The Temporary Betrothal

by Lily George

  Even sour, heartbroken and maimed lieutenants.

  “Are you going to go after her?” Lord Bradbury looked at Charlie, the light of challenge sparking his glance. “If she said yes to you once, there is every chance that she might say yes again.”

  “Aren’t you going to seek her out?” It was best to know if one was going to be paired in a duel, after all.

  “No.” Lord Bradbury set down his fork and pushed his chair away from the table. “I know when to cut my losses. It’s what makes me such a formidable faro player. There are plenty of delectable young things out there who would be only too happy to become my mistress. That need shall be filled with no trouble.” He paused and then smiled at Charlie, the corner of his mouth twisting down. “But I must say, were I a younger man—one not so concerned with Society—I would toss my cares aside and follow that gel. She is an Incomparable. Truly lovely. Very much like my first wife.”

  Charlie swallowed. He came here in anger, ready to challenge Lord Bradbury to a duel. Ready to upbraid, to subdue, to shame. And now—he felt no anger. Only shame; shame at himself for being so weak, shame at mankind for being so concerned with the proprieties that Sophie’s spirit was crushed.

  “If you wish to follow my advice, young man,” his lordship continued, fitting his fingertips together, “you would go after pretty Sophie. After all, what care do you have for Society? Aren’t you so immersed in your aid to the veterans’ fund that you ignore every ball and soiree? What have you to go home to every night? What will happen to you when you grow old? I have my daughters to keep me busy and young at heart. Whom do you have to love?”

  “It’s odious to be given advice from a blackguard like you,” Charlie muttered. His lordship had struck a nerve, though Charlie hated to admit it, even to himself.

  Lord Bradbury threw his head back and barked with laughter. The sunlight streaming in through the open windows caught the graying hair at his temples, gilding them to silver. “You are fortunate I am so graceful in defeat, Lieutenant.”

  Charlie said nothing, but stared at his opponent, his spirit decidedly vanquished. What his lordship said was true. And though he was still a rogue for trying to coerce Sophie into becoming his mistress, at least he was honest about his intentions. Honesty was as much of a virtue as austerity at times.

  “I have no idea how to proceed,” he finally admitted. “But I agree with you that Sophie is worth following.” He rose, grabbing his hat from the chair. “I bid you good day, your lordship.”

  “I wish you luck, Lieutenant,” Lord Bradbury replied in a cordial tone. “Though I hate to admit it, I am jealous of you.”

  Charlie left the club and trudged down the steps, the very steps he had taken two at a time just minutes ago. All the anger had flowed out of him, leaving nothing but a tired sensation of confusion in its place. If he went to Tansley, would Sophie even speak to him again? Likely Brookes would plant him a facer. And Harriet—the look she would have in her large dark eyes. He shut off his thoughts with a snap.

  He retraced his steps to St. Swithins, as the chimes in the belfry tolled the hour. He must make amends somehow. He entered the hushed sanctuary and ran headlong into Reverend Stephens, colliding with him violently.

  “Lieutenant? Are you quite all right?”

  “No, Reverend. My apologies. I am...very distracted today.” Charlie put out his good hand to steady the older man, and attempted a twisted smile. “I am wandering about in a daze, so it seems.”

  “I noticed you were quite moved by something Miss Williams spoke to you about,” the reverend replied, concern wrinkling his brow. “Would you like to talk about it?”

  Charlie shook his head. He couldn’t yet put into words all the feelings that were roiling inside of him at the moment. He could only force out three sensible words: “I am flawed.”

  “We are all flawed, Lieutenant. It is what makes us human.”

  “No, mine goes beyond a mere human flaw. I desire to be right all the time. I hunger after righteousness the way a starving man craves bread. I wear my austerity as a debutante flaunts a new gown. It’s a terrible weakness in me, sir...I don’t deserve Sophie Handley.” The words rushed out of him like water flowing down a swift-moving stream.

  “I see.” The reverend fell silent, as though he were considering Charlie’s predicament. The moment stretched on so long that Charlie’s nerves, already frayed, snapped.

