward the ceiling. And soon after, she would dress and ready herself for her morning meeting with the lieutenant. She could wear anything she wanted on this day—no more dark grays and plain bodices. And yet, perhaps one shouldn’t dress up too fine for visiting wounded veterans. Her lavender gown with the long sleeves would do the trick nicely.
A knock on the door snapped her out of her reverie. “Enter.”
Lucy poked her head around the door frame. “Shall I accompany you this morning?”
Sophie motioned her in, and Lucy shut the door softly. She was becomingly attired in an ink-blue frock that darkened the color of her eyes. Sophie patted the mattress, and Lucy sat. “Pretty dress, Lucy.”
The governess smiled. “Thank you. I don’t have your skill with a needle, but I do all right by myself.”
Sophie rolled her head back on the pillow. “I think I am being too missish if I bring you along as a chaperone,” she replied. “Surely Charlie can be trusted. He is a friend of my family, after all.”
Lucy grinned, her eyes sparkling. “And it wouldn’t be because you want the young man all to yourself?”
Sophie chucked her pillow at Lucy, who laughed and ducked in the nick of time. “I am merely doing my duty by my sister,” Sophie said, pursing her lips in a spinsterly manner. “And I want to help the lieutenant as he has helped me. Besides, as a young lady who works, I have little time for romance.”
“That’s rich.” Lucy leaned against the footboard, tucking her legs up underneath her. “From what I understand, his lordship finds you a most admirable young lady.”
Sophie pulled her coverlet up so high, the quilt nearly touched her chin. “Whatever is that supposed to mean?”
Lucy shrugged. “Just that. Servants’ gossip, you know. But apparently Lord Bradbury thinks terribly highly of you.”
Sophie frowned. “How did this rumor start?”
“How does any rumor start? Perhaps he mentioned something to his valet, and from there the story spread like ink running out of an overturned well.” Lucy plucked at the quilt. “Why are you so upset by this rumor? If Lord Bradbury is fond of you, it could bode well for your future.”
Sophie gave her curls a negative shake. “That doesn’t sound very nice at all. I feel much safer working for Lord Bradbury and helping the lieutenant. And that’s all.”
“Ah, well, then.” Lucy rose from the bed with a smile. “Then by all means keep your appointment with Lieutenant Cantrill. I shall spend my morning reading Byron. When you return, shall we meet for tea? Perhaps at one of the shops?”
“Yes. I shall meet you at Molland’s in Milsom Street around three, if you please.” Sophie threw back the covers, preparing to get out of bed.
Lucy departed with a cheerful wave. “I cannot wait to hear about your morning adventure. Adieu, dear Sophie.”
By the time Lieutenant Cantrill knocked on the kitchen door, Sophie was ready and waiting. She had dressed in her lavender gown and tucked up her curls, then added a deeper purple spencer to keep out the spring chill. She had even taken her breakfast at the birch wood table with several other servants, so as not to miss his arrival.
She stepped out onto the back porch and smiled. “What a lovely morning to walk together, Lieutenant. I cannot wait.”
He cordially offered his good arm, and she accepted it happily. As they strolled together, she cudgeled her brain for a way to bring up the topic of his rescue. She stole little sideways glances up at his handsome features, taking in his fine, straight nose and his firm chin. She breathed deeply to compose herself, but was only aware of Charlie’s scent—a scent of tweed and oiled leather. A distinctly masculine smell that could, if one were susceptible, make one giddy. Not that she was, of course. She had to stop thinking about him, so she spoke to break the spell.
“What made you decide to involve yourself with veterans?”
“Well, Miss Handley, I am one, you know.” He looked down at her with a quizzical air.
“Yes, of course.” How stupid of her. “But many young men are veterans. Not all choose to help others.”
“Well.” He paused a moment, as if pondering what to say, or even how much to tell her. “I lost my arm at Waterloo and it changed my life. I felt a sense of purpose. Some might even say a mission.”
“A mission?” She glanced back up at him, thoroughly confused. “Please explain, Lieutenant.”
“I felt that, because I did not die on the battlefield, God must have another purpose for me in life. That there must be some reason I was spared. And so, from that terrible day on, I became a changed man. I decided to devote my life to helping others.”
She nodded slowly. “I never thought about life in that manner. That God may have a purpose for each and every one of us.”
He looked down at her intently. “I believe it to be so.”
Sophie turned away from his gaze, her brows knitted together. A purpose in life? She had never considered such a prospect before. In fact, to be perfectly honest, she hadn’t considered anything the Lord might have to say before. She had lived life the way a leaf tossed in a stream might live, buffeted along by the current, catching on pebbles, tossed along without any hope or thought of changing direction.
First there was Lucy’s comment about Lord Bradbury. And now Charlie’s talk about faith. She opened her eyes wider. She was certainly learning much about life this morning. And she wasn’t sure she really understood any of it.
* * *
As they neared St. Swithins, Charlie felt his hand perspiring. How would Sophie react? Would the other veterans and their wives take to her? Or would it just be an awkward, interminable morning? Hopefully not. Visiting the veterans was the highlight of his week, and ’twould be a pity indeed if Sophie spoiled everything for him.
“It’s...in a church?” Sophie asked, her steps slowing.
“Yes.” He gave a curt nod. “Reverend Stephens has been a tremendous help to my cause. He opened the sanctuary to the veterans of Waterloo, and it is there that I meet with them and ascertain what their needs might be.”
