by Lily George
Robert turned a mottled shade of violet. It was not a pretty sight. “No— I never meant that—”
“Oh, dear brother, you inferred it. And that’s fine with me. I couldn’t be trusted with the management of the Cantrill family fortune. I’m merely a career soldier, after all. And I even blundered at that, losing my arm and fainting for the length of the battle at La Sainte Haye.” Charlie finished mounting the stairs and stared deeply down at his brother’s furious expression. “So I shall do what is best for the family. I’ll return to Bath and continue my work with the poor. It seems to be the only thing I am capable of.”
“Charlie—” Robert’s smooth, oily voice held a pleading tone. “Please, see reason. You cannot go on living the way you do in Bath. It’s simply not acceptable. Stay here in Brightgate, live in luxury. Help me with the estate. It’s really what you should be doing.”
“On the contrary. I refuse to apologize for my work with the veterans any longer. It’s the only thing that gives my life a purpose. And now that my future happiness with Sophie Handley has been wrecked, it’s the only solace I shall have. So cut off my income, Robert. Shame me as much as you wish. If I can’t have the woman I want, I shall at least live the life I want.” He slapped the banister with his hand. “I leave for Bath within the hour. Break the news to Mother. I am done with the lot of you.”
True to his word, within the appointed hour, Charlie left his family home in Brightgate without a single look back. Mother’s tearful pleadings still rang in his ears. But he was right. He was sure of it.
He relaxed his rigid back against the carriage seat. He would return and continue his work with the veterans, without interference from his family, for the foreseeable future. He was liberated—and at the same moment, as alone and solitary as he had ever been.
His mind flashed back to Sophie’s resolute profile, her pale cheeks and proud tilt of her head. She was the only thing he was uncertain of. Had she really changed her mind about him? Or had she cast him aside in a kind of noble martyrdom? He had thought she’d changed over the months she had been in Bath. She’d grown more serious, more compassionate, and warmer. And yet, today her behavior had been so flippant that it left a sour taste in his mouth. Her reference to Beth Gaskell had been the very last straw.
He would bide his time. The answer lay in patience. He would give them both time to recover.
And then he would find a way to see the real Sophie Handley.
Chapter Eighteen
“So what of your lieutenant?” Lucy tossed the book she had been reading aside and looked up at Sophie, who was embroidering one of Amelia’s gowns as she sat tucked up on the settee. “You’ve been home from Brightgate for nearly a week now, and I haven’t heard a word about him.”
“Hush.” Sophie flicked a glance at the closed door of her bedroom. “No one knows I journeyed there to meet his family.”
“Don’t be silly,” Lucy responded, propping herself up on her elbows. “No one can hear us. So, how did the matter play out?”
Sophie sat for a moment, concentrating on a stitch. How much of the entire sordid tale did she dare admit? The wound was too fresh, too raw to gossip and pick over with Lucy. So she chose not to tell the whole story. “Suffice it to say, I did my part. As far as Charlie’s family could discern, our courtship was real. And we broke the matter off before the farce went too far.”
“Ah, so if things went splendidly, why are you so pale and miserable? And why are you losing weight? I saw you pinning up one of your dresses the other day to disguise how thin you’ve gotten.”
“Now you are the one being silly.” Sophie tugged at the thread. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“You love Charlie Cantrill,” Lucy said. “So why not marry him? Did you not find a way to entice him to make the faux courtship a real engagement? I vow—my wonder at your powers of flirtation is woefully deflated.”
“Stop.” Tears clouded her vision. She could no longer discern the fine lawn she had been embroidering. She took a deep breath.
“Oh.” Lucy clasped her hands around her knees. “Something went wrong.”
“I don’t wish to speak of it.” If she were to keep her countenance, then she had to change the subject. There had to be a fresh topic of conversation, something that would captivate Lucy and keep her from prattling on about Charlie. “How is Ensign Rowland?”
Lucy’s eyes sparkled, and she smiled broadly. “Oh, Sophie. He is the most amazing man. We’ve met each other every week while you were gone. And did you know—” Lucy launched into a narrative centered around the ensign, not stopping for breath as she cataloged his many finer points.
Thank goodness. That gave Sophie time to recover her sensibilities. She took another fortifying breath and turned her thoughts back to her stitching. There was no need to wonder about Charlie Cantrill. From what she could gather from snippets of gossip from Lucy, he had returned to Bath and to the veterans’ club shortly before she came home. He was working with his usual fire and energy. But that’s all she really knew. Lucy paid heed only to her beloved Rowland, and sketched just the briefest description for Sophie when she came home on Thursdays.
And that was as it should be. Charlie Cantrill was none of her business, after all.
A soft knock sounded on the door. “I’ll go,” Sophie declared, giving the dress a shake. “It’s probably Amelia, come to see her gown before she goes to bed.”
She opened the door, but it was not Amelia’s smiling face that greeted her. Instead, Lord Bradbury stood before her, a drink in one hand.
Lucy scurried up from her position on the floor, and they both bobbed him a curtsy. “Your lordship.”
