by Lily George
“True, a new mistress now I chase
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.”
His throat constricted, and he could not go on. He stared at Sophie’s back, willing her to turn around. She stayed rooted at the window, but her clear voice took up where he left off.
“Yet, this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore;
I could not love thee, dear, so much
Loved I not honor more.”
Sophie’s voice trailed off and silence descended on the tiny parlor. Brookes watched her, waiting for her to turn and give him the encouragement he needed to propose. Even the slightest change of posture would help, but she remained fixed before the window, unyielding.
Brookes could stand the silence no longer. “Lovelace,” he noted, looking down at his boots. Why she mentioned the poem remained a mystery. If she no longer loved him, then reciting the verses meant nothing more than a heartbreaking recollection of the past.
Sophie turned and flounced back to the hearth, but remained silent. Brookes resumed command of the situation.
“I kept that lock of hair all those years.” Her stiffness made him shrink from telling her he clutched it in his hand that last terrible night at Waterloo.
Sophie sighed, turning back from the hearth with her hands outstretched in supplication. “Captain, you must understand. I was a very young girl before you left. My head was easily turned, and the idea of you leaving for the war was romantic to me. I think I was more in love with the idea of being in love.” She crossed her arms over her chest and gazed at the fire. “On the other hand, I feel a need to provide a level of comfort for my mother, who has been ill ever since Papa died.”
He furrowed his brows, trying to come to grips with what she implied. Did Sophie mean that she would only marry him for his money? Or perhaps she sought a way out, too. If she wanted to extricate herself from his proposal, then there was hope for both of them yet. He cleared his throat. “We could postpone any formal engagement and allow ourselves the time to get reacquainted. There is no need to rush into matrimony.”
Sophie nodded, a relieved smile brightening her features. “I agree, Captain. Perhaps we should give the matter some time. We could delay matters for even a few months.”
Sophie had never spoken so practically before. Brookes considered her, tilting his head to one side. Was Harriet’s good sense rubbing off on her? Thinking of Harriet, he blurted, “What will your sister think of me, if I don’t propose to you?”
Sophie gazed at him, a thunderstruck expression crossing her face. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“I don’t want your family to think I have reneged on my commitment.” In fact, the idea weighed on his conscience so heavily that Brookes had difficulty forming the words. If he said it aloud, perhaps she would choose engagement rather than face her family’s disappointment.
Sophie dismissed his anxiety with a flick of her wrist. “Oh, who cares about that? After all, we were never formally engaged. I’ll speak to Harriet and Mama, don’t worry. We both need time to know one another. I agree with you wholeheartedly, and at this time, I do not wish to press our relationship further.” She folded her arms across her chest, waiting for his response.
Sophie’s confession very neatly jerked the rug from under Brookes, and he took a moment to gather his thoughts. On the one hand, not being engaged to Sophie left the door somewhat open for pursuing Harriet. On the other hand, the arrangement was not a clean break. Every possibility remained that he might become engaged to Sophie in the future. He sighed. All right then. Some freedom was preferable to an engagement. ’Twas the best he could hope for at the moment, anyway. “Very well.”
“Shall we shake hands?” Sophie extended hers gingerly, as if afraid Brookes would refuse.
He bowed over her hand gallantly. “Good day, Miss Handley.”
“Good day, Captain Brookes.” She bobbed a slight curtsy.
He shook his head, striding toward the door. The afternoon unfolded very differently than he originally planned. He must go home to Brookes Park and regain his bearings.
Harriet curled herself on the quilt in their little bedroom, waiting for Sophie to come running up the stairs. She steeled herself for the inevitable flash of Sophie’s engagement ring, and wondered if she should waken Mama. Captain Brookes would want to speak to her, to ask for Sophie’s hand in marriage. Harriet unfolded herself from the quilt and rose from the bed, ready to rouse Mama from her laudanum-induced slumber, when Sophie banged open the door, striding in matter-of-factly.