Sophie tilted her head back, holding on to her bonnet with one hand. “It’s beautiful. I haven’t been in a church since Harriet’s wedding, and very seldom before that. How magnificent the steeple looks!”
The church did look rather magnificent under the streaks of icy sunlight that cut through the clouds. Like most of the buildings in Bath, it was made of stone and tan in color. Its majestic steeple pierced the sky, a beacon that called everyone, saint and sinner alike, home for worship.
He glanced at Sophie’s pure profile, tilted back as she drank in the splendors of the view. “You did not go to church often?”
“Hardly at all,” she admitted with the frankness he was coming to admire. “Crich is a four-mile journey there and four miles back. ’Twas too far to travel with Mama. And before that, well, church in Matlock Bath was more of a social affair for our family.”
He nodded and opened the massive oaken door. Her experience with faith was not much different from his. After all, his conversion happened on the battlefield, not because of any experience he had growing up in his family’s parish. “I come here for worship every Sunday. If you like, you may join me. Reverend Stephens is a gifted speaker. I daresay there are few who can phrase the Bible in such clear and understandable terms.”
She smiled politely. “Thank you.”
That brief response, and the brief, circumspect smile that came with it, gave one the feeling of being rebuffed. Or at least brushed off. He set his jaw. They were here on a mere business arrangement, nothing more.
As they entered the narthex, the cacophony of male and female voices, both young and old, bounced off the walls and the high-pitched ceiling. He spied Reverend Stephens with the veterans, gathered near the altar, while the women and children sat farther back in the pews. “Come, I’ll introduce you,” he said, hurrying her up the aisle toward the altar.
“Reverend,” he called as they drew near. “Gentlemen, I have a new representative here with me.”
Reverend Stephens motioned for silence and gave a friendly smile to Sophie. “So I see,” he responded gently. “Welcome, my child.”
Sophie curtsied. “Thank you, Reverend.”
Charlie grasped her shoulders and turned her slightly so she was facing the group of veterans. A larger group than usual today—nearly fifteen men. The good weather must have made it possible for more to come.
“Gentlemen, ladies, Reverend Stephens,” he called, making sure his voice carried to the back of the church. “With me today is Miss Sophie Handley, newly arrived in Bath. Miss Handley is the younger sister of Mrs. Harriet Brookes, whose book about Waterloo is making a sensation across England.”
The crowd applauded politely, and several women leaned forward as if to hear him better.
“As you may know, Mrs. Brookes has donated the proceeds of the sale of her book to our group.”
Many people gasped, turning awe-stricken faces to his. Well, this was the first time he’d made the announcement publicly. And it was a very generous thing Harriet had done. The looks on their faces made him break into a grin. How they would put that money to good use.
“Miss Handley is working for Lord Bradbury in town, but has agreed to be her sister’s representative here in Bath. Anything that we want to do as a group, Miss Handley will work to make sure it can happen. Please think of her as you do me—as a friend, a confidante and a colleague.” He turned his grin to Sophie, who was looking up at him with wide blue eyes. “I trust her. And I know that, together, our veterans’ group can make a real difference in everyone’s lives.”
The group erupted in applause, several of the men whistling and stamping their feet. Sophie blushed prettily and bobbed a little curtsy before the crowd. He nodded at her, as if to say, “Go on, say something,” but her rosy color deepened and she shook her curls quickly.
He shrugged. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he replied in an undertone. “But I must get started working with the men. Do you want to talk to the women and children?”
“Yes, of course.” She moved to the back of the sanctuary, and disappeared as the veterans began to swarm around Charlie, talking about Harriet’s generous donation and how they should use the funds.
He spoke with the men for a good hour without taking a break. There was a private who had a wife and a small baby, but he had been blinded and couldn’t earn an income. How were they to survive? And then a smaller group of veterans with missing limbs, who complained that the colder-than-average spring was making it difficult to move about. For the blind veteran, Charlie withdrew a stipend of fifty pounds, all he could afford until Harriet’s money began trickling in. And for the others, they came up with a schedule of therapy involving taking the waters on a twice-weekly basis.
He spent most of his time with a young ensign, the former scion of a wealthy family, who had braved the battlefield at a very early age, and become mute from the experience. The lad could write down a few words, and Charlie could scratch out words on foolscap, though it was hard to hold down the page with his prosthesis so he could write fluently with his right hand. From their exchange, he was able to ascertain that the lad needed help—regular conversation, even if he just listened as someone else spoke. But whom, and when? Ah, that was the problem. He would find some way to help Rowland, but it might take time.
When he finally had a moment’s pause, he looked anxiously down the pews to see how Sophie was faring. He hadn’t meant to leave her alone for so long. Was she beside herself with nervousness and anxiety? No, quite the contrary. She was sitting in the back of the sanctuary on the floor, with two children in her lap. A group of widows were gathered around her, talking quietly. Sophie was listening intently, replying with a soft word here or a nod there. Her spencer was long gone, as was her bonnet, both strewn across a pew with abandon. As he watched the tableau, a child reached up and touched one of her bobbing curls, which made her laugh.
His heart pounded gratefully. She seemed to be coming along very well. In fact, she seemed to have already won the trust of those widows—women who’d barely spoken two words to him before, who kept their eyes cast down and their lips compressed in thin lines when he asked how he could help them. She was going to be an extraordinary asset.
As the church bell tolled the lunch hour, the group began to drift apart. After shaking hands with a few of the departing veterans, and after expressing his thanks to the reverend, Charlie started up the aisle to retrieve Sophie.
