by Lily George
Calm yourself, man. He exhaled slowly, and turned her down the garden path. He had not felt that way about a woman for years. Not since his broken engagement to Beth Gaskell. He needed to clear his mind and focus on the matter at hand.
“She’s told members of my family, and even a few friends. She’s coming perilously close to calling it an engagement. 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 paused and 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 with her soft lips, leaving a burning mark behind. “Oh, Charlie,” she whispered. “That means more to me than all the diamond bracelets in the world.”
The kiss, hastily given, and her words, breathlessly uttered, rendered him slightly dizzy. He closed his eyes, willing himself to stop being such a fool. Sophie was merely being generous and sweet; it was beyond ridiculous to infer that she offered more than friendship.
He strolled around the garden with Sophie on his arm until Aunt Katherine shooed them back inside for tea. As he held the door open for Sophie, he made a silent vow. She would never regret this decision to help him. He would make sure that Sophie’s kindness would not go unrewarded or forgotten.
Some way, he would repay her.
Chapter Thirteen
Did her feet ever touch the ground over the next few days? It was hard to tell. Charlie’s good opinion of her mattered more than she dared admit. Her hands flew through her daily tasks. She pin tucked, she pleated, she embroidered as though every stitch would somehow solve all their problems. Somehow, some way, it would all work out. Harriet had always admonished her to put her faith in God, and she finally did so—wholeheartedly. With His blessing, she was earning her own way in the world. She was earning the esteem of good men. She no longer thought herself a flirt and a careless coquette. She was becoming someone deeper and more profound with each passing day.
Today was Thursday, and she dressed for her day off with special care. She was off to the veterans’ meeting this morning, which, of course, meant that she was to see Charlie. He would, in fact, be waiting for her outside the kitchen door in a matter of moments.
Not that she was leaping at the chance to see him—no, she wouldn’t go that far. But she did enjoy his company tremendously. She tied her bonnet ribbons in a jaunty bow under her chin and hummed a snippet of her favorite waltz. How wonderful everything was. How she loved everyone this morning!
Her bedchamber door opened, and Lucy came into the room. “You are disgustingly cheerful,” she announced, and flopped down on the bed.
“Why shouldn’t I be? It’s a beautiful day. And you? Why are you so glum? After all, you will have a chance to see your ensign.” Sophie pinched her cheeks, accentuating her already high color.
“Yes, I do get to see Rowland. But every moment with him is agony. I want so much to tell him everything I am feeling—how much I adore him, how I would do anything for him—and yet I cannot.” Lucy picked at the coverlet, her face a mask of pain.
“Oh, Lucy.” Sophie swooped down and crushed her in a smothering embrace. “If you are in love, everything works itself out.”
“Are you in love?” Lucy interrupted. “The way you’ve been acting, I assume Cantrill proposed? Has he given you a ring? Are you planning the banns?”
“Well, no.” And what was all her good cheer for, then? She wasn’t in love with him. Surely she wasn’t.
Sophie shrugged. “We admire each other greatly. But our courtship is not real. I’m just...enjoying matters while I can.”
“If you think that’s wise, then you are a fool.” Lucy sighed. “Sophie, not everything is as wonderful or as set as you seem to feel at this moment. For some of us, the path to true love is very rocky indeed.”
Sophie wrapped her arm around Lucy’s shoulders and held her close. “Enjoy what time you have with the ensign, then,” she whispered. “Savor the moment.”
“Very well.” Lucy rose. “Come, we will be late. I am sure the lieutenant is waiting for us.”
He was. There was something very sweet and poignant about the way he stood patiently beside the kitchen door, toeing at a rock with his boot. Sophie’s heart gave a lurch when he spied them and straightened. She gave him her most alluring smile, and was rewarded with his heightened color and stammered greeting. What was happening between them? Giddiness seized hold and she paused for a few moments before taking his hand. This wasn’t love. Was it?
They set off down the street, passing the garden that had burst into bloom, Lucy on his right arm and Sophie gently holding his mutilated left elbow. It felt good to be gripping him so close to where he was injured—as though her very touch could heal years of suffering. “How does your mother fare?” she asked in an undertone meant only for his ears.
“Very well, thank you. She elected not to accompany us this morning. She is staying in at the Pooles’.” His clipped response signaled something. Likely they had argued that morning. Mrs. Cantrill was not fond of Charlie’s work with the veterans’ fund. Sophie squeezed his elbow, communicating that she understood.
Lucy jumped into the conversation, asking Charlie more about Ensign Rowland’s injury and his experience during the war. Sophie tuned out their voices, happy to simply walk beside Charlie on this fine spring day. As they neared the church, she said a silent prayer of thanks. What a marvelous Season this was turning out to be.
As they entered the narthex, Lucy went off in search of Ensign Rowland, her novel tucked under one arm. Charlie and Sophie paused, alone for the first time since their moment in the garden a few days before. She breathed deeply. He smelled of fresh linen and saddle leather—clean scents that reminded her of happier times on the estate, before it was taken away.
“What shall I do today?” She turned her face up to his.