“Oof! Now that’s done.” She sighed and flopped across the bed, causing the rope mattress to squeak in protest. She buried her face in her pillow. “What a relief.”
“Where’s the ring?” Harriet stared at her sister’s left hand, examining it curiously. “Did he not bring one?”
“We decided not to get engaged.”
Had she heard correctly? Perhaps the pillow muffled Sophie’s voice too much. She poked her sister’s side. “Whatever are you saying?”
“Well, I am not sure we suit each other anymore. When he returned, I knew he wasn’t the same man I had known before the war. And I must confess that I find other young men—like Lieutenant Marable—charming. So we decided to become acquainted with each other again. I honestly don’t know if I love him or not.” Sophie pulled the pillow away from her face and rolled onto her side, staring at Harriet.
Harriet’s mouth went dry. “So are you engaged, or not?” She grabbed Sophie’s hand with her own, willing an answer to her prayers.
“No, I am not. And I may not be, ever, to Captain Brookes. I would like to know him better and then, if we suit each other, I may encourage him. But Hattie, I honestly don’t know. He’s become so serious. And his hair is gray, no matter what you may say about it. He dances well to slow songs, but could he handle more than a minuet?”
Sophie shook off Harriet’s grasp and began picking feathers out of her pillow, tossing them gently into the air. “Lieutenant Marable, on the other hand, is very handsome, and young, and can dance in a much livelier manner. But…he may not be rich like Brookes. And I do feel the responsibility of having to provide some level of comfort for you and for Mama. So I don’t know what I shall do, but I do not have any desire for a formal engagement at this time.”
Harriet sighed, closing her eyes. Her heart resumed its normal beat. Sophie was an incorrigible flirt. “In truth, Sophie, you sound very much like you are encouraging two good men along.”
Sophie laughed merrily. “Not at all. I am merely waiting to know my own mind before I make a decision that will change the course of several lives.”
Harriet opened her eyes slowly. Was Sophie’s answer actually…sensible? Harriet agreed with her sister in theory. She shouldn’t rush into matrimony before knowing her own mind. On the other hand, her flippancy over the matter grieved Harriet. She set her heart on stringing two innocent beaus in her wake until she decided which one she liked best. But, then, that was Sophie.
“So, is my help no longer needed to keep the captain entertained while you decide your own mind? After all, that’s why I have been playing gooseberry since his return.” Harriet willed an expression of calm over her face. Sophie didn’t need her, so her book project must end. She could no longer spend any time in the captain’s company. Her life expanded with her friendship with Brookes, and now it must shrink back to the confines of Tansley Cottage.
“I doubt he will be coming to see us often. If he does return, you can chaperone if you wish, or Mama can sit with me. But I no longer fear the silence between us. I spoke to him frankly—it was my first time to do so, you know how I dislike confronting anyone—but I daresay it made things better. I should have
done so all along.” Sophie smiled, blowing a feather into the air. She watched as it floated to the bare wood floor. “I cannot wait for the next ball, for I can dance with both Marable and Brookes and compare which is the better partner.”
“I suppose congratulations are in order?” Stoames came into the study, where Brookes savored an overfull glass of brandy.
“Yes, but not for the reasons you imagine.” Brookes poured with a heavy hand, sliding the glass over to Stoames.
Stoames picked it up, regarding Brookes with a wary eye. “What happened?”
Brookes swirled the brandy in his glass, releasing its rich, full bouquet. “Do you recall what it feels like to dodge a bullet?”
“Only too well, Captain.”
“Well, my good man, that’s what happened to me today. In peacetime, no less.” He swallowed a mouthful of brandy, allowing it to burn down into his chest.
Stoames cocked an eyebrow at him and reached out for the brandy bottle. “Unless you’re telling me that an irate uncle turned up with a musket and forced you into matrimony, I think you’ve had a bit too much, Captain.”
Brookes pushed his hand away, forcing Stoames to release the bottle. “I’m free, but not as much as I would like.”
“Speak sense, man.” Stoames sipped his drink slowly, his eyebrows lifted.
