by Lily George
“So, what brings you to Bath? The waters or the beautiful weather?” Cantrill questioned with a wry grin.
Brookes took a fortifying sip of scotch. Pleasantries first, then business.
“Where’s your wooden arm, Cantrill? Are you too proficient without it?”
“Ah, I usually don’t need the ridiculous thing unless I am out in society. Around my home, I don’t even bother. Taking the waters has vastly improved my strength. Now, why the visit? Here to improve your health, too?”
“I’m here with my Aunt Katherine, who descended upon me not long after I arrived home in Tansley, but immediately got bored and wanted more amusement. So I am here acting the part of the chaperone.” He grimaced and Cantrill chuckled. “I’ve been taking the waters at our hot spring back home, but who knows. Maybe the waters of Bath will make me feel like a new man.”
Cantrill swirled the tea around his cup with a contemplative air. “How’s the leg?”
Brookes smiled. “I hardly notice it. Even danced a minuet some weeks ago.”
Cantrill raised his brows. “Did you perform on a bet?”
“Not at all, my good man. It was part of an overall plot to win a lady’s favor.”
A grin broke out over Cantrill’s thin face. “And did you?”
Brookes sighed. “It’s hard to say. I may have won her favor, but now I am not sure I want it. In truth, Cantrill, I find I am no longer interested in the young lady. But now I have a great attraction to her older sister. I am trying to extricate myself, so to speak, with honor before I can pursue the one I love.”
“What makes the elder sister so extraordinary?” Cantrill peered closely at Brookes over the rim of his teacup.
“She is an original, I suppose. I fell madly in love with her younger sister before leaving for the war. But when I returned, the changes Sophie perceived in me weren’t at all agreeable to her.”
Cantrill nodded sagely. “Had an experience with that, myself.”
“Have you?” Brookes snapped his head up, studying Cantrill closely. “It’s an awful mess, isn’t it?”
“It is. Yet, I feel somewhat relieved. Now I know her true character. Had I spent my life shackled to such a vapid creature, I might feel ready to end it all.” Though Cantrill laughed, a trace of bitterness threaded through the sound.
“Well, Harriet isn’t vapid. She is an extraordinary woman. She’s the other reason I am here.” He set his glass down and faced Cantrill squarely. “Harriet is writing a book about a soldier who lives through Waterloo, and has been talking to me to get an accurate picture of what the war was like. I have shared some of my deepest memories with her, and I find her to be a trustworthy and honest person. I would be honored if you would consider speaking with her, too.”
“Of course I will.” Cantrill gazed thoughtfully into the fire. “I may not share all of my confidences with her because I am not yet acquainted with her, but if you say she is reliable—”
“I would trust her with my life. Upon my honor.” Brookes locked gazes with Cantrill. His use of the military oath caused Cantrill to stare at him from under hooded lids.
“I’ll talk to her. Indeed, I look forward to meeting the woman worthy of that boast,” Cantrill responded. “You can bring her round tomorrow afternoon, if you like. Have you read her work? Is it any good?”
Brookes recalled the sleepless night he spent reading her manuscript from beginning to end. Was it good? No. He remembered flipping through the pages, his heart racing while his own life was outlined in graceful yet precise prose. No, good was definitely not the word for it. “The book is astonishing,” he replied, shaking his head in wonderment. “I cannot believe a sheltered young woman could vividly capture life in the field, but she has managed that feat. If she finds a publisher worth his salt, it should be an immediate success.”
Harriet yawned, shifting around in her little gilded chair, hoping to find a more comfortable position. She hadn’t visited a modiste in years, not since her London season, and she had forgotten how tiresome the clothing selection process could be. Sophie would be in her element, fingering fabric swatches with glee, but Harriet could only try to conceal her boredom out of politeness. She wished she were back at Aunt Katherine’s home, reading some of the books Brookes brought along from the Park, or writing her own. Brookes returned the manuscript with a terse “Keep at it,” and she worked feverishly on it ever since gaining his approval. This morning, for example, she could have finished the chapter where Twigg faced the aftermath of the battlefield. But she agreed to tag along with Aunt Katherine. The old woman proved such a gracious hostess, Harriet was obligated to feign interest.
