by Lily George
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.”
