by Lily George
Sophie and Mama emerged from the supper room, just as the carriage rolled to a halt before the village hall. The captain gallantly escorted them outside, and handed each one of them up into his carriage’s luxurious interior. Harriet settled on the velvet seat, the touch of his gloved hand still burning into her arm. She shivered involuntarily as he rapped on the door. His hands were large and powerful. Even during their brief contact, his strength overwhelmed her.
“This is most luxurious.” Mama sighed, running her hand over the lush velvet. “There was a time when I had a carriage this grand, and others besides. Sophie, if you would but marry the captain, then your family could enjoy this comfort again.”
Sophie stared pensively at her mother. “He has not asked me, Mama.”
Harriet rested her head on the tufted cushion, closing her eyes. Why couldn’t she be a thousand miles away? The carriage was stifling; the walls of it pressed on her nerves. She exhaled slowly, trying to push the walls back into place.
“You have not encouraged him enough. You must show more affection.” Mama sounded more like her old self than she had in years. Harriet recalled Mama giving her the same advice, night after night, during her London season.
“Very well. I will show him more affection. I did not know that he could dance on his wooden leg.” Sophie paused, and then continued in an awestruck whisper, “Lieutenant Marable says that the captain’s regiment’s bravery is immortal.”
“Ah, well then. Perhaps you should not be so cold to the captain. Restore our wealth to us, my daughter, and you will make your mother very happy. Harriet, how is your head?”
“Achy, Mama, but I will recover.” Harriet pressed her skull more deeply into the cushion. Perhaps if she pushed hard enough, she would disappear.
Chapter Ten
Harriet awoke in the chilly gray dawn with a heavy heart. She lay still in the bed, listening to Sophie’s deep, even breathing. A desire for liberation seized her. She slipped out from under the covers noiselessly. Dressing in haste, she cast furtive glances over her shoulder at her sister. If she wakened Sophie, her sister would sail into gossip about the ball—and Harriet did not want to talk about the ball, or anything that happened last night, with anyone.
She stole across the hall and looked in on Mama, whose ever-present bottle of laudanum nestled against an empty glass. A few drops of liquid still clung to the bottom of the goblet. Mama slept soundly—so soundly that Harriet could march around her room banging a drum if she wished. Again, there was that doubt—was Mama taking the medicine too often? Dr. Wallace said a little laudanum would cause no harm, but was Mama only taking a little?
Harriet placed her hand on Mama’s forehead, soothing it with a gentle touch. Whatever she might feel about Sophie and Captain Brookes, one good thing would come of it all. Mama would become herself again once her former style of living was restored. A tightness seized Harriet’s chest. She missed her mother so much it hurt. She missed Papa, too, but his death was a clean break. Mama’s suffering was a slow torment.
She glided downstairs, ready to make an excuse for her early rising to Rose, but even Rose still slumbered. For once, no one needed her. Grabbing her cloak, she left the cottage in a swish of skirts, and ran as fast as she could.
She sprinted up the hill in the direction of Brookes Park, but diverted her steps toward the millpond, where she first met the captain on that fateful day of his return. She breathed deeply, gulping great lungfuls of air to clear her clouded mind. Making it to the crest of the hill, she gave out, collapsing on the ground with a thud. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she surveyed the little cottage, which crouched furtively at the bottom of the hill. She had never minded the smallness of the house before, but surveying it from this height, Tansley Cottage stifled her. It was tiny and close and the chimney smoked dreadfully in the rain. Naturally, it had rained all summer. And her mother always wailed about their lost fortunes, and her sister always preened, and though she loved them all with a fierceness that hurt, she simply could not countenance them this morning.
She hugged her knees. Sophie had regained some measure of adoration for the captain last night. And based on the triumphant expression he wore as he led her sister through the last few figures of the minuet, he felt the same. She shrugged her shoulders. What of it? Had they not always planned it so? However his wooden leg might have flummoxed Sophie, her feelings must now have changed.