He leaned closer, and the heat from his body began to make her feel dizzy. Goodness, how attractive he was. Would he kiss her? She pursed her lips and closed her eyes in anticipation.
“Would you—would you talk to Widow Adams today and see how she fares? I am worried about her. I’ve heard rumors that she cannot afford to feed herself or her grandchild,” Charlie whispered.
Sophie opened her eyes slowly. Charlie had taken a step backward, and was looking over the gathering crowd with a businesslike air. The moment was gone. It was time to get to work. Well, of course—she was acting like a perfect goose. Their courtship wasn’t even real, after all.
“Yes, of course.” She untied her bonnet strings. “Anything else?”
“Try to engage Mrs. Baker in conversation. See if she has need of anything. She is so quiet that I worry about her. Her husband was with me at the farmhouse during the battle. A good fellow, and a brave one.” With that, Charlie turned on his heel and joined the mass of men who gathered near the altar.
She cast her bonnet and shawl aside and looked around. Lucy was sitting in a side pew, reading to Ensign Rowland. The young lad was listening with such an intent expression on his face. Was it adoration? Or merely gratitude? ’Twas hard to tell. She gathered her wits and drifted toward a group of widows who had congregated at the back of the church. Some were sewing, others knitted. It was such a cozy, domestic scene that her heart warmed at the sight of them.
They looked up at her and smiled as she drew close. She returned their greetings heartily and hugged a few ragamuffin children. Her heart surged with love. If only she
could spend her life working to help these women, right beside Charlie. What they needed was so simple: food, shelter and clothing. Her mind flashed back to Lord Bradbury’s house. The rolls upon rolls of fabric in her workroom. The breakfast table laden with sausages and eggs every morning, regardless of the number of people who came to dine. The diamond bracelet he gifted so carelessly.
The diamond bracelet. She sank onto a pew. Surely that one bauble, as she had thought before, could feed many of these women for a good year. Harriet need not be the only woman gifting money to the veterans’ fund. The bracelet was hers, wasn’t it? She could do with it as she saw fit.
* * *
He was in grave danger of falling head over heels in love with Sophie Handley if he wasn’t careful.
Charlie rubbed the stubble of his cheek with his hand. The spot where she had kissed him still burned, the imprint of her lips tingling as though it had just happened. The looks she had cast his way, the heavenly blue of her eyes, the dimpled sweetness of her smile—honestly, she was enough to make a man dizzy. And yet, it was all a ruse. An act, merely for his benefit. She was, after all, the daughter of an actress. She was playing her part to perfection, simply to help him out.
If only he could break through to the real Sophie. That moment in the garden, when she had kissed him because he told her she wasn’t a flighty miss—surely that girl was the real Sophie Handley. If only she would stay around forever. He liked that young lady immensely. Why, he could even dream of sharing his home and his life’s work with that young lady. If only there were a way to strip all the layers aside and meet each other on the same level, they could at last finish this strange dance they’d begun upon her arrival in Bath.
He turned and spoke to the reverend, and grew comfortably engaged in his work. The morning passed swiftly, and before he knew it, everyone was gathering their things to return home. It was time to escort Lucy and Sophie back to Lord Bradbury’s home. He scanned the crowd, but could not spot either young lady. Ensign Rowland exited out the side door, and Lucy was nowhere near him. So where could they be?
He combed through the narthex, but they weren’t there. Had they left without him? Surely not.
As he rounded the corner of the vestibule, hushed female voices caught his ear. Lucy and Sophie were engaged in some private conversation, but he couldn’t discern the words. As he neared the two girls, huddled over each other, whispering in rapid undertones, a chill ran down his spine. Were they speaking of him? Perhaps he had tipped his hand, and Sophie guessed that he was becoming too fond of her. He’d feel like a proper fool then.
He coughed and cleared his throat, and the whispering in the corridor stopped. “Miss Handley? Miss Williams?” he called. “It is time to return to Lord Bradbury’s house.”
“Here we are,” Sophie announced, coming round the corridor. “Lucy and I were just having a chat about the ensign before we left.”
“Were you?” A muscle twitched in his jaw. Well, perhaps that was true—maybe Miss Williams was informing Sophie of his progress, and they had stopped to whisper together so as not to hurt the lad’s feelings. But if that was so, then why was Sophie’s face so flushed with rosy color? Lucy looked as troubled as she had sounded, her face dark with worry. He patted her arm. “Never mind, Miss Williams,” he said in a hearty tone. “The ensign appreciates your help and has shown marked improvement. And I appreciate all you are doing, too.” A distinct prickle of unease worked its way down his spine. They weren’t telling him the whole truth of their conversation, but there was no way to demand candor and honesty without sounding like a wounded bull or a candidate for Bedlam. So he merely offered each woman an elbow, and walked them back to Lord Bradbury’s house.
At the back porch, Miss Williams dipped a curtsy and let herself inside, leaving Sophie and Charlie alone. She smiled up at him, flashing those dimples that made his breath catch a little in his throat. “Well, Lieutenant, I had a lovely morning. Thank you for taking us. Lucy and I have made great plans.”