She smiled as he helped her back into her spencer, and bent to kiss one of the little girls on the cheek as she left. Then she tied on her bonnet and took his arm decisively. He sucked in his breath a little at the feeling of Sophie next to him. She had such vibrancy, such life about her. His existence, so gray and dull until he met her, now pulsed with color. She would assuredly make a man very happy someday.
She exhaled sharply, blowing out a puff of air as they left the church, turning her head up to the sky.
“Are you tired? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you alone for so long,” he apologized.
“Not at all. I think I got on very well with many of the women. And the children were darlings,” she replied, grasping the crook of his elbow more firmly as he led her down the steps. “I think the women need money,” she added in an undertone. “Many have no means of income, and several have children to care for. Without a steady flow of money, some of them have been reduced—or nearly so—to rather desperate circumstances.”
Just as he suspected. He stopped, turning to face her. “You will help me, then? These women, they respond to you. Together, we can help keep them from turning to occupations that are beneath them.”
She gazed deeply into his eyes. “Of course I will help you, Lieutenant. Did I not already promise to?”
“Yes, you did. I just wondered if, once you saw how things were—”
“That I would gather up my skirts and flee in horror?” She gave a modest chuckle. “Surely I am better than that.”
He couldn’t bear the challenge in those blue eyes any longer. He directed their steps back toward the street. “I do need your help with one other matter. There’s a young ensign, named Rowland, who is mute. I think conversation—even just listening to someone read aloud from a book—could help him. Do you think you can help me find someone willing to take that on?”
Sophie smiled, her dimples deepening. “I know just the perfect person, Lieutenant.”
Chapter Five
Thank goodness she had gotten an advance on her salary. Sophie sat, cradling her teacup in her hands, observing the hustle and bustle as shoppers filed in and out of Molland’s. She needed a fortifying meal and a few moments’ peace after her chaotic morning. Even though she feigned courage for the lieutenant, her emotions were deeply shaken. She picked up her watercress sandwich with shaking hands and savored one delicious bite.
Her entire family had been cast into poverty when Papa died. But Sophie never realized how very dreadful poverty could be. Of course, it meant making over Mama’s old court dresses rather than enjoying new frocks. And it meant eating potatoes every day rather than having chicken for dinner. And yet, even though they left their ancestral home in disgrace and eked out a meager existence in a cottage, the idea of desperation had never crossed her mind. Why, she had even rejected Captain John Brookes because she no longer loved him after the war.
Love! What nonsense.
Sophie dropped her sandwich and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. What a selfish ninny she had been. The only thing that separated her from the widows she met this morning—women who were facing such straitened circumstances that prostitution suddenly seemed a viable option—was the fact that her industrious sister had kept her from feeling desperate. True, they had discussed taking on jobs in the village. But really, it was Harriet’s own demeanor—her insistence on writing a book, her persistence in having it published—that had kept the wolf from the Handley cottage door. And because of her sister’s cheerful toiling, she never felt as desperate or as poor as the women she met today.
She tried another bite of her sandwich, but really, it tasted like ashes in her mouth.
The only thing to do is resolve never to be a burden on one’s family again. After all, she had gainful employment for the foreseeable future. She would simply have to work hard, save up money and open a dress shop of her own one day. She would never have to worry about Harriet or poverty again.
“Penny for your thoughts?” a cheerful voice interrupted. “Sophie? Are you all right?”
Sophie gave a shake of her head, ridding herself of her reverie. “Lucy.” She patted the table and beckoned her friend to sit down. “Thank goodness you are here.”
“Did you have a bad morning? How did your visit to the veterans go?” Lucy sat across from her and placed her reticule on the table. “Tea and sandwiches, if you please,” she told the waitress with a smile.
“Oh, the meeting went well.” Sophie took a sip of her tea. “But really, Lucy. I had no idea how very badly off some of the women are.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Some of them even consider...selling themselves.”
Lucy nodded. “Yes, I know. I can’t say I blame them. After all, a woman must do what she can to survive.”
Her response was like a slap in the face. Sophie sat back in her chair, her eyes wide. “Surely you don’t condone it.”
“No, I wouldn’t say I condone it.” Lucy accepted her tea from the waitress and nodded her thanks. “I would just say that I can understand it. You see, Sophie, I am an orphan. I grew up in an orphanage. Fortunately for me, I have brains and was able to develop them even in that environment. I was able to become a governess. Some of my friends were not so fortunate.”
Really, this was astonishing. It was like turning over a pretty, smooth rock in a field and seeing the worms squirming underneath. “But really, Lucy. My family lost everything and I never felt that kind of desperation. Maybe my sister hid it from me. I even turned down two marriage proposals.”
Lucy spluttered and choked on her tea. “Beg pardon?” she coughed, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. The waitress returned with a small china plate of sandwiches.
Sophie waited until the waitress left before picking up the thread of conversation.
“Yes, it’s true. I turned down Captain John Brookes and another redcoat—James Marable.” It was embarrassing to admit it now. Especially as Lucy sat staring at her, looking at her as though she had just sprouted horns on the top of her head.
“Why?” Lucy took a careful sip of her tea, continuing to eye Sophie over the rim of her cup.
“Because I did not love them.” Why did it feel like an admission of guilt? After all, Harriet had promised her long ago that she did not have to marry anyone she did not love. Even after Mama died and Sophie was riddled with guilt and sorrow, Harriet promised her she had made the right choice.