Dew settled heavily across the grass, seeping through Harriet’s cloak. But she didn’t care. She struggled with some indefinable foe, and she had to get to the bottom of it all before she saw or spoke to anyone this morning. The captain’s feelings should not bother her. Nor should Sophie’s change of heart. After all, she had encouraged them both all along.
Did she love him?
Harriet paused. She esteemed him greatly. He was a good man, but she could not allow herself to go that far.
What, then?
Harriet squeezed her eyes shut. Sophie’s abrupt change of heart boded ill. She wanted the captain to have someone who loved him with all her heart and soul. Though she loved her sister, Harriet worried about Sophie’s flighty nature. Who knew when her feelings would change again?
But the matter was none of her affair. She could watch and guide and try to help, but ultimately her sister held the captain’s happiness in her hands.
Father, help me to understand. Help me.
“Good morning, Harriet.”
Harriet jumped.
Captain Brookes dismounted and strode over to her, settling beside her on the grass. Harriet swallowed. Trying to school her features into a semblance of calm, she waited a beat before speaking. “Good morning, Captain, you surprised me.”
“You surprised me. Riding over the hills, I didn’t even see you. Indeed, if Talos hadn’t shied a bit, I might have run you over.”
Was he serious? “Are you telling the truth?”
He smiled, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “No, I’m being a bit melodramatic. But it sounded like something in a Romantic poem, don’t you agree?”
“It did.” She returned the smile, but desperately concocted a plan to get away. ’Twas best to escape now, before he could sense her ruffled emotions.
“What are you doing out here?” His voice betrayed a mixture of confusion and interest.
“I was thinking. Praying a little, as well.”
“May I ask why?” He snapped off a blade of grass and began peeling it apart, bit by bit.
She gasped a little. It wasn’t exactly a prying question, but a terribly personal one. Her instinct for self-preservation rose to the surface, and she searched for an answer that wouldn’t be too revealing. “I prayed for my family’s happiness, and for wisdom.”
“Why?” He tossed the shredded blade of grass away, picking at another.
“I don’t know.” His question confused her. “Why wouldn’t I pray for my family?”
“Why do you need to pray for wisdom?” He faced her squarely, his green eyes darkening to gray.
She swallowed again. He didn’t need to know the answers to these questions—her prayers were none of his affair. Still, she cast about for an answer that wouldn’t incriminate her, wouldn’t allow him to guess her innermost feelings.
“I prayed for wisdom as I write my book.” A small lie, but one designed to protect her. Even so, she cast her eyes Heavenward and made a silent plea for forgiveness.
He nodded, turning his gaze back to the blade of grass in his hands. “Ah, the book. I see.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Then he turned toward her again, a purposeful gleam in his eyes. “I cannot pray for wisdom, as you have. I lack your faith. But I would like to ask for your wisdom, if I may.”
She looked at him warily. “I shall endeavor to help.”
His eyes clouded, making it impossible to read his expression. A curious intensity—an aura, almost—belied the set of his shoulders. She found it hard to draw breath.
“About your sister…”
“Yes?” The blood pounded in her ears.
“Is there any reason I shouldn’t ask her to be my wife?” He sat so close that she saw the flecks of gray and brown in his green eyes.
A loud buzzing sounded in Harriet’s ears, making it difficult for her to think. She looked away from him, focusing on the view of Tansley Cottage below. He loved Sophie. No use trying to delay or hinder the inevitable. She could not trust her voice, so she merely shook her head.
“I want to make sure there is no reason I shouldn’t marry her.”
She looked at him in confusion. His eyes were wide, searching. Almost as if they were demanding an answer from her. Whatever he sought, she couldn’t fathom. She cleared her throat. “I know of no impediment, sir.”
He sat back, as though her answer had knocked him out a little. “Very well.”
