Captain of Her Heart: Captain of Her HeartA Father's Sins

by Lily George

  “No. I don’t want Harriet to have to go away from home to earn a living.”

  “How, then, is she to survive?” Aunt Katherine peered at him, as though regarding him through a quizzing glass.

  “By marrying me, of course. I must see her at once, without delay.”

  A broad smile illuminated Aunt Katherine’s aristocratic features. “John, my dear, there is no need to worry. Harriet is not going to leave and find employment immediately. That is why she is asking my help. She is awaiting my arrival before she can go through with her plan.”

  He rubbed his palm over his forehead. “Are you sure?”

  “Certain, my boy. Now, what of your worry that she will find marriage to you ‘indecent’? After all, it’s what you so vociferously believed a few days ago.” She inclined her head and regarded him keenly.

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “All I can do is return to Brookes Park, and ask for an explanation. If she does find me so, I shall endeavor to change her mind.”

  She nodded, finally satisfied. “John, if you want to ride ahead, I won’t stop you. I will prepare a carriage and leave early tomorrow, traveling faster than I usually do—but I still may not be quick enough for you.” She rose from the desk and walked over to Brookes, taking his hand. “Harriet is a dear girl—a true friend to me—and I will be happy to welcome her to the family.”

  He pressed her hand gently. “Thank you, Aunt Katherine.”

  She smiled. “Now, would you like for me to retrieve these books you have locked away in your desk? It seems to me they would make an excellent engagement gift.”

  Brookes tilted his head to one side. “How did you know Harriet’s books were down there?”

  Aunt Katherine laughed. “My boy, I know everything.”

  Harriet and Sophie sat in the parlor, still drained of all emotion even though Mama’s funeral had taken place a week before. With the upheaval of the ceremony behind them, now Harriet insisted they must begin planning the future. She looked over at Sophie, who sat quietly in her chair, her hands idle. She avoided sewing after stitching her mother’s shroud, and spent most of the week in a distracted, pensive state.

  “Sophie, we must think of what to do next,” Harriet prodded gently.

  “Yes. Yes, of course. What shall we do?” Sophie turned to Harriet, staring at her as though from a great distance.

  “The cottage was paid for outright by Papa’s family.” Harriet waved a letter from the Handley family at Sophie. She discovered the missive while cleaning out Mama’s bedchamber. “It was the only help they gave us. We receive no pension from the Handleys now that she has died. We can stay in the house, and we’ve money enough to last several months, but we will have to find employment somewhere soon. Rose has been staying on with us forever, but she may wish to leave and find employment that pays well. Perhaps we will all need to part soon.” Harriet tossed the letter aside and bit her thumbnail with a distracted air.

  “Stop biting your nails,” Sophie scolded absently.

  Harriet folded her hands in her lap. “Or we could sell the house.”

  “Why would we do that?” Harriet looked up as a flicker of confusion passed over Sophie’s tired and wan face.

  “For money. If we can’t find occupations in the village, then we will have to move.”

  Sophie shifted in her chair. “I don’t want for us to part, Harriet.”

  “I don’t either, Sophie darling, but what can we do? Tansley is so small. There are precious few opportunities here.”

  Sophie stared down at her hands. “I could take in sewing.”

  Harriet snapped her head up. Was Sophie offering to take on work? Harriet searched her sister’s face, hoping for some clue behind this transformation. “I suppose you could.”

  “And if your book sells, then we might have more money,” Sophie continued.

  “True, but I would have to pay for the printing, and I only have ten pounds left. When I wrote to Mrs. Crossley, I asked for her help in securing a position as a governess. I could earn the money to get my book printed, assuming someone will publish it. Perhaps I could work away from home for a year or two, and save up enough so that we could be together.”

  “Oh, no.” Sophie’s eyes filled with tears. “I already lost Mama through my own selfishness. Please Harriet, no matter what happens, we must stay together. Being apart, even for a year, is too much to bear.”

  “Hmm. Perhaps we could find placement in a wealthy home. I could be a governess and you could be the personal seamstress to a noble family. I could inquire with Mrs. Crossley when she returns. She might know of someone who could help.”

  “What about Rose?” Anxiety welled in Sophie’s blue eyes.

  “I don’t know. I can’t ask Rose to stay with us. Not if we can’t pay her. She’s done so much for our family already. I wonder if Captain Brookes could add her to his staff at the Park, or if Mrs. Crossley would hire her on?”

  “I have brought on so much misery through my own selfish actions.” Sophie’s voice trembled. “Harriet, had I known any of this would happen, I would have acted very differently. I assure you.”

  “Oh, Sophie.” Harriet rose from her chair and embraced her sister. “None of us could have anticipated any of this. And I don’t think your motives were selfish. Did I not encourage you to dissuade the captain?”

  Sophie patted Harriet’s arm. “I think I shall go for a walk, if I may, Harriet.”

  “Of course.” Misgivings began squeezing Harriet like a vise, but shook them off. A walk, away from the confines of the cottage, would be good for Sophie. A stroll might remedy some of her sadness and fatigue. “Be home in time for supper.”

  Sophie nodded, and retrieved her bonnet from the hook in the hallway.

  Harriet stuck her head out of the parlor doorway and smiled, allowing her caution to show through her expression. “Do be careful. And remember, everything will work out fine.”

  Brookes had suffered in the saddle for three and a half days of heavy riding, his muscles growing increasingly tired and sore. Still, he dressed with elaborate care. After luncheon, he decided to call on Harriet at Tansley Cottage. He must make his intentions known, no matter what she might say. Stoames strolled into the room, bearing a familiar leather box.