Lucy set down her cup with a clink. “Well, then, I must say yes. It sounds to me that your sister did protect you. I envy you your freedom, Sophie. Most young women in dire poverty would marry anyone without delay. No picking and choosing allowed.”
“And that’s why I am seeking my own fortune.” Sophie lifted her chin in the air. It wasn’t as if she was lolling about in bed all day, eating bonbons. She worked very hard for Lord Bradbury and his daughters. And she was building a future for herself until she could strike out on her own and become a modiste with a proper shop.
“And so you are.” Lucy reached out and clasped Sophie’s hand warmly. “But listen, Sophie. Not everyone’s experience is akin to yours. We do not all have the same background, breeding or talent to make something of ourselves. And to be perfectly honest, not all of us are as pretty as you.” She released Sophie’s hand. “You mustn’t judge other women for what they may choose to do to survive.”
“I don’t,” Sophie protested. “I am just stunned, that’s all. In our days of poverty, I never had to consider such a thing. And it both addles me and humbles me to know that others do. I never knew how hard my sister worked as a writer to save my family until this moment.”
A sympathetic light kindled in Lucy’s eyes, easing some of the turmoil in Sophie’s heart. Lucy wasn’t dismayed by her refusal to marry. And for that she was grateful.
Lucy tapped the table with her forefinger for emphasis as she spoke again. “So now that you have this position, what do you wish to do with the rest of your life?”
“I wish for peace and freedom.” Why, she could even feel it—the sensation of being lifted up on wings. Not relying on anyone. Making her own way in the world. “I should like to have my own dress shop someday. When Amelia and Louisa no longer need my services.”
“And what of marriage? If another proposal came your way, what would you say?” Lucy cocked her head to one side.
“I do not know.” An image of brown eyes in a stern face flashed before her mind’s eye. Charlie Cantrill. If Charlie asked her, what would she say? And why was she thinking of him, anyway? Theirs was a mere business relationship. “It would depend upon the gentleman, and my own feelings in the matter.”
“Ah, c’est bon.” Lucy stirred her teacup meditatively. She fell silent, brooding over the steaming brew.
Sophie regarded her carefully. Lucy seemed so lively, so independent, and yet she had no family. Other than her charges and the other servants, she had no one to speak to, to care for. Her existence must be so lonely. She needed to find others to share her life with. Perhaps reading to Ensign Rowland would allow her to branch out, and forge connections with others.
“Lucy, you’re so clever.” Best to start with flattery. Everyone loved a nice compliment. “There’s someone who needs your help. Lieutenant Cantrill mentioned an ensign who is mute. Would you come to the veterans’ group with me and read to him? The lieutenant thinks it would be a great help to the young man, and I would love to have your company there.”
Lucy looked up, her blue eyes wide with astonishment. “Really? You think it would be a help?”
Sophie offered her most appealing smile. Her plan was already starting to work. Maybe Lucy could find her happily ever after, even if Sophie’s seemed remote. “Dear Lucy, I think it would be a tremendous help. For everyone.”
* * *
Charlie accepted the teacup from Aunt Katherine’s extended hand. “Thank you, Auntie.” He couldn’t help but call her Aunt. Everyone did. In reality, she was John Brookes’s aunt—but in practice, she was aunt to them all.
“And so, Charlie,” she asked, amusement evident in her tone, “how did Sophie fare on her first day?”
He settled back in his chair, breathing deeply of the scents of oolong and leather. Aunt Katherine’s home always made him feel at peace. She managed to live a life of simple luxury, one that made him comfortable without causing guilt. After all, so many people had so little.
“She did quite well, Aunt Katherine. I believe that she will be a tremendous help to my cause. Some of the women took to her immediately—she got their confidence in mere moments, whereas I had been working for weeks.”
Aunt Katherine nodded, her wrinkled features softening into a smile. “Good, I am glad to hear it. You know, I was none too fond of Miss Sophie after she broke her understanding with John. He is my nephew and I feel he is a rare gem. On the other hand, matters worked out right. John and Harriet are together, and a better match you’ll never find.”
He nodded. Everything had worked out for the best, for everyone. “So you are not bitter, Aunt Katherine?”
She laughed, tilting her head back. “Not at all, I assure you. In fact, I am inclined to like Sophie more and more. She is, perhaps, the more spoiled of the two lasses, but she is showing a willingness to work on her own and gain independence that is most pleasing.”
Charlie smiled. It was easy to misjudge Sophie. She was so pretty and so vibrant that it was not at all difficult to think of her as a flibbertigibbet, passing over her strength of character. “I think so, too.”
“Do you?” The faded old eyes regarded him sharply, as though Aunt Katherine were studying him through a lorgnette. The close regard caused a wriggle of unease to work up his spine.
“Yes.” Would Auntie stop regarding him in that fashion? He felt like an insect under a spying glass.
“And what of Elizabeth Gaskell? Do you ever hear of your former fiancée at all?”
The sudden shift in conversation threw Charlie off guard. Like a good soldier, he eyed the terrain warily. What did this abrupt change signify? Why was she bringing up Beth, right on the heels of their discussion about Sophie?
“What I know of Beth I read in The Tatler.” His words were clipped and precise. Beth’s downward spiral into licentious behavior was a constant source of amusement for Bath—and embarrassment for her former fiancé. He did not like to talk about it with anyone. Not even Auntie.