  “Help me, Reverend, please.” He had never begged for anything. Never demeaned himself before. Now he was pleading for the answers to save his very life.

  Reverend Stephens laid his hands on Charlie’s shoulders. At his touch, a strange feeling of peace passed over Charlie. It was as though he were listening to a beloved father. “My dear son, you must first be at peace with yourself before you can love another. You must forgive yourself your failings. Forgive others for failing you. We are none of us perfect. But we can strive to become better people, as God wants us to be.”

  “Thank you, Reverend.” Charlie drew a deep breath. “I understand—or at least, I think I do.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Lieutenant. Remember, ‘be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.’” With a final pat on Charlie’s shoulders, the reverend departed, exiting through the narthex.

  Charlie stood in the stillness of the church, allowing peace to flow through his body.

  Forgiveness. It was something he had never attempted. And yet, it was essential—not just for his well-being, but as the only way he could win his beloved.

  His soldierly instincts returned, and purpose and determination filled his being. He had a plan. Now he needed only to execute it.

  * * *

  The handsome stone facade of Brookes Park could barely be picked out on the horizon. Sophie’s heart leaped with joy. Soon she would be embracing her beloved sister. Soon she would be kissing her beloved housekeeper Rose’s wrinkled old cheek. She hadn’t realized how much she missed her tiny family while she was in Bath. She had been so consumed with fittings for Amelia and the widows of Waterloo and later, of course, the myriad details of her doomed love affairs, that she had forgotten how sweet her home life had been. Though Harriet wrote regularly, it was not the same as being home.

  The past few days had sped by in a whirlwind, on the road with an elderly servant of Aunt Katherine’s. For Auntie had provided the Berlin and wished her Godspeed, approving of Sophie’s plan to return to Tansley without asking for more information about her hasty flight. Instead, she had merely nodded her gray corkscrew curls under their little lace cap, and gave a ring of her bell to summon Knowles. Auntie’s wise old eyes had seen all, discerned all, without Sophie having to breathe a word.

  God bless Aunt Katherine.

  It seemed an eternity until they entered the half circle that delineated the driveway at Brookes Park. No one was standing outside to meet her. As she planned it. She wanted no one to be alerted to her travel, for she didn’t want to have to explain, in a letter, why she was leaving Bath. That conversation was best held face-to-face, with a bracing cup of tea, a soft settee and a closed door.

  As the carriage slowed to a halt, she nodded to the elderly servant, Hannah, who had accompanied her on the journey, and let herself out. She bounced down onto the gravel with a satisfying crunch. The footman scurried around to help her, but she waved him away.

  “I can manage on my own, thank you. You may put the horses away in the stable, and be sure to come into the kitchen for some refreshments. Make sure Hannah understands that she is to come along.”

  “Very good, miss.” The footman bowed respectfully.

  Sophie mounted the front steps with pride. She was going in the front door, not slinking around the back. She hadn’t gone through a front door since that awful day when Lord Bradbury took her to see her new townhome.

  She pounded on the door. “Hattie? Brookes? Anyone home?” she called.

  The door jerked o
pen, showing Stoames’s kindly, wrinkled face. “Miss Sophie?” the batman asked, his grizzled brows drawing together in surprised confusion. “Is it really you? Bless my boots, it does me good to see you.”

  “Stoames!” She enfolded him in a hug. “I am so glad to see you. Where is my sister?”

  “She and the captain are working in the library,” Stoames replied, patting her shoulder. “I’ll go and tell them you are here.”

  “No, don’t tell them, Stoames. I want to surprise them.” She shrugged out of her pelisse and untied her bonnet, then shook out her skirts.

  “That you will. We had no idea you were coming. Mrs. Brookes will be so happy to see you. She’s missed you something dreadful.” He took her pelisse and bonnet in his weathered hands and waved her down the hall.

  She turned to go, but had one more question. “And Rose? How is Rose doing?”

  Stoames’s weather-beaten face turned a dark shade of red. How extraordinary—who knew an old soldier could still blush? “Mrs. Rose fares well. We—uh—she and I are thinking of getting married.”

