Thomas glanced over the scrap of paper. Five soldiers were listed, along with the names of their wives and ages of their children. This would be a challenge, but for the first time since Waterloo, a sense of purpose suffused his being. This was a test he was determined to pass, for providing others with shelter—with the very bread and water of life—was far more important than whiling away another afternoon at the Club. “Very well. And when I find these homes?” He glanced over at Cantrill.
“Simply report your findings to me, and we will work together to make sure the families are notified, and necessary steps are taken to move them into their new surroundings. Ensign Rowland, another member of our group, is a carpenter. He has been making some furniture for these families so that they may have tables and chairs and so forth. My wife Sophie is working with several of the ladies of the group to make counterpanes and quilts.” Cantill gave him a crisp smile, the light of challenge kindled in his eyes. “The sooner you find housing, the better. Can you be done within a fortnight?”
That didn’t leave him much time, especially since Thomas had no idea how to get started. But then, when one had one’s marching orders, one obeyed. “Of course.”
Thomas folded the list and tucked it into his pocket, then bade the captain good-bye. As he wandered down the corridor, he turned his mind toward the problem at hand. How on earth was he supposed to find housing for five veterans and their families? This was totally unlike anything he had attempted before.
As he reached the end of the hall, Louisa Bradbury stepped out of her classroom and shut the door. She must not have seen him, for she turned away without a word. As a man of few words, and to whom social graces came awkwardly, he could simply shadow her down the hallway in quiet. Yet, from their brief meeting yesterday, she seemed a sweet girl. Those lively brown eyes of hers were certainly delightful to look upon.
“Miss Bradbury.”
She spun around, her hand clamping her bonnet securely to her head. “Mr. Wright! Oh, you frightened me. I had no idea anyone else was here.”
“I apologize for giving you a scare. I just wanted to make my presence known. I am on my way home.” He ambled beside her and offered his arm. “Are you leaving too?”
“Yes. I usually walk home. I find that it gives me time to clear my mind.” She placed her fingertips in the crook of his elbow. “To the Crescent?”
He heaved a great sigh. “I am afraid so. To the Crescent.”
“You sound about as happy about going home as I feel.” She followed, one half a pace behind him, as they entered the hushed and dim narthex. The gentle lag of her steps made for a pleasing rhythm. Louisa was probably quite a good dancer. In all likelihood, she’d studied for years with a dancing master so she could dazzle all of London when she made her debut.
As all women of their class did.
Not that Louisa Bradbury’s debut was any of his affair.
He pushed open the heavy oaken door and drew her outside. The lazy early summer breeze wafted past them, carrying the scent of flowers and green, growing things. He breathed in deeply. In truth, this was his favorite part of the year, when the world was fresh and new. Now, the balmy weather only caused a kind of panic. Before it got too hot, he must find homes for these deserving men.
“I find it difficult to reconcile my life of leisure with the lives of the men I now serve,” he admitted. “I apologize. I should make livelier conversation.”
“No, don’t try. I feel the same as you do.” She allowed her shawl to slip carelessly about her shoulders as the wind kicked up. “That is why I forego a carriage and walk every day. I need the time to clear my mind, to form a kind of peace in my soul as I change from one world to the other.”
He nodded. Her confession made perfect sense. In fact, he was in complete accordance with her.
“Has Captain Cantrill given you a task?” She smiled up at him from beneath her bonnet brim. “I suspect he put you to work right away.”
“He did.” At any other time, he would have fallen silent and kept his problems to himself. But Miss Bradbury’s easy manner and frank way of speaking loosened his tongue. “I am supposed to find homes for five of the men and their families.”
“That is wonderful!” Miss Bradbury bounced a little on her toes. “A truly worthy duty. Where shall you begin.”
“That is the crux of the matter. I have no idea,” he confessed. He steered her around a nursemaid taking a baby out in a perambulator. “I was rather hoping for something simple, like leading a prayer group or helping men to find employment.”