“So, then. If she is mentioned in the gossip rags, then she is still living a hedonistic existence.” Aunt Katherine clasped her hands, laden with rings, together over her stomach, peering at him with eyes that had only sharpened with age. “And where does this leave you, Charlie?”
“Forgive me, Auntie, but I don’t understand your meaning.” Honestly, the old woman was as mysterious as the Sphinx. John had warned him so, many times in the past. And yet, since she was meddling in others’ affairs, Charlie found it amusing. Now, faced with it himself, it didn’t seem as funny.
“Tut, tut. There’s no need to get testy with an old woman. I only mean to say it isn’t right for a young man to live alone without thinking about a wife and family. While your work with the veterans is nothing short of admirable, what are you doing to better your own life, my son?”
“You sound like my mother. Always lecturing me to give up my work and settle down with a wife.” And yet, what was so winning about his life? Dinner alone. Walks to the Pump Room. Reading before his cozy fire. It was usually pleasant, but took on a lonely tinge now that he thought about it. “Sometimes I prefer solitude. When Brookes is in town, I have a very active social life.”
Aunt Katherine clapped her hands, her rings tinkling merrily. “Ah, but John is now married, and I am sure he and Harriet will have a family soon. He won’t have as much time for trips to Bath and army reunions. You must create a life for yourself that is rich and full, young Charlie. While austerity has its benefits, I worry that you are missing out on the very vibrancy of life.”
Vibrancy. Warmth. Beauty. An image of blue eyes and hair the color of sunlight passed through his mind. A lively young lady, someone to share his life with. He blinked rapidly, clearing the alluring vision away. “I don’t know, Aunt Katherine. Sometimes I think I was meant to be alone. Perhaps that is why God spared me. To live a life of quiet austerity helping others. It’s not a bad existence, you know.”
Aunt Katherine pursed her lips and shook her head. An unusual quiet descended on the library, broken only by the crackling of the fire in the grate. At length, Aunt Katherine spoke softly. “Not all women are like Elizabeth Gaskell. Not even pretty ones.”
“I am afraid all young ladies are more like her than we care to admit.” The thread of bitterness running through his tone was surprising, even to his own ears. “Especially...” His face began to burn, a flush he could not attribute to the heat from the fire. “Especially pretty and vivacious women.”
“Charlie.” Aunt Katherine’s voice was quiet, the kind of tone she might reserve for a child who had fallen and skinned his knee. “Surely you don’t harbor bitterness and prejudice in your heart.” She straightened up and offered him a kind smile. She was like a mother in some ways, and it made him blink back sudden tears. He was a soldier, after all. No good to cry. “‘Another man dies in bitterness of soul, never having enjoyed anything good,’” she quoted. “Don’t allow what Beth did to rob you of happiness.”
It took a few moments for Charlie to gain composure. He simply stared out the library window, avoiding Aunt Katherine’s gaze while he settled his thoughts. What she said was true. He must get rid of all bitterness in his heart. And yet, it was hard to let go of that anger. It had driven him and fueled his existence for so long, he didn’t know how to relinquish it. It had been hidden under a mask of good cheer, at least where the Brookes family was concerned. But Aunt Katherine, with her uncanny powers of perception, had discovered the truth.
When he was of a more reasonable frame of mind, he rose. It was embarrassing to be so emotional. “Aunt Katherine, I must be going. But I do want to thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your help. I appreciate all you are trying to do for me.”
She extended her hand, jewels winking in the firelight. “Tut, tut, my dear boy. I shall meddle with you tirelessly now that John is happily wed.” She gave him a wheedling smile. “Your mother may be right, after all. And remember that the Handley girls are made of stronger stuff than I think we often give them credit for.”
Her words echoed in Charlie’s mind as he walked back to his flat. Why had she added that last bit? Could it be that Sophie Handley was made of stronger stuff than he imagined? Behind that pretty face, was she something more? He let himself into the chilly flat. His housekeeper had the day off, and he hated coming home when she hadn’t been working all day. His home seemed dour and cheerless without at least a fire burning in the grate and the bustle of work in the kitchen.
He kindled the fire himself and extended his hand to the blaze. The warmth ran from the tips of his fingers to the pit of his heart. Perhaps he had allowed bitterness to settle and become part of him for too long. Perhaps it was time for spring—in more ways than one.
Chapter Six
“Oh, Sophie!” Amelia cried, flinging herself through the door of Sophie’s sewing room. Sophie glanced up in surprise. Shouldn’t Amelia be studying with Lucy in the schoolroom?
“Amelia? Whatever is the matter?” Sophie removed a pin from her mouth and stabbed it through the dress form she was working with.
“Papa has agreed to have a dinner party a fortnight from now, and I am to be the hostess. Imagine! My first entrée into Society. So I must have a very pretty gown, you know.” Amelia danced around the room, her long curls bobbing as she clapped her hands.
“That is excellent news, Amelia. What do you think of this blue dress I am finishing? Surely it would fit the bill nicely.” Sophie stepped back and surveyed her handiwork with a critical eye. A bit more pin tucking around the bodice, and it would just suit her young muse. And perhaps a bit of lace, as well?
“Yes, yes, it’s very pretty. But, Sophie, that was the gown I am to wear later in the Season. I want something special for this occasion, something entirely new. Perhaps—” she spun around the workroom, running her hands over the bolts of fabric “—perhaps something in this yellow?” She held out a yard of gauzy fabric, wrapping it around her middle.