“Miss Williams, I wish to see Miss Handley. Alone.” Lord Bradbury strode into the room. Sophie had not seen him since her return from Brightgate. He had been attending some business in London, and had only just arrived that very day, according to the housekeeper.
“Yes, of course. Good night, Sophie.” Lucy scooted past them both, cutting her eyes curiously at Sophie as she passed by. She closed the door very softly behind her.
“Mind if I sit down?” Lord Bradbury indicated the settee with a wave of his hand.
“Not at all, sir.” Sophie hastily removed her sewing basket and pincushion from the seat. “I was merely working on a dress for Amelia. A little embroidery to make it look very fine.”
He lowered himself onto the settee and took a long sip of amber liquid. “You take good care of my daughter.”
“I love them both.” It was the simple truth. Coming back to those girls had really been her saving grace. Why, when she was in their company, the pain of losing Charlie numbed to a dull ache.
“And they love you.” He stared moodily down into his glass.
They sat together as Lord Bradbury drank, silence settling over them. Why had Lord Bradbury come up at this time of night? He had found out about her engagement in Brightgate. He knew she’d lied. Was he going to sack her, after all? She snuck a glance at him from under her lashes. If he was angry, he was hiding it well. He merely looked deep in thought.
“You are probably wondering why I am here,” he finally responded, as though reading her thoughts. “You should know that I have heard what happened in Brightgate. I was not entirely pleased that you went to see the Cantrill family. As you know, I cannot keep a married servant around. It was rather duplicitous of you, Sophie.”
She swallowed. He knew the truth. And moreover, he had never called her by her first name before. It sounded very strange coming from him.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. Her imminent departure was certain.
“Everything is fine now.” He looked into his empty glass. “You aren’t marrying him.”
“No.” The word fell heavily from her lips. “How did you come to know?” She could have bitten her tongue out the moment she said it. It was really none of her business to question his lordship. And as long as she was keeping her job, what did it matter?
“Someone hired by the Cantrills was poking around the household staff, asking questions about you,” he replied. “So I hired him to do a little counter-espionage, as you might say. I know everything that happened in Brightgate.”
“I see.” Of course. That made complete sense.
“So now I must ask—what do you want, Sophie?” He placed the glass on her side table and leaned forward. “Your engagement is broken. Surely you don’t want to spend the rest of your days sewing for my two girls. A bright young thing like you? You must have some ambition.”
“Well...” He hadn’t fired her yet. Perhaps, if she played along with his game as politely as possible, he would forget how she lied so she could go to Brightgate and help Charlie. “I love sewing for Amelia and Louisa and would gladly do so for the rest of my days. They are such sweet darlings.”
“Go on,” he responded, examining her with a grave air.
“But if the day comes when they no longer need my services exclusively, I should like to become a professional modiste. I would love to have my own shop.”
“Here in Bath?”
“Yes, Bath is lovely. There’s a bustle of activity, but it’s still delightful and quaint. I fear I would become lost in London.”
“My thoughts, too. That’s why I stayed here after my wife died. A good place to make a home for my daughters.”
She gave him what she hoped was a warm smile, though her nerves were still a jumble. “You are a good father.”
“Yes, well.” He became brusque and businesslike, rubbing his hands together. “I need your assistance tomorrow, Miss Handley. If you will accompany me, there are a few things I should like to show you in Bath. Be ready at half-past noon.”
“Of course.” Her eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Is it something for the girls?”
“No.” He rose from the settee. “Something for myself. As I have said, I have excellent taste in all things, but I will defer to your judgment.”
* * *
The next day, Sophie was ready at the precisely appointed time. She selected a simple afternoon dress of fawn silk and a spencer jacket. Lord Bradbury had not said where they were going, so she needed to be practically dressed for anything while still looking presentable.
“Ah, yes,” his lordship called as he entered the vestibule. “You look quite nice. A trifle plain, perhaps.”
“I wasn’t sure—” she began, flustered. She should have chosen something more elaborate, more in keeping with being in the company of a viscount.
“Not at all, my dear.” He withdrew a strand of pearls from his pocket. “I was merely commenting that your gown will make a fitting frame for these.”
Sophie sucked in her breath. They were absolutely incredible. “Oh, no.” She backed up a pace. “The bracelet was enough.”
“And yet you sold it, you minx,” he replied with a laugh. “Come, don’t dissemble. Let me see how my taste in pearls has held out over the years.”
She could not refuse without making a scene, or offending him. And her position in the household was still rather tenuous after he found out the truth about Brightgate. It would do no good to offend his lordship. So she submitted as he clasped the smooth baubles around her neck. She managed a tight smile as he raked his eyes over her form.
“Perfect,” he muttered. “As though you were made for them. Now promise me you won’t sell these, no matter how much blunt you need. If you ever want for anything, you have only to ask me.”
Her face heated, and drops of perspiration broke out on her forehead. “How did you know I sold the bracelet?” Was he furious with her? His face wore the same impassive and urbane expression as always.
“The same detective who was vetting you out for the Cantrills, of course,” he replied. He took her by the arm and steered her toward the waiting carriage outside. “I bought it back, by the way.”
He boosted her inside the carriage and rapped on the window.