Miss Bradbury laughed, an enchanting sound indeed. “Don’t try to tease me. For one thing, leading a prayer group or helping men find work are both formidable tasks. For another, if you were a soldier, I know you must embrace challenges.”
“How do you know I was a soldier?” This time, they sidestepped a group of very fashionable ladies out for a late afternoon stroll. Once the cacophony of their cultured voices died down, he continued. “I hadn’t told you so, had I?”
“Well, you said you saw enough of the war, and I could tell from your bearing that you were a military man.” Beneath her bonnet, her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink.
“Yes, I was with the 52 Light Infantry. My brother Matthew was a captain, and I followed him,” he admitted. “Bought in when I was seventeen, and after purchasing my uniform, was in Brussels within a fortnight.”
“I see.” Judging by her furrowed brow, she was making some mental calculations, but was likely too well-bred to ask too many questions. Should he make it easier on her? By spelling out all the details, it would skirt unnecessary questions later.
“Matthew died during at Waterloo. I was a mere ensign, but when your captain falls, the ensign takes his place, at least during the battle.” Saying it aloud was not as daunting as he suspected it would be. “I stayed with the 52 when we were in Paris for over a year. Then my eldest brother Jacob passed away, so I was called home to take his place.”
He glanced away from his companion for a moment. The Crescent was within mere blocks now, and reluctance tugged at his footsteps. If only he could stroll with her throughout Bath, with no need to go home and face his utter incompetence as the head of his family.
Miss Bradbury must have been feeling the weight of family responsibility too, for her footsteps slowed. Her head craned slightly, and then she drew to a halt, staring fixedly ahead. A gentleman was leaving one of the tall dun-colored stone townhomes, and on his arm was a woman as tall and blonde as the residence. Beside him, Miss Bradbury gasped.
“What’s the matter?” He turned and grasped her other arm. All the color drained from her face. Truly, Miss Bradbury looked as though she might faint.
“Is there another way home?” She murmured the words rapidly, and he had to duck closer to catch them. Years of facing cannon fire had wrecked havoc on his hearing.
“I suppose we could skirt that side street over there.” He turned her about and, increasing his pace, guided her down the pavement. “Why? What has happened?”
“That was my father.” Her pallor had returned—in fact, color suffused both cheeks. “And that woman with him is wholly unfamiliar to me.”
Chapter 4
“Louisa, stop pacing. It really is most unladylike,” Amelia pronounced from her position on the hassock.
“I did not invite you to our home for a lecture on ladylike deportment,” Louisa snapped. She spun on her heel and resumed her march up and down the Aubusson rug. Since Captain Wright had escorted her to her front door, a kind of frenzy grasped hold of her. “Who cares if I am a lady, while Papa is acting the part of a bon vivant?”
“Surely you know by now that our father is considered a most eligible man.” Amelia shrugged her delicate shoulders. “Why are you so upset by what you saw?”
“Because—because—think of Mama!” Louisa spluttered, her head giving a painful throb. “What a desecration of her memory. Not to mention that he has two daughters—“
“That does not signify! How dare he squire a woman like that around Bath while denying me my right to live my life as I see fit?” If she could find an object to throw, she would do it, just to hear the jolly smash as it hit her bedroom wall.
“LouLou, enough.” Amelia rose, placing her hands on Louisa’s shoulders. “Our father has been squiring Madame Catalonga about Bath for ages. You know of her. We’ve been to her concerts—she is considered one of the finest sopranos of our time. As for Papa—well, men in his position are allowed to have peccadilloes.”
“Men in his position? So it’s quite all right to sin if you are wealthy? Are all men of our class allowed these indiscretions?” This conversation had gone from frustrating to incredible in the space of just a few moments. She shook her head. “Don’t tell me you would simply brush it off if John behaved in such a manner.”