Harriet stood abruptly, brushing her hands down her cloak. “I should be going, Captain. Everyone will be rising soon, and I wouldn’t want them to miss me.” She held out her hand in farewell, but he surprised her by grabbing it and using her strength to haul himself up from the ground.
“I shall come calling this afternoon.” His voice was quiet and serious. His head was cast down, and she could not seek out his gaze. “Unless perhaps I should wait…”
He might ensure Sophie happiness. And Sophie? Harriet could only hope her sister’s capricious nature ebbed away once his ring graced her finger. “No, Captain. I won’t say a word. We have no plans today, so you are most welcome.” She smiled up at him, her lips trembling a little as she attempted the same encouragement she had given during the minuet. “Most welcome.”
Riding back toward Brookes Park, he replayed their conversation over and over in his head. Harriet did not care for him, that much was certain. She needed his help with writing her book, but she did not care for him as a man. Brookes’s gut turned with shame. It was a good thing—a very good thing—that he hadn’t admitted any feelings of uncertainty to Harriet. Maybe it was just the minuet talking, but he was thoroughly confused about which Handley sister he should pursue. Along one path lay the call of duty, but his desire ran in quite another direction. Had he said as much to Harriet, he would have looked a proper fool and a blackguard, too. She didn’t seem to care a fig about him, except as a good subject for a book.
In fact, Harriet would despise him if he showed his true feelings. She’d regard him as a bounder, a cad, ready to throw Sophie and all their unspoken promises aside after one dance with her. Brookes sighed. Did either of the Handley women want to be Mrs. John Brookes? He had an unspoken obligation to their family, after all. Was his injury so dreadful that neither would desire his suit? Some men probably knew just how to handle this situation—seasoned veterans in the art of love. But confusion and danger seemed to linger on all sides, and he was as green as a lad going into his first battle, knowing he only wanted to come out of it all right.
Why, ’twas exactly akin to charging into battle for the first time three years ago. He literally dodged a bullet—several of them—on that fateful morning. And now, in peacetime? He dodged another. He heard it whistle past.
Transferring the reins to his left hand, he reached into his pocket, feeling for his mother’s ring. Yes, it was still there. He must continue helping Harriet with her book. He gave his word. No graceful way to back out now. And if she did not want him, he would simply control his feelings for her. No harm would come of spending many afternoons secretly enjoying her company.
The problem of Sophie remained. Brookes drew Talos to a stop, halting before he reached the gates. Sophie didn’t like him anymore, or so it seemed. Even being in her company strained his nerves. But last night, during the minuet, he caught a brief glimpse of the Sophie he remembered. If he couldn’t have the richness of a life with Harriet, perhaps he should settle for a life of superficial glamour with Sophie. By marrying her, at least matters resolved themselves. They could all resume their lives again. He would restore her family’s fortunes, and Harriet might think kindly on him for that. He could not have the one he loved, so he would settle for the one he should get. He twitched the reins in irritation, spurring Talos to action, speeding past the gates to Brookes Park.
“Oh, Sophie, do be still. Your constant movements are enough to drive me mad.” Harriet knelt in their bedroom, pinning a lining into the curtains for the parlor. Sophie blew a puff of air at her sister, drawing her fine brows into a straight line.
“Why do we have to work on this today? It’s so dull. Why don’t we do something fun?”
“Because we’ve needed new draperies in the parlor for these six months, at least. It’s long past time to put them together. Oh, do compose yourself!” Harriet spat a pin out of her mouth, staring at Sophie in vexation. A prosaic task was just the thing to calm her nerves, and she promised to keep Sophie around the house until Captain Brookes’s arrival. In choosing something large and cumbersome requiring Sophie’s help, she tied Sophie to the cottage. If not, her sister would be off to gossip with friends all afternoon and miss the captain’s visit.