“Sophie and I decided to wait and become better acquainted before becoming engaged.”
Stoames appraised him carefully. “You’re handling it well. I would have expected more fire.”
“I’m drinking.” Brookes grabbed the bottle, splashing more of the amber liquid into his glass.
“I expect to see you drunker.”
Brookes laughed. “I feel relieved. We are very different people now than we were before the war. So the agony of rushing into matrimony is gone.”
Stoames whistled long and low. “A mighty close one indeed. And what about Miss Harriet?”
Brookes brought his glass down sharply on the desk. “Miss Harriet doesn’t care for me, either. She told me so this morning. I am an unloved fool. None of the Handley women will have me.”
“You told me this morning that she only said there was no impediment to your asking Miss Sophie. Have a bit of sense. She could hardly throw herself at you when you were going to propose to her sister.” Stoames set his drink down on the desk, crossing his arms over his chest.
Brookes met Stoames’s challenging gaze squarely. “I suppose that’s true.” Perhaps there was reason to be optimistic yet. “What should I do?”
“If you are still tied to Miss Sophie you can’t pursue Miss Harriet. On the other hand, you can find ways to make Miss Harriet think kindly of you.”
“I could help her with her book still.” Brookes sighed. “But I need to find a way to do so without raising eyebrows. An unmarried man and woman alone together—her reputation—”
“I have good news. While you were out, a guest arrived.” Stoames turned down one corner of his mouth, grimacing slightly. “She’ll be here for some weeks.”
“Let me guess. Aunt Katherine?” Father’s sister—of course, she would descend on him without warning. And stay for weeks on end. Brookes shook his head, trying to clear his brandy-induced brain fog. “I don’t follow. How does this help me with Harriet?”
“Well, she arrived today whilst you were at the cottage. She’s having her afternoon nap, but she’ll be down for supper. I’m thinking you could use her visit to your advantage. She could chaperone while you and Miss Harriet work on the book. Giving you the means—”
“To help Harriet.” Brookes smiled for the first time that day. Hope washed over him, leaving him giddy. “Stoames, a toast, to my Aunt Katherine.”
Chapter Twelve
Harriet shifted the stack of books in her hand, transferring them to the crook of her elbow. She must return everything Brookes loaned her. Make a clean slate of the whole matter. She grasped the heavy brass knocker, allowing it to fall against the strike plate with a small crash. Goodness, everything at Brookes Park was so substantial. Had she knocked on Tansley Cottage’s door like that, the flimsy thing would’ve fallen in.
The door swung open and Bunting smiled at her. “Good day, Miss Handley. Won’t you come inside?”
“Oh, no, Bunting. I came to return the books I borrowed.” Harriet indicated the pile with a brief nod. “If I gave these to you, would you please return them to Captain Brookes’s library?”
Bunting shook his head, pulling his brows together in confusion. “There must be some misunderstanding, Miss. Captain Brookes expected you this morning. Everything is set up in the library for your work.”
Harriet tilted her head. Whatever was the butler talking of? “We didn’t have any work set up for today, Bunting—none that I can recall.”
“Well, perhaps you should wait and speak to the captain himself. He is at the mill at the moment but should return within the quarter hour. He left very strict instructions for me to show you into the library when you arrived.” Bunting stepped back, opening the entrance wider. “This way, if you please.”
Harriet stepped inside the vestibule, pushing her bonnet back. Heat prickled along her hairline. She hoped to make a quick trip and an even hastier retreat, but Bunting impeded her plans. She had no desire to face Brookes, not today. If only the butler weren’t so…butler-ly. She couldn’t very well back out without causing some kind of scene, one that might make Bunting’s brows fly up in shock. He led the way to the library, which stood open and welcoming. A fire blazed in the grate. Stopping on the threshold, Bunting announced, “Mrs. Crossley, Miss Harriet Handley is here.”