“Where are we going?” The pearls hung around her neck like a noose. And she didn’t like his bantering tone. She preferred matters to be completely neutral between them, except when he spoke of his daughters. That he did with such warmth, it did her heart good. But when he started flirting with her—well, she had no idea how to react.
“I want to show you a nice little property I am thinking of purchasing,” he responded in an easy tone. “We’ll drive by, as it is currently occupied. You may see it from the outside. And then there’s another place I should like for you to see when we are done there.”
He was bringing her along for advice on properties? How strange. She sat against the seat, trying to stay calm and collected. After all, Lord Bradbury wasn’t acting in a menacing way. Overly familiar, perhaps, but not menacing.
The carriage paused before a little, blond stone building near High Street. It had lovely, large windows that faced the front squarely. Shoppers bustled in and out of its two French doors.
“Now what do you think of that?” He pointed out the building with a flick of his head. “It’s a millinery shop now, but I think it would work well for a modiste. Those windows would allow for ample display of gowns.”
“It’s—very nice.” She lifted her brows and turned toward his lordship. “Are you buying it?”
“I own the building already,” he responded. “But I can find a new place for the tenant if you like it. Personally, I feel it is exactly the right location for a modiste. Lots of foot traffic, you know. Even on a weekday like this, it’s a-buzz with activity.”
“I can see what you are saying. But—I am not sure I understand why you need my opinion.”
“For your shop, Sophie, my dear. Let me be perfectly plain. I shall set you up as a modiste in this very location, if that’s what you wish.” He rapped on the window, and the carriage turned away from the curbstone, plunging back into the midday traffic.
“But Amelia and Louisa will need me for a long time yet.” Her brow furrowed in confusion. Was he simply buying her off with the pearls and the modiste shop because he was going to sack her? A way of pensioning her?
“My daughters will continue to be dressed by you,” he stated flatly. “They love you too much for me to let you go completely. But on the other hand, you can share your talents with all of Bath this way—gain a respectable following, fame and status. It is my way of saying thank you.”
“Oh.” That knocked the wind out of her sails. She had no idea what to say. “Thank you, my lord.” Her life-long dream was finally coming true—what meant everything to her was accomplished with such ease by him.
The carriage drew to a stop before a large, imposing townhome on a tony side street. “Come, take a look inside.”
He clasped her hand firmly in his, leading her up the front staircase. She was so used to going in back entrances, it felt uncomfortable to walk up to the front door. His lordship fumbled with some keys and finally swung the door open, revealing a lovely vestibule with a curving mahogany staircase.
Two rooms branched off on either side of the staircase, each fitted with moldings as far as the eye could see. But everywhere she looked, the townhome was empty. Not a stick of furniture or scrap of carpet marred the varnished surfaces.
“Are you thinking of leaving the Crescent?” She could hide her confusion no longer.
He threw his head back and closed the door behind them. “Little Sophie, you are a delight. No, of course not. The girls and I will remain at our townhome. This is for you—if you want it. If it’s not what you desire, I have a few others in mind. I liked this one for its location. Close by your shop, and close enough to the Crescent that I shan’t take long to reach here.”
She sank onto the staircase, eyeing him warily, her breath coming faster. “I don’t understand you, Lord Bradbury. Why are you giving me this house?”
“Sweetheart.” He sank down beside her and took her hands in his. They were large and warm and trapped her completely. She could not tug
away. “You must know by now that I care deeply for you. I adore you. I can think of nothing else but you. And so, now that your ridiculous courtship with Cantrill has ended, I am making my intentions known.”
“Are you proposing?” She choked out the words.
“Darling, you know I cannot marry you, as your family situation precludes marriage.” He clasped her hands more tightly, and his voice became low and tender. “But no harm would come to you, I swear it. You would be under my protection forever. As a viscount, I cannot marry where I choose, but I can love where I choose. And I choose you, my dearest.” He kissed her forehead gently.
“You cannot marry me?”
“No.” He shook his head with a rueful air. “Your status in Society is at best questionable, my darling. But that doesn’t change my opinion or feelings about you. You have captivated me since the moment I laid eyes on you. It may not be what we wish it to be, but this arrangement is as close to heaven on earth as I can make it.”
Two paths were before her, as clearly marked as bridle trails in the park. She could say yes. She could become his mistress and live a life of ease and luxury. She would become a renowned modiste. Every need cared for. Every want catered to. She could still see Amelia and Louisa.
But she would be his. She would belong to Lord Bradbury, just like these empty buildings. She would be an empty shell, cared for and pampered, but bereft and alone.
On the other hand, she could not stay in Bath if she said no. Refusing his lordship was a sure ticket home on the next Yellow Bounder.
Tears filled her eyes. How buffeted she felt, like a ship on a stormy sea. Tossed about with no anchor.
No anchor...
No anchor...
“Darling, are you ill?” Lord Bradbury caught her in his arms.
“No. Yes. I don’t know. I haven’t had anything to eat today.” It was ridiculous, but the only excuse she could offer.
“Let us go home, then,” he replied. “You shall rest this afternoon, and have some dinner. When you feel a little better, we will talk over the future.”