But the dullness of putting together curtains quickly turned into chaos thanks to Sophie’s inability to sit still. Harriet smoothed the fabric down with shaking hands. The captain said he would come in the afternoon. But here it was, almost three o’clock, and no captain in sight. A cold hand grasped Harriet’s heart—perhaps something had happened to him. He sat a horse fine, but what if he had fallen off or been thrown? He could be lying out on the hill, bloody and broken, and no one would know for hours.
Harriet dropped the fabric on the bed, scurrying over to the window. Scanning the hill with anxious eyes, her heart pounding in her ears, she finally picked out a black horse and a tall rider. No harm befell him. He was fine. And he rode this way to propose to her sister.
“Whatever’s the matter? Why are you staring out the window?” Sophie came to stand beside her sister, blocking Harriet’s view with her curly head.
“I see the captain, darling. I imagine he’s come to pay you a visit.” Harriet formed the words with difficulty. Her voice held a breathless quality. “You should go down to the parlor. You don’t need my help this time.”
“Do you think he’s come to propose?” Sophie faced her sister, a look of curiosity sharpening her features. Her sister didn’t look at all nervous—indeed, she gave the impression of a spectator at a particularly interesting cricket match. “If so, I would rather have you there. Couldn’t you be there, Hattie? To help smooth things along?”
“No.” Harriet choked the word out. The walls of the tiny bedchamber closed in on her. “This is between you and the captain. It wouldn’t do for me to be there.” She turned blindly from the window and plunked down on the bed, heedless of the fabric and pins. “Please hurry, Sophie. It isn’t polite to leave the captain waiting.”
“Oh, all right.” Sophie turned and regarded her sister crossly. “Goodness, you are missish today. Whatever is the matter with you?”
“I am simply tired of playing gooseberry with you and the captain. I want the whole affair to be settled, as soon as possible. And I want you to take charge of it.” Harriet ran her tongue nervously over her lips when she finished speaking. Afraid Sophie would pry further beneath her prim facade and discern her roiling emotions; Harriet leaped from the bed and crossed over to the window. Glancing outside, she spied the captain as he dismounted from Talos. “Go at once. He is here.”
“Fine, if you insist.” Sophie turned and left the room, and the threshold squeaked as she paused in the doorway to fire her parting shot. “But I am not at all sure what I shall say to him.”
Chapter Eleven
Brookes sat in a small, spindly chair across the hearth from Sophie. The fragile thing, it creaked like it might crumple beneath his weight. He ran a finger inside his cravat, trying to loosen it. He tied it perfectly before he left home, but now it choked him. He stood, knocking the chair over in his haste. Sophie gazed up at him, a quizzical look forming between her brows. He bent down and set the flimsy chair upright and then sank down on the settee, which held his weight comfortably.
“I suppose you must know why I have come.” His voice sounded strained, even to his own ears. He attempted to loosen the cravat again, but it remained as tight as before.
“Are you going to ask for my hand?” Sophie regarded him with a curious air. “Harriet refuses to come down. She thinks you mean to propose.”
His heart pounded at the mere mention of Harriet’s name. He took a deep breath to compose himself. “I had thought of it, yes. But I am unsure of your feelings since I returned to Tansley.”
Sophie stood up and walked over to the window. Her hands were clasped behind her back. “Your leg bothered me more than I thought it would. My apologies, Captain. I had pictured your return very differently from what it was.”
Her blunt manner cut through his nervousness and he relaxed a little. He hadn’t realized that his shoulders hunched to his ears. He pressed them down, feeling the tension across his neck. “I understand.” He thought he could understand. But at the same time, he would not have forsaken Sophie if some accident had mutilated her. This realization gripped him, and he stared at her back, attempting to see the real woman beneath her flirtatious facade.
“But dancing with you last night did make me reconsider. It reminded me somewhat of the past. Before you left for the peninsula. Do you remember the poem you quoted me before you departed? When I gave you a lock of my hair?”
How could he forget? He memorized that poem ages ago, when he was a schoolboy. ’Twas his favorite. He closed his eyes and began reciting, stumbling a little over the words.