A brief wriggle of unease made its way up Sophie’s spine as she watched Amelia prance around the room. Here they were, surrounded by luxurious fabrics of every conceivable color and finish. And here was her young charge, dancing around in delighted anticipation of yet another new dress, made expressly to her whims.
Sophie’s mind flashed back to the widows, old and young, whom she had met at St. Swithins. Their clothes were so worn and patched, they were almost threadbare. Why should one young girl have so much, while others had so little? Sophie gave her head a defiant shake. It seemed rather unfair. To distract these unpleasant thoughts, Sophie gave her full attention back to pin tucking the bodice, stabbing the pins in place with shaking hands.
“Sophie, is anything the matter? Don’t you think the yellow will suit me well?” Amelia dropped the fabric, a worried frown puzzling her brow.
“Oh, no. So sorry, Amelia darling. Bit of a headache coming on, that’s all.” Sophie managed a small smile for her charge. After all, it wasn’t Amelia’s fault that she was born into great wealth while others were wanting.
“I am sorry to hear that.” Lord Bradbury lounged against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. Sophie jumped a little, startled at the sound of his rich, sophisticated baritone. “I was depending upon you to help prepare Amelia for her debut as hostess.”
Were none of the Bradburys where they were supposed to be at the moment? Amelia was supposed to be studying. Lord Bradbury was supposed to be wherever a wealthy lord spent most of his day. Honestly, having the peace of her workroom completely interrupted by the family was disconcerting. Especially by his lordship, who always managed to ruffle her emotions.
“How can I help, your lordship?” Sophie stuck the last pin into the bodice and turned to face her employer.
“Well, Miss Handley, Amelia will need some assistance with the finer points of being a gracious hostess. Since you were born into the Handley family, I am sure you know how to manage such an affair.”
Another mention of the Handleys. Why was he so fixated on her family connections? Surely he knew that the Handley family never acknowledged or spoke to Mama, Harriet or herself. Everyone, it seemed, knew of her family’s downfall, the auctioned estate, the years of penury and debt. She slanted her glance toward Amelia, who was bouncing up and down, waiting for her response with heightened anticipation. How much of her sordid past did she dare reveal in front of her young charge? And yet...Amelia looked so hopeful, her eyes wide and pleading.
“Well, your lordship, I shall try. But I must admit that was a long time ago, and I had little practice myself. My elder sister was the only one out at that time. I was still in the schoolroom.” She managed a demure smile for Amelia’s benefit.
“Nonsense. I can tell you were born to do it.” His lordship flicked an appraising glance over her figure, making her cheeks burn. “Some women have natural grace. Others cannot buy it with all the money in the world.”
She acknowledged the compliment with a slight incline of her head. “Thank you, Lord Bradbury. I am sure Miss Williams can also assist, if you like.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps. But Miss Williams was not born into quality, as you were.”
Sophie’s mouth dropped open in surprise. What an astonishing thing to say. And rude. After all, Miss Williams was certainly good enough to be entrusted with his daughters’ education. She shifted her gaze to Amelia, to gauge her reaction. But if Amelia felt obliged to defend her teacher, she said nothing. She just eyed Sophie expectantly, an excited smile quivering on her dimpled cheeks.
She turned to face his lordship. He was gazing at her with an inscrutable expression in his dark eyes, a look that made her breath catch in her throat. Whatever did he want from her? It seemed like he always wanted something, gauging her reaction or waiting for an opportunity to, well, pounce. Like a barn cat. Or a tiger. She choked back a sudden nervous giggle. He smiled as though she had finally satisfied his question.
“So? We are in agreement? You will coach Amelia on the finer points of being a gracious hostess.” He stepped closer to Sophie, and the simple movement sucked all the oxygen out of the workroom. She took an abrupt step back, knocking against the dress form.
Lord Bradbury lifted one puzzled eyebrow. “Miss Handley?”
“My apologies, sir. As I said, I have a bit of headache coming on.” She rubbed her elbow ruefully. “But of course I will be happy to help Miss Amelia.”
“Oh, Sophie!” Amelia rushed headlong into Sophie, catching her in an embrace that squeezed the breath out of her. “Thank you ever so much. I shan’t feel half so awkward if you are there.”
Sophie returned the embrace, smoothing Amelia’s curls. “Well, my dear Amelia, I shan’t really be present at the party. But I shall be guiding you every step of the way until it begins.”
Amelia tilted her face up toward Sophie, trouble brewing in her eyes. “But Sophie, I shall need you there to guide me. Papa, isn’t that so? Shouldn’t Sophie be at the dinner party?”
Sophie shook her head. “Amelia, it wouldn’t be right. I am a servant, after all.” She had learned her place well after her first few days of missteps and blunders. And it was a good thing—something that made her proud, in fact—that she was earning her place in the world. Even if it meant the social niceties would often be closed to her for the rest of her days.
“On the contrary, Miss Handley. I think your presence would be most welcome at our dinner party. Not only can you continue to assist my daughter with her entrée into Society, you are rather—” he paused as though searching for the right word “—decorative yourself.”
“I haven’t any gowns that are suitable.” She needed any excuse to back out of this arrangement. Something wasn’t quite right. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was rather akin to being tested. And really, one should know all the rules of engagement before being put to the test.
His lordship waved his hand at the bolts of fabric littering the room, his signet ring glinting in the pale sunlight that poured in through the parted curtains. “Make anything you like, Miss Handley. Surely your talents can extend to creations for yourself.”