  “How marvelous!” Sophie rushed forward and hugged Stoames once more, knocking him back a pace. “Darling Stoames, was it the scones that did it? Rose is an incomparable cook.”

  He rubbed his grizzled head with his hand, and shrugged his shoulders playfully. “That was my main consideration, Miss Sophie.”

  She laughed. How good it was to be home. Funny to think of Brookes Park as home. It had been many things to her over the years—a possibility, a prize to be won, a lost cause—but now it was really and truly a home. Hattie must have worked her magic. Wherever her sister went, comfort and serenity took hold.

  She walked down the hallway to the door of the library, which was half-open. She pressed the door slightly to widen it without alerting the occupants to her presence. Ah yes, there was Brookes, his handsome head bent over a ledger, his quill scratching along the page. Harriet sat across from him, in a smaller, more ladylike desk, scribbling something on a sheet of foolscap. Sophie’s heart lurched, and she pressed her quivering lips together. She had a sudden and foolish desire to cry, and it would never do to burst into tears just now.

  She stared intently at her sister’s glossy brown hair, parted exactly down the middle and looped around her ears. The same hairstyle...and yet something was different. She ran her eyes over Harriet, trying to assess the difference. Yes, something had changed. For one thing, Harriet looked softer, rounder even.

  Sophie stepped into the room, her boots making nary a sound on the heavy Oriental rug. Then she cleared her throat.

  “My, my, Hattie! You’ve gotten positively plump!”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Sophie? Sophie, my dear—is that really you?” Hattie dropped her pen and stood, her face draining of all its color. Brookes also cast aside his quill and rose, his face breaking into a surprised grin.

  “Sophie, bless your heart. We had no idea you were coming home.” He walked around his desk, with that same loping stride he had adapted long ago for his wooden leg, and enveloped her in a warm hug. Then he turned to Harriet and extended his hand to her protectively. “Harriet, are you all right?”

  “Yes, of course!” She ran her hand over her middle and then clutched Brookes’s hand as she came out from behind her desk. “Oh, Sophie. My dear, I have missed you so.” Harriet embraced Sophie, but something—a large, round ball, it felt like—wedged between them in the embrace.

  Sophie took a step backward, holding onto Harriet’s shoulders. “Goodness, Hattie. Is Rose’s cooking agreeing with you a bit too much? Or is there something you wish to tell me?”

  Harriet smiled her beautiful, quiet smile, and cast her eyes downward. “I am expecting. The baby should come sometime after the New Year.”

  Sophie’s heart glowed. How many wonderful things had happened in the short time she was in Bath? And now she was here to watch them all come to fruition. “Harriet, Brookes, I am so happy for you both! This is a cause for great rejoicing.”

  Brookes motioned her over to a leather chair. “Sophie, did you travel alone? Why is no one with you? And how did you come here without letting us know? I would have sent our carriage for you, anytime you desired a trip home.” His dark voice betrayed a concerned tone.

  “Well...” Sophie hesitated. With Harriet’s delicate condition, and her own dawning fatigue, she had no desire to discuss the unfortunate reasons for her visit. She cast a pleading look at Harriet, who nodded briskly.

  “Brookes,” she chided. “Sophie’s worn out. And after days and days of pub food, I am sure she is ready for a decent meal.” Harriet leaned over and rang the bell. “There will be plenty of time for discussions after my poor sister has recovered from her journey.”

  Brookes nodded, and then looked over at Harriet. Something flashed between them—a look, an understanding. Then he added, “I’ll just go see to the horses. Give you time to settle in, Sophie. I’ll see you two ladies again at supper.” He bent down and planted a kiss on top of Harriet’s head, and then patted Sophie’s shoulder as he departed.

  Bunting, Brookes Park’s butler, entered just as his master was leaving. “Did you need something, Mrs. Brookes?”

  “Yes, Bunting. A lavish tea tray, with every good nibble Rose can conjure. And don’t tell Rose that Miss Sophie is home yet. I want to surprise her in a little while.”

  Bunting’s broad face betrayed the hint of a smile. “Very good, ma’am.”

  After the door closed softly behind him, Harriet turned to Sophie, her dark blue eyes wide. “Now that you know my news, shall I hear yours?”