“Oh, look, Harriet. Isn’t that charming?” Auntie passed a fashion plate over to Harriet. “Look how elegantly the fabric is draped. It would look stunning on you, my dear.”
“Do you think so?” Harriet ran a glance over the dress. In contrast to many of the other fashion plates, a modest and simple cut distinguished this gown, leaving one’s charms to the imagination. Harriet smiled. It was the prettiest one she had yet seen. “Oh, I think you should order it for yourself, Aunt Katherine. I think a deep purple would be most becoming on you.”
“Stuff and nonsense! Fashion is wasted on an old woman like me. Marie-Elise, do you have something similar to this already made up? Something that could be adjusted to fit my friend here?”
The modiste scurried forward, scooping up the picture. “Mais oui, I had one almost the same made for another young lady, but she refused to take it. She said it was cut too high across the bosom. Un moment, I will fetch it for you.” She disappeared behind a velvet curtain to the rear of the shop.
“Oh, Aunt Katherine, I couldn’t possibly—” Harriet waved her hand, trying to interrupt the older woman’s command of the situation.
“Tut! Let’s see how it even fits before we make any rash decisions.” Auntie pulled Harriet to her feet and claimed the little gilt chair for her own.
Marie-Elise returned, carrying a mass of ink-blue bombazine proudly before her. She shook out the folds of the gown, pressing it to Harriet’s shoulders. “Ah, yes. Very nice. What do you think, Madame?”
Aunt Katherine gave her gray corkscrew curls a decisive shake. “I cannot tell. Harriet, put it on. We’ll see how it looks.”
With a little shove, Marie-Elise hustled Harriet in and out of the dressing room. Heat washed over Harriet—what to do now? She could not take advantage of the elderly woman’s astonishing generosity, and yet she could not very well pay for the dress herself. Catching a glance in one of the mirrors, Harriet paused. She did not recognize her reflection. The girl in the mirror looked graceful and well-borne, not pretty like Sophie but attractive nonetheless. Inadvertently, she put her hand up to touch her hair, making sure it was indeed her own reflection she saw.
“Ah, my dear! Now that dress suits you beautifully. That color brings out the blue of your eyes.” Aunt Katherine clapped her hands, her rings sparkling in the afternoon light that streamed through the windows.
“It needs some adjustment through the shoulders. Mademoiselle is much thinner than my previous client. But that can be done very quickly, and I can send it around this evening.”
“Oh, no, thank you,” Harriet interjected. The heat flamed her face again, stifling her. “It’s a lovely dress, but I am afraid I cannot afford it—”
“Let it be my gift to you,” Auntie interrupted. “You have been an excellent companion to me on this trip, and I would like to express my thanks.”
“No, I should be thanking you, Aunt Katherine. Besides, Mama would never allow me to accept such an extravagant gift.” Harriet turned around, preparing to undo the tapes at the top of the gown.
Marie-Elise clicked her tongue with a frustrated sound and took Harriet by the shoulder, leading her into the dressing room.
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“No, wait. I have a better idea.” At Aunt Katherine’s command, Harriet spun around.
“What if you paid me back for the dress out of the proceeds of your book? Once you become an overnight success and earn your daily bread working as an authoress, you can pay me then if you wish. Or it shall be my gift to you, for all you have done for John.” Aunt Katherine favored Harriet with a wheedling look, opening her eyes wide and smiling broadly. “Marie-Elise, take the measurements for the alterations you need to make in the shoulders. Have it sent around this evening, if you please.”
Harriet’s heart surged with love and gratitude. “Aunt Katherine, you are too generous and good to me.”
“Not at all, my dear, not at all. Besides, how could we let a beautiful gown like that waste away in a storeroom? That would be a tragedy.”