Sophie froze. A new gown? A creation from new fabric, made expressly for her? Such luxury. She had been cutting down Mama’s old court dresses and making them over for an eternity. How would a new dress look and feel? Her imagination surged, conjuring images of a pale lavender frock with a modest neckline, some ruching at the bodice...
“Well, Miss Handley?” His lordship was staring at her, the same inscrutable expression on his face that made her heart flutter. Surely there could be no harm in helping her young charge make her debut in Society, could there? And surely, after her years of sacrifice, she deserved one fine gown.
“Very well, my lord, I shall be happy to assist Amelia with her debut, and I will be present at the dinner party, as well.” She tossed him a warm smile of gratitude, which he returned with ease. He was handsomer when he smiled. Much less...forbidding. He turned on his heel and vanished without another word.
Sophie hastened her young charge back to her studies, her mind full of plans. For the first time in ages, she would have a taste of real Society. And, though she hated to admit it, it was a flavor she had sorely missed.
* * *
Charlie sat before his hearth, Mother’s latest missive in his hands. She was coming to Bath. No longer content with issuing orders from afar, Moriah Cantrill would descend on him in a matter of a fortnight. No letter would dissuade her. She was intent on bending her son to her will. And if he capitulated to Mother, then in no time at all, he would be forced to return to Brightgate. He couldn’t give in to one family member without giving in to them all.
The clock on the rough wooden mantelpiece chimed the hour. Blast, he would be late for St. Swithins unless he made haste. He rose, tugging on his greatcoat. Perhaps working with his fellow men, helping others with their problems, would help him, too. It gave him great satisfaction to answer the needs of his fellow men. Their wants were so few and so simple—food, clothing and shelter. Not a man jack of them cared about their position in Society. None would be cowed by Moriah Cantrill, that much was certain. A morning spent in service would clear his mind and help him come up with a solution to his problem—which was nothing at all compared to what these men faced.
Once at St. Swithins, he dove into his work, rolling up his sleeves and toiling away on securing the most basic foundations for the men who served with him in battle. There were fewer men here on Saturday, as most elected to come on Thursdays. But the few who gathered had such gaunt, haunted looks on their faces that he was determined to help them, no matter the cost. A few women huddled in the back, but dared not step forward. If only Sophie Handley were there to talk with them, but of course, one day a week would be the most she could manage with her duties to Lord Bradbury and his family. He would have to set some time and energy aside for the widows when he was done with the men.
“Lieutenant Cantrill! I was hoping to find you here this morning,” a musical voice trilled in his ear. He spun around, trying to will away the flush creeping over his face. Sophie Handley. It could be no one but her. Several of the men stepped back in deference, their admiration of Sophie’s beauty written plainly across their faces. Funny how a pretty creature could make these men instantly lose sight of their troubles.
“Miss Handley,” he replied with a bow. “Are you here to assist? I was not aware that you knew I helped some of the veterans on Saturdays.”
“One of the widows informed me of it at our last meeting,” she admitted, a sweet smile curving her lips. “I cannot stay long, but I wanted to stop by this morning and assist as much as I can. And you will be proud of me, Lieutenant. I found my own way here.”
He chuckled. Her chin was tilted at a proud angle, and her eyes danced with merriment. “Even though you are well acquainted with the twists and turns of Bath, I would be delighted to walk you back home.”
One of the veterans guffawed, but then tried to disguise it as a sudden cough. Charlie looked with daggers at the man, willing him to stay quiet. So he wasn’t well schooled in the art of flirtation. What did that matter? He was just...answering her in like tone. That was all.
Sophie’s eyelids fluttered down over her brilliant blue eyes, and a slight flush stained her cheeks. “That would be lovely.” She dipped a slight curtsy. “I’ll go see what the widows might require.”
He worked the rest of the morning with a curious lightness in his heart. As before, when he made Sophie’s acquaintance, all his problems seemed insignificant. He practiced how he would tell her about his latest missive from Mother, how he would reenact her stern warnings, her dire predictions. And she would laugh that silvery laugh—it reminded one of bells tinkling. And he wouldn’t feel so blasted alone any longer. So while he helped each man who turned to him, finding sources for clothing, or offering food, or locating shelter, his mind remained firmly fixed on Sophie Handley as she toiled away in the back of the church.
It may have been a kind of sin, but he couldn’t shake his mind free.
As they left, she took his arm. “What a pleasant morning, Lieutenant. You know, I think what the women need most is clothing. Not just for themselves, but for their children. I wonder if we could have some sort of sewing bee, where we all join together and sew as a group. Wouldn’t that be a practical solution?”
His mind was drifting again, fixating on her pretty profile rather than her sensible words. He forced himself to pay attention. “Yes, of course.”
“You seem distracted again,” she chided in a cheerful tone. “Pray, what has claimed your interest this morning?”
Ah, now was his chance. “Another letter from home. My mother intends to come to Bath in a fortnight and bring me to heel,” he began, aping an aggrieved tone of voice, but was cut short by Sophie’s stifled gasp.
“Your family! Oh, Lieutenant, I beg your forgiveness. I promised to come up with a solution to your problem, but I got so engrossed in Amelia’s debut that I forgot.” She darted her glance up to his, and he forced himself to allow his breathing to remain steady. Having her so close and so engaged in conversation was a heady experience. But then, of course, he would feel that way around any pretty gel. It was just that he had set himself apart from women for so long after his broken engagement to Beth Gaskell.