Amelia’s blue eyes darkened, and she gave her head a firm shake. “No, I would not, but do not deter me. We are speaking of our father. Papa has been a widower for years. It’s not merely his title that gives him license to see Mme. Catalonga. He has been without a wife for so long, why, it would be strange indeed if he would not seek female companionship.”
Louisa sank onto her bed with a huff, and allowed herself to fall across the counterpane. She stared up at her ceiling, painted a comforting shade of robin’s egg blue. When she was a girl, and eaten up with jealousy over Amelia’s social triumphs, she would find solace in staring up at her own little piece of artificial sky. She would dream and plan the day when she would have suitors calling, and fine gowns, and more balls to attend than there were hours in the day.
Now that it was her turn. Now that she understood the more troubling aspects of her class, these things seemed trivial indeed. How dare her father keep a woman in a fine townhome when decent, hardworking families struggled to put a roof over their children’s heads?
“I still don’t like it.” She stared fixedly at the ceiling. Why did everything always have to turn out so horrid? She would give anything to go back to the way things were just a few years ago, when she could flounce down the hall to Lucy’s room. Lucy would read to her, or simply coddle her as a mother would, and she always felt so safe and secure. Back then, Papa simply indulged her in everything she wanted. He was a doting father, and that was all. Nothing in her life had a darker side.
“Whether you like it or not, this is the way things are,” Amelia chided in a soft tone. “Do calm down, and do try to see reason. If you don’t like the way Papa behaves, then why remain under his roof? Isn’t it time you struck out on your own? My advice is simple. Mark your time until your London season, and then marry.” Amelia came over and sat beside her on the bed. “Being married is lovely. Think of all the freedom you would have, LouLou! You can manage your own home, plan gatherings, attend parties…” Amelia trailed off, giving a contented little sigh. “I am so glad I married John when I was so young, for I have enjoyed the life of a married woman vastly, I can assure you.”
Louisa rolled her eyes. Parties. Gatherings. Gowns. All things that seemed quite shallow and empty now that she had seen how the poor really lived.
And yet, if she continued to press her point with Amelia, then they would continue to argue in a circle. For once her sister pinned her mind to a thought, there was no dissuading her. Amelia would certainly never succeed in changing Louisa’s mind. Why had she even bothered to tell her sister? Why had she sent for Amelia as though Amelia would bring comfort? They had not been close, truly close, since she married and moved away from home.
There was really no one in whom she could confide the deep disappointment that fairly boiled within her. Lucy would merely tell her, in her sensible way, to mind her own business. Her sister obviously didn’t care that Papa was betraying Mama’s memory. She was all alone, cast adrift on a sea of anger, and no one would help tow her back to shore.
There was no use in arguing her point any longer. She rolled up and faced her sister with a sigh. Amelia’s pretty hair was tucked up under a cap, as befit a young married woman, and her rosy cheeks glowed. She was the picture of marital contentment, and for some reason, the sight of all that wedded bliss only fueled Louisa’s ire.
“I don’t wish to speak of it anymore.” Louisa rose and stalked over to her window, parting the curtain. Outside, the wind tossed the roses on the bushes, a vibrant contrast to the dark green lawn. “Are you staying to supper?”
If Amelia was startled by the abrupt change in conversation, she was too well-bred—or sneaky—to show it. “No, my dear. John and I are going to the Poole’s this evening.” Her sister joined her at the window, giving Louisa’s shoulder a gentle pat. “Are you quite all right? You still look awfully pale.”
Louisa forced a wan smile. “I am fine. It just—seeing Papa like that—takes some adjustment.” She sighed, allowing the curtain to fall back into place. “I think I shall go for a little stroll before supper, to clear my mind, and all that.”
“Good. Well, I am off then.” Amelia gave her shoulder a final pat, and bent to retrieve her shawl from the hassock. Then she turned to face Louisa. “Do pay heed to what I tell you, sister. It’s time for you to carve out a life of your own. Once you are married, you won’t care as much about what Papa does or doesn’t do. You’ll be far too busy with your own matters.” Amelia flung her shawl about her shoulders and gave Louisa a brief peck on the cheek. “Just think of it. In a few months, you could be mistress of your own home.”