“Plans?” Perhaps they had some idea of what they wanted to do for young Rowland. But still—the whispered conversation in the corridor, Lucy’s troubled gaze—none of it made sense. He was a trained tactician, and earned his bread by gauging unfamiliar situations and making the right call for attack. But put him next to a pretty woman, and he had no idea what he was about.
“Yes. I can’t tell you yet, as I am still working on the details.” Sophie bounced on her heels, her eyes dancing. “But I think you will approve.”
He bowed, raising an eyebrow. “If you say so.” He hated to sound so unsure. After all, he was a man. No—he was a soldier. He straightened. “I had better be going.”
“Of course.” Sophie’s glee dimmed, and she gave him her hand with an uncertain air. “Shall I see you soon?”
“I am certain we will meet soon.” He clasped her hand briefly, then released it. “Good day.”
“Good day.” With one last quizzical look over her shoulder, Sophie went inside Lord Bradbury’s grand townhome.
Charlie heaved a huge sigh and quit the kitchen garden, rounding the side of the house. As luck would have it, his lordship was alighting from a carriage as he passed.
“What ho, Cantrill?” he called. “What are you about, poking around the back of my house?”
“Merely returning Miss Handley to you safe and sound,” he replied tersely. He was in no mood for polite banter.
“Ah, I thank you for that. She is a rare jewel.” Bradbury looked at him sharply. “May I ask why you borrow her quite as often as you do? You made a show of announcing your intention to call at dinner the other night.”
“We are merely family friends.” Charlie shrugged. “I am keeping an eye on her while she is in Bath.”
“Are you really?” Lord Bradbury smiled, a stealthy grin that raised Charlie’s hackles. “I just came from the club. Had a nice long chat with Bradford Poole. He seems to think there is far more to your relationship than friendly feelings. Is that so?”
What could he say? If he told Bradbury of their false courtship, Sophie could lose her position. Bradbury had said as much. Yet he ran the risk of calling Bradford Poole a liar, after his own mother had informed Poole of the courtship.
What a mess. Like sinking into the mire at Waterloo, more or less.
“Not at all, I assure your lordship. If we become engaged at any point I shall be sure to inform you.”
“Excellent. See that you do.” Lord Bradbury cocked his head to one side. “I have designs on the young lady myself. Gave her a nice little bracelet to pique her interest. Not anything too elaborate, but a pretty girl deserves a few pretty baubles. So—if you are leaving the field, bear in mind that I might take your place. I bid you good day.”
With that, Lord Bradbury entered his house and shut the door with a decisive click, leaving Charlie on the lawn—impotent and enraged. So Lord Bradbury had given Sophie the bracelet? And Sophie had lied about it, to both himself and to his mother.
He stalked through the streets of Bath toward Beau Street, wishing for an umbrella so he could stab at bits of garbage that whirled about and collected in the gutter. Anything to relieve his rage. Was he livid with Lord Bradbury and his sly grin and worldly ways? Or was he furious with Sophie for lying?
Neither. He was just bitterly disappointed. He thought Sophie had changed from the girl who cast John Brookes over. She seemed so mature, so thoughtful since her arrival in Bath. But was all of that a mere facade? His anger ebbed, and he wiped a weary hand over his brow.
There was nothing to do but wait. He was shackled to Sophie, for better or worse, for the next few days. He mounted the steps of his flat, ready to have a few moments of quiet reflection and a pot full of bracingly hot tea.
But instead of these comforts, Moriah Cantrill met him inside with a letter—sent via express post, if he could judge by the markings. “Do open it, Charles,” Mother commanded. “It is from your uncle Arthur.”
Chapter Fourteen
Sophie weighed the diamond bracelet in the palm of her hand.
She could sell it and get money to help the widows in Bath. She had given much thought to it since yesterday. With the proceeds from its sale, she could buy enough fabric and notions to help clothe all the women in the group, and their children, too. She could devise a sort of sewing circle among the women, everyone sharing in the work. In no time, all the women and children could have new dresses. She might even devise a few patterns—something simple that would maximize the use of the fabric and make the dresses quicker to sew. The threadbare garments the widows wore could be a thing of the past.
If she only sold her diamond bracelet.
And yet—
She stared into the fiery sparkle the diamonds cast in the morning light. It was very hard indeed to give up such a beautiful thing. She’d never owned anything like it in her born days. When Papa was rich, she was too young for jewels. Only Mama had them, and meant to keep them for Harriet and for Sophie. But then, Mama’s jewel case was the first thing the duns seized after Papa died. She clasped it around her wrist once more. The bracelet was heavy and warm against her skin. It slid up her arm and caught just before her elbow. She held her arm up, watching the diamonds cast prisms around the room. Could she really give it up?
How astonishing that Lord Bradbury could afford to give such a jewel away like candy. And how equally astonishing that just one of those could clothe a group of fifteen individuals for a Season.
“‘If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell what thou hast, and give to the poor...’” Sophie whispered. She had no need of the bracelet. It could help many people in desperate circumstances. She unclasped it and tucked it into her handkerchief, then placed the bundle gently inside her reticule. There was a pawnshop in Lower Bristol Road. She could certainly sell the bracelet there. There were also jewelers. Where should she go to sell it? And how quickly could she get there?