“Don’t trouble yourself.” He cleared his throat, forcing the words through his lips. Why was it so hard to even speak when she looked at him that way?
“Nay, I shall trouble myself. If your mother is coming, then the problem is reaching a crisis stage, I daresay.” She steered him back down the sidewalk, and they ambled past the shops, which buzzed with activity. “I’ve given it some thought. I believe that if you at least give the appearance of going along with their wishes, your mother will leave you in peace. In other words, we must strike a compromise. Do you agree?”
That sounded sensible enough. He nodded. “Yes, but what would the compromise be?”
She patted him with her gloved fingertips, and he steeled himself so he wouldn’t feel a tingle racing up his biceps, as he always did when she touched him. “Leave that to me, Lieutenant. Tomorrow I promise to have a solution to your problem. Once and for all.”
They strolled the rest of the way to Lord Bradbury’s in a state of friendly companionship. He meant it all as a joke, of course. Sophie Handley didn’t have to come to his rescue. He didn’t really need her help handling Mother. But there was tremendous gratification in knowing that, for the next several hours, he would be topmost in her mind.
Why that was so gratifying, he dared not examine. But it most assuredly was.
Chapter Seven
Sunday—a day of rest.
Sophie stretched her hands up to the ceiling. Time to find that solution she’d promised Lieutenant Cantrill. She was mortified that she had neglected his problem since her promise to assist Amelia two days before. Her life had been all a-swither, planning gowns and helping to select the menu and the guest list. He hadn’t been far from her thoughts, though. When combing through the guest list, one name had particularly caught her eye: Lieutenant Charles Cantrill. When she mentioned his name to Lord Bradbury, certain there must be a mistake, his lordship laughed. “Don’t let his austere existence fool you, Miss Handley. He’s the second son of one of the wealthiest merchants in England. He’s a member of my club, and a most welcome guest.”
That added a whole new patina to Charlie Cantrill’s allure. So he came from wealth but adopted a poor lifestyle to help others. He was wounded in service yet refused to rest on his laurels. And he had been most mysteriously jilted by his former fiancée. The lieutenant grew more interesting by the moment. So in helping him find a solution to his familial drama, she would be able to inch that much closer to him. Not that she really liked him all that much. But goodness, it would be lovely to have a gentleman friend of sorts again, one to squire her home and hold the umbrella for her. When he allowed himself to joke, his eyes lit up with a mischievous twinkle, and she caught a glimpse of the Charlie Cantrill John Brookes had talked about before the war.
No use lolling about in bed. She could be at church and by his side in a matter of minutes if she hurried. Sophie bolted out of bed, landing with more of a thud than she meant to. She had only three quarters of an hour to ready herself and hasten to St. Swithins. There would be no time for breakfast, surely. She flung open her wardrobe and rummaged among her plain, serviceable gowns for something fetching enough to catch the lieutenant’s eye.
Her lavender gown was still in pieces, ready to be stitched together for the dinner party a week hence. She eyed her wardrobe with mounting frustration. Oh, to have unlimited funds like Amelia Bradbury. In a range of frothy confections, she would certainly catch the lieutenant’s eye.
Botheration. The dark blue damask with the pleated bodice would have to do—it was the most attractive one she owned, for it darkened her eyes to a sapphire shade.
She scurried about the room, pulling on her stockings, tossing on her gown and pulling on her black kid slippers. Her hair—oh, dear, her hair. She had no time for a complicated style. A simple ribbon would have to do. There. She looked presentable, if not exactly alluring. She wrenched open the door—and tripped headlong over Lucy, who was strolling down the hall.
“Wherever are you off to in such haste?” Lucy propped Sophie up by the shoulders, saving her from tumbling onto the floor.
“St. Swithins. I am attending Sunday services.” Sophie righted herself and checked to make sure her hair hadn’t come loose.
Lucy’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “You never mentioned going to services before.”
“Um...” Sophie unsuccessfully fended off a blush. Her cheeks were scorching hot. “I only just remembered it.”
“Hmm.” Lucy stepped backward, planting her fists on her hips. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Lieutenant Cantrill, would it?”
Botheration. It was best to go ahead and admit defeat. The blush told all. She nodded, smiling at her friend. “He’s a friend of my family, after all. Would you like to accompany me?”
Lucy gave her head a decisive nod. “Of course. Let me just get my wrap.”
Bath was now her adopted hometown, its streets and alleyways becoming more familiar with each passing day. She struck out for St. Swithins with confidence. Sophie and Lucy skirted the Circus, glancing at the enclosed garden that would surely begin budding soon with warmer weather, and continued up Bennett Street, past the gracious, aloof Assembly Rooms. A month or so from now, Amelia would begin attending functions at these rooms with her father, and perhaps with Lucy as her chaperone.
It was beginning to smell like spring, the scent of moist earth and leaves filling the air. For some reason, it smelled of home—like working in the miniscule garden with Harriet at Tansley Cottage. Sophie blinked back sudden homesick tears. Yes, Bath was becoming more familiar, but Tansley would always be home.
When they arrived at the church, it was already crowded with a mixture of Bath Society and the lowlier masses, all milling about the narthex, greeting each other with nods and smiles. What a relief Lucy had come, for otherwise, she might feel quite lost in this crush of people. The lieutenant was nowhere in sight. Sophie fought to keep the disappointment from showing on her face as they chose seats in the pews near the rear of the church.
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