A letter waited for Harriet when they returned to the flat for the older woman’s afternoon rest. Recognizing Sophie’s handwriting, Harriet tore it open at once. How she missed her sister and Rose, and even her mother. What had happened in Tansley since she was gone? She wanted to know every detail—if Mama’s nervous condition had improved, and what the weather was like, and if the garden was flourishing in her absence.
Unfortunately, Sophie was never much of a correspondent, as evidenced by the very brief missive.
My dear Sister,
I hope you are doing well in Bath. Rose and Mama send their love. I send mine, as well. Tansley is very much the same as when you left it. Mama’s nervous fits come and go and seem to get worse if she is very tired. But we have not had to call Dr. Wallace in many days so I believe that is an improvement. Rose says to tell you that the potatoes and onions are storing nicely in the root cellar. I haven’t had much time to garden because I have been making over a new gown. Mary and I are tearing apart one of Mama’s old court dresses. Just wait until you see it, it will be the first glass of fashion.
Dearest Hattie, since you have been gone I have done much thinking about my future with Captain Brookes. I have reached the conclusion that I cannot love him. I will marry him only if you insist I should. I know Mama needs me to marry very well in order to improve her condition. But I cannot love Captain Brookes. I have known that only too well since he returned. I have tried to convince myself otherwise but it is no use. He is far too serious and I do not find him at all attractive. I know you must think it’s because of his wooden leg but I am not so shallow. He is a different person now than when he left. I must wait until I find the man of my dreams.
Please write and tell me what I should do. Again, I say I will marry John Brookes if you say I must. I am torn, for while I want Mama to be well, I also want my own happiness. I am, as always—
Your loving sister, Sophie.
Harriet dropped the single sheet of foolscap. The farce had ended. Sophie no longer wanted the captain.
Chapter Twenty
Sophie’s letter contained the key that unlocked Harriet’s fetters. How often had she wondered what she would do if she were free to love John Brookes? And here was that freedom, wrapped in foolscap, delivered from home. Sophie no longer cared a fig for him. But Harriet cared—oh, yes, she cared with all her might. She loved the way Brookes’s eyes changed color from green to gray depending on his mood. She loved his mischievous streak and the way he teased his Aunt Katherine. But most importantly, she loved the man who had lain in the muddy field at Waterloo, preparing to die like a soldier. His loss of faith on that night revealed a vulnerability that Harriet found more alluring than any manly bluster. She wanted to spend the rest of her life making John Brookes whole again. And now, she could.
She glanced at her reflection in the looking glass. Her face drained of all color, but her eyes burned like sapphires in the dim afternoon light. She must conceal her shock and surprise until John understood that his obligation to Sophie was no longer justified. She must restrain herself from running headlong down the stairs, hurling herself headlong into his arms when he returned home this afternoon. Harriet bit her nail absently, a habit she conquered during her girlhood, but which returned in moments of great emotional upheaval. Realizing her actions, she clasped her hands in her lap. ’Twas time to think clearly. All right, if Sophie no longer wanted Captain Brookes, he must know the truth. But who would tell him? And when?
She closed her eyes. Sophie must tell him. It was, in fact, the right thing to do. Once Sophie released him, then perhaps Harriet could begin to show her affection. But not before—no, John would think she was being disloyal to Sophie. She sprang up from the bed, dashing over to the little desk by the window. Time to remind Sophie of her responsibilities. She pulled a sheet of foolscap out of the drawer and uncapped the inkwell with a flourish. Her handwriting, usually so neat and precise, quivered all over the page. She tossed the ruined sheet of paper away and took a deep breath to steady her hands. She began again, concentrating on the banal until she steadied her nerves. She spoke of her trip to the modiste, and the constant rain in Bath, and finally—
But Sophie, enough polite chatter for now. Let me get to the heart of your letter. Of course I would never force you to marry where you don’t love. Marrying any man you don’t love simply to secure your own comfort is indecent. But you must write to Captain Brookes yourself and tell him so. He is a good man and it would be dreadful of you not to make a clean break. If you release him, he is free to love whomever he chooses, and you are, too. You should write to him at once, whilst we are still in Bath. That way the entire matter is cleared up before we return home.