  “Mother’s jewels?” Brookes smiled, and opened it with great care. He extracted the sapphire ring from its depths. The jewel sparkled in the midafternoon sunlight. He carefully closed the ring back in its box, tucking it in his pocket. Then he turned to his old friend. “Do I have your approval, then?”

  “Godspeed, sir. She is a bonny lass.” Stoames replied with his usual salute.

  Brookes returned the salute, his palms beginning to sweat.

  He pounded down the front steps, his boots ringing out over the still country air, where Talos stood, saddled and waiting in the courtyard. Weeks in the stable and the paddock while Brookes traveled to Bath made the beast fresh and restive. Yet Brookes had no desire for a canter, which might cause him to arrive at the cottage sweaty and winded. They set off at a leisurely pace over the rolling hills which formed a circle around the valley where Tansley Cottage stood.

  He rounded the corner near the millpond and stopped. A bizarre feeling of déjà vu swept over him. A lone woman stood on the crest of the hill. Her face turned in the opposite direction, her bonnet concealed her profile. He remembered the first day he’d met Harriet, and his mouth went dry. Was she here? Had she come toward Brookes Park to meet him?

  The woman turned her head and stared at him. He recognized those blond curls. In fact, he dreamed of them many nights when he was away on the peninsula.

  Sophie Handley.

  She walked toward him, her shoulders drooping, her face cast down. For a brief instant, he thought about riding to her, mee
ting her halfway. But he discarded the notion. Let her come to him. Let her do the explaining. The girl had much to explain, after all. He drew up the reins and Talos, sensing his mood, stopped dancing in impatience. Instead, he lowered his head and chomped prosaically on the moor grass.

  “Captain Brookes.”

  “Miss Handley.” He sighed. “You have my condolences for your mother’s recent passing.” Why were they being so formal? No matter, it suited his mood. They called each other much more endearing names in the heat of correspondence for many years. He searched her face for answers, noting the dark circles under her eyes and the drawn look around her mouth.

  “Thank you, your sympathy is most kind.” She broke off, tears crowding her eyes. “I…I owe you an apology, Captain.”

  “Do you, Miss Handley?” He stayed on his horse, enjoying the feeling of looking down on her. He wanted to convey the sense of urgency he felt. He held no desire to talk to Sophie, when Harriet might be at home right then, writing letters of application to become a governess.

  “Yes. I am sorry I ever told you I wouldn’t marry you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “You are?” Brookes’s heart plummeted to his boots. She wasn’t about to throw herself at him, was she? He shifted uneasily in the saddle. The movement caused Talos to stop munching the moor grass and toss his head.

  “Yes, I am. You see, my actions have been selfish and unkind. I have caused great harm to those I love by rejecting your suit. More than you’ll ever know.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she withdrew her handkerchief from her sleeve.

  The tears were genuine. He had seen Sophie cry often enough in the past to get her own way. The rawness of her voice signaled a profound hurt.

  “And I am sure I wounded your pride, if not your heart,” she continued, looking up at him. “You are a good man, and a brave solider, and you deserved much better than what I was prepared to give.”

  He cleared his throat. A frisson of discomfort shivered down his spine at her words. What was she driving at? For wont of something more elegant to say, he replied stiffly, “You are forgiven.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced away, and blew her nose. “Would you convey something to your aunt for me? I know I shouldn’t even ask any favors, but I fear I must prevail upon you for your help.”

  “Of course.” Aunt Katherine? What message could Sophie possibly have for his aunt?

  “Harriet is going to ask her help to find positions for us. She wants to be a governess, and I can become a seamstress. But I can’t bear to be apart from Hattie. The breakup of our family is most distressing, and I must be with my sister.” Her voice trembled and she clasped her hands together imploringly. “Please ask your aunt to help us find a situation where we can stay together. Perhaps in a nobleman’s home, where they might employ a private seamstress and a governess.”

  Brookes sighed. Time to end this charade. He dismounted with care and stood before Sophie.

  “I am riding over to Tansley Cottage right now to beg your sister’s hand in marriage.”

  Sophie blanched. “Hattie? Do you love Hattie?”

  “Yes. I love your sister. I have for quite some time. But I didn’t feel it was right to pursue her, when we had essentially been—” He cast about for the right word to describe their relationship.

  “Betrothed?” Sophie supplied.

  “Yes, exactly. When I returned, and we never formally broke off our understanding, I could not very well court Harriet. But I’ve loved her since we began working on the book together.” He glanced at her from under lowered brows. How would she take the news?

  A smile like sunshine broke across Sophie’s face. “Oh, I am so happy. Harriet deserves someone like you, Captain.”

  “You aren’t angry?” Ever cautious, he chose to remain still and judge the terrain.

  “Not at all. I am overjoyed for both of you.” She tucked her handkerchief back into her sleeve.

  Her exuberance puzzled him. Did she know something he didn’t? After all, she had written the letter rejecting him—a letter quoting Harriet that a marriage to him was indecent. Boldness flowed through him, and he asked the question that had gnawed at his insides for weeks.

  “Why did Harriet think marriage to me indecent?” He still found the words difficult to say. They stuck in his throat a bit, but he stayed strong.

  Her brows drew together in confusion. “What? What are you talking about?”

  “In the letter you wrote me in Bath, you said that Harriet called marriage to me indecent.” His tone remained measured and even. He obscured the hurt that still ate away his being.

  “I did? No. I meant something different. Harriet had advised me that marrying anyone I didn’t love was indecent.” She shook her head. “Harriet never said that marrying you would be so. Only marriage where there is no love.”

  Hope bloomed