“Of course, do show her in.” The voice was decidedly elderly, but rich and amused, too. Harriet fell back a step. Mrs. Crossley—who on earth could that be? And why was she here? Bunting crossed the doorsill and waited. Harriet, remembering her manners, stepped into the room, right into the approving gaze of the most astonishing old woman she ever beheld.
Mrs. Crossley perched on a divan near the fire, knitting rapidly. Her face reminded one of an old apple, but a merry twinkle sparked the kind blue eyes that regarded Harriet. A mass of slate-gray corkscrew curls peeked out under a black lace cap, which was tied in a jaunty bow under her chin. She extended a fragile hand, studded with rings of every conceivable color and size. “Come in, my dear. My nephew has told me so much about you.”
Harriet took the hand, and with a surprising strength that belied her age, Mrs. Crossley drew her down onto the divan. “Now, let us have a good chin-wag before John returns. Bunting, some tea, if you please.”
“Of course, ma’am.” Bunting set the pile of books on the desk and bowed out.
She’d lost her manners again. She had been staring at Mrs. Crossley without a word of greeting. She shook her head to snap out of her reverie, and smiled at Mrs. Crossley. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I must confess I am confused. I meant only to return the books I borrowed, but Bunting insisted on showing me in.”
Mrs. Crossley took up her knitting again. “John was adamant that Bunting keep you here until he returns. John has told me everything about your book, and I must say I admire your spirit. For a young girl to try and support her own family through her pen—it’s fantastic. In my day, all a young woman could do was marry well. My nephew esteems you, too, and he’s determined to help with the project.”
Harriet blinked. “I don’t know how the captain suspected I was on my way. I meant to run over and hurry back home this morning.”
Mrs. Crossley smiled, a look of contentment flickering over her wrinkled features. “My John is very good at surmising situations. It’s why he became such a brilliant soldier.”
Harriet leaned back against the cushions. Mrs. Crossley’s matter-of-fact manner loosened her tongue. She shook her head with conviction. “I
don’t think he wants to continue working on it, since his future with my sister is undecided at present.”
Mrs. Crossley clicked her tongue against her false teeth. “Tut tut, my dear. John believes in your project. He told me about your sister, but never mentioned delaying or ceasing your book. It stands on its own merits. If you are worried about appearances, I am only too happy to chaperone. I descended on my nephew as soon as he returned safely home to Tansley, and I can earn my keep by helping you both with the project. No one will think a thing about it while I am here, and I intend to stay for several months. I missed my John while he fought on the peninsula. I have no desire to leave his company so soon.”
Harriet glowed. She liked Mrs. Crossley already. She pressed her head against the cushion more deeply and allowed a cautious smile to creep across her face. “Thank you for your help.”
“Not at all, not at all, my dear. Now, I will ask you about your family, but before I pry anything out of you, I shall tell you about mine. That way you will be disarmed into telling me everything and I shan’t have to go digging.”
Harriet smiled. “That seems a very brazen way to go about gathering secrets.”
Mrs. Crossley laughed. “You would be surprised at how well it works. Now, let’s see. I am John’s aunt on his father’s side. I married Mr. Crossley, who was a wine merchant, when I was but seventeen years old. In my day, women married very young. How old are you, Miss Handley?”
Harriet smiled at the impertinent question—it was impossible to be cross with Brookes’s aunt. “I am two and twenty. My sister is twenty.”
“Ah, well, John is all of twenty-eight—mature, you understand, but still young. He will make some lucky young woman a very good husband. And, hark this, that graying hair is from his battles on the peninsula, I am sure. He is not so old in spirit.” She paused to draw breath. “What was I talking of? Oh, yes, my husband. We moved away from Tansley, settling in London.” She placed her knitting in her lap and sighed. “I’ve outlived almost everyone, including John’s mother and father, and even his brother, Henry. When word came that John survived Waterloo, I made up my mind to see him the moment he returned.” She broke off as Bunting entered with the tea. “Ah, I do hope you didn’t bring any of that detestable lapsang souchong. I cannot abide the smoky flavor.”