  The dam was indeed in danger of breaking again. Sophie took a deep breath to calm her nerves. “So much to tell, sister. I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Why don’t you begin by telling me if anyone accompanied you? And how you happened to come here?”

  “Aunt Katherine arranged my travel. She saw to everything, and sent Hannah along as my duenna. She would have sent word ahead, Hattie, but I swore her to secrecy.”

  Harriet nodded. “Auntie is quite good at arranging last-minute flights from Bath. You recall—it was she who helped me to come home quickly after Mama fell so ill.”

  Sophie’s heart lurched, and tears stung her eyes. “Of course, I remember.” Oh, botheration, the tears would not be checked. “My Hattie, what a muddle. And I hate to cry about it. I don’t want to cry about it. But if I tell you everything that’s happened—” she broke off to give a mighty sniff “—then I’ll start blubbering.”

  “Wait until the tea arrives,” Harriet warned sagely. “It’s much easier to talk about bad news when you’ve had a bite to eat.”

  “Now you sound like Rose.” Sophie couldn’t hold back her laughter, but it quickly dissolved into a watery sob.

  “Rose is very wise,” Harriet replied quietly. “Now, did you know that Rose and Stoames are engaged?”

  “Yes, Stoames showed me in. How fantastic! And a little scandalous, too.”

  “Yes. You can imagine how the sheep and the cows are gossiping about it.” Harriet laughed.

  “I forgot. Tansley isn’t exactly a beacon for Society, is it? How refreshing,” Sophie replied. Bunting knocked discreetly on the door and entered, bearing a tray of delectable goodies and a steaming hot pot of tea. Sophie breathed in deeply. While it was true that Lord Bradbury’s cook was quite good, nothing ever compared to Rose’s light hand with scones.

  Harriet busied herself with pouring the tea and filling a small plate with tempting foods. She admonished Sophie that the tea was too hot to drink, and Sophie could not suppress a smile. Harriet would always be the older sister, perennially ordering her about. Keeping her safe from harm. Why, if Harriet had come to Bath, she would have prevented everything that had befallen Sophie.

  They ate and drank in sisterly comfort, Sophie taking strength from Harriet’s calming presence and from Rose’s excellent cooking. They chatted about the farm and the mill, about Harriet’s plans for
the baby’s room, and about the romance that had blossomed between Stoames and Rose.

  It was a long, languorous August afternoon, already beginning to feel like autumn. In the distance, cattle lowed. Servants bustled past the library door as they attended to the business of running Brookes Park. Such a peaceful place. No one wanted anything of her. No one expected anything of her. How easy it would be to fall back into her old lazy, selfish ways.

  “Harriet, I want to confess,” she began quietly.

  “Dear Sophie, you may tell me anything.” Harriet leaned forward and patted her knee with a gentle touch.

  Once she began speaking, all of the words flowed out of her—halting at first, and then gathering momentum. She told Harriet everything—her love for Amelia and Louisa, her comradeship with Lucy, her work with the widows and her plan to clothe them all with the funds from the pawned bracelet. She poured out her love for Charlie Cantrill, her disgust at his family’s behavior, her disappointment at Lord Bradbury’s improper advances.

  Harriet’s eyebrows raised until they disappeared under the wings of her dark hair, and her blue eyes grew wider and more sapphire-tinged as Sophie’s story progressed. Sophie explained her flight to Aunt Katherine’s, her secret journey in the Crossley Berlin and then her blessed arrival at Brookes Park. Harriet, ever a good listener, simply nodded and prompted with the occasional question, but did not break in until Sophie finished her woeful tale and poured another cup of tea.

  “My goodness,” was her eventual reaction.

  “Precisely.” Sophie drank deeply.

  “Well, my dear, if John ever hears that Lord Bradbury tried to make you his mistress, he will likely challenge him to a duel.” Harriet sighed. “And I shall, of course, have to find a way to make peace between Charlie and John once he hears how terribly you were treated by the Cantrills. Oh, Sophie, this was not what I wished for you at all. I wanted you to enjoy your time in Bath.”