If you change your mind, please let me know at once. I do not know how to behave around the captain unless I know whether he is my future brother-in-law or not.
Give my love to Mama and Rose, and keep a bit for yourself.
Your loving sister—
There. Harriet reread the letter with a scrupulous eye. Yes, she concealed her desires neatly within the framework of spinsterly concern for the proprieties. Sophie, not much given to reading between the lines anyway, would never suspect her sister was in love with the captain. She signed the letter with a grand gesture. The letter would arrive at Tansley Cottage within a few days. If Sophie answered at once, then Captain Brookes would be a free man by the beginning of next week. And she would still have a week with him in Bath—seven glorious days in which she could begin demonstrating her affection—before they returned to Tansley.
She sanded the pages, making sure the ink wasn’t the least bit smudged before folding and addressing the envelope. She wrote the address with great precision and care. There must be no chance that it might be misdirected. Then, rather than leave the letter on the table in the hall, she rang the bell for Ada, the maid that had been assigned to her when she arrived in Bath.
“Yes, Miss?” Ada popped her head around the doorjamb almost the second after Harriet pulled the bell.
“Ada, I need this letter posted at once. Can you do it for me?” Harriet nibbled on her thumbnail, and stretched the letter out in her other hand.
“Of course.” Ada grabbed the letter. “I will do it right away, before Madame wakes up from her rest.”
After the maid quit the room, Harriet plunked down on the bed. She handled the situation as best as she could, and she could only wait patiently. The next few days promised to be agonizing, but there was nothing she could do but endure them. She bowed her head briefly in a prayer of thanks. In a matter of weeks—or even days, if one was feeling optimistic—her own happiness might be assured.
A knock sounded on Harriet’s door, some hours later when she retired to dress for the evening. Aunt Katherine decided to take Harriet and John to a recital featuring a famous French soprano, and afterward they planned to dine en famille in the flat. Harriet gazed dismally in the looking glass, trying to coax her hair into a more becoming style. A desire to look lovely seized her, but there was no hope for it with her dowdy gown
and flat locks. She cast her hairbrush away.
“Come in?” Harriet turned halfway round from her dressing table.
Ada entered the room, bearing a large pasteboard box. “Your gown from the modiste, Miss.”
Harriet stood up, smiling with pleasure. “She did promise to deliver it this evening. How lovely! Ada, would you help me with it?” She undid the tapes of her old afternoon dress, letting it slide to the floor in a careless heap.
“Of course. Oh, how pretty it is!” Ada lifted the dress out of the box, giving its folds a brisk shake. Then she draped it over Harriet’s head, allowing the fabric to whisper over Harriet’s arms and shoulders before tying the tapes in place. The bombazine caressed Harriet’s skin richly. The heavy, luxurious fabric rustled when she moved, unlike her cotton gowns, which hung limply from her shoulders. Once she had owned dresses this fine, but never appreciated them. With a pang of regret, the image of the boxes arriving from the modiste at her father’s London home flashed across her mind. They contained fine lawn chemises, silk afternoon dresses, cotton morning gowns and even tailored wool riding habits. And the matching kid slippers, so thin she could feel the pebbles of the driveway at Handley Hall crunching underfoot. But those material pleasures vanished long ago. Any of the dresses that still had worth were snatched up by the duns who invaded Handley Hall for sale on the secondhand market. Only the simplest cotton dresses remained. Mama hid most of her gowns under a loose floorboard in her bedroom, and that was why Sophie had a wealth of dresses to make over.
She examined her reflection in the looking glass. The adjustments Marie-Elise made to the shoulders allowed the bodice to fit smoothly against her bosom, highlighting her collarbone. She could never call herself pretty, but this gown improved matters a great deal. She smoothed her hands over her waist. She must become a successful authoress now, if only to repay Aunt Katherine for this exquisite pleasure.