Louisa watched Amelia leave, keeping the pale smile fixed on her face. She was alone. So utterly, utterly alone. Staying in the house just now, while all the memories of her childhood tumbled about her ears, was simply intolerable. No, she must go out for a walk.
For if she stayed inside, she would either scream or throw objects d’art in a fit of rage, and that was conduct most unbefitting a young lady.
~*~
Thomas stared moodily out his study window. There was so much he should be doing. Duties and obligations for his family and its interests called out to him from his desk. Finding decent housing for those veterans and their families should also be a primary concern, but he simply could not turn his mind away from Louisa Bradbury. When she saw her father on the pavement today, with some young woman, the misery she felt was palpable. He wanted nothing more than to comfort her somehow. For when Louisa was happy, she was a delightful creature. The few times they’d met, her vivacity and wit were quite charming. She was enough to turn a young fellow’s head.
On the other hand, he was not a young fellow. Scratch that. Yes, he was young, but somehow he had never been young enough to keep pace with someone as brilliant as Louisa Bradbury. No, he was far too old for her, even if he was of her same era. He was dour and morose and the weight of responsibility, which his brother carried so lightly, rested heavily on his shoulders.
Sunlight drifted down from the tall tree outside his window, and the limbs made a light scraping sound against the pane. Each scratch was like the tick of a clock. He was trapped, well and truly trapped, in a prison he’d never anticipated. He’d never planned to be the head of his family. This was a position for which he was unfit, surely. On the field of battle, he knew what he was about. Here, in Bath, he was all at sea.
As he continued to give the tree a morose glare, a familiar figure drifted into view. Louisa Bradbury. She walked past, her head turned down and her shoulders slumped. His heart jumped in sympathy. Poor girl. He was not the only one feeling the dead weight of family obligation.
With a swift movement, he crossed over to the window and threw open the sash. He bounded out of the window and landed with a thud. Louisa’s head snapped up and she whirled around, a vision of swirling lavender skirts.
“Upon my word, you startled me.” Her voice was breathless and high.
“I seem to be quite good at startling you as you walk past,” he admitted with a little
chuckle. “Forgive me, Miss Bradbury. But when you came into view I thought perhaps you’d like some company. I certainly could use it.” He hadn’t meant to say that last part aloud. But there was no taking it back now.
“You too?” Miss Bradbury walked over to his side, a gentle smile curving her lips. “Well, since we are in good company, I am going to break with social tradition and insist that you call me Louisa.”
Louisa. Such a pretty name. “Then I insist you call me Thomas. Shall we have a secret handshake, or wear special rings, as part of our cult of two?” Whatever had come over him? He was entirely unlike himself—jovial, cavalier even.
She laughed, a joyful sound. “Why, certainly. All clandestine societies do, you know.” She took his arm, a gesture that caught him off guard. Her sudden closeness and scent of rosewater nearly bereft him of his senses.
He coughed to cover the moment and regain some sense of control.
“Shall we walk together then?” Louisa gave his arm a playful tug.
“Indeed.” It was all he could manage at the moment. Why was he behaving so strangely? He, who had faced a cannonade at Waterloo, was completely tongue-tied by a pretty girl’s touch.
They walked along in silence for a moment, the sun making a dazzling light on the dun-colored façades of the nearby houses. If he was any other fellow, the view of the Crescent might seem rather fine, especially when he was walking with a lovely companion.
“Have you ever been sorely disappointed in someone you loved?” Louisa piped up beside him. But the jesting tone was completely gone from her voice, and as he glanced down at her, her eyes were downcast.
“Yes.” She wasn’t alone in her disillusionment. He knew the feeling all too well.
“Well, what did you do about it?” She paused and looked up at him, as though he could supply her with the solution to her despair. “Did you say anything about it, or do you just go on with your life?”
Sweet Summer Kisses Page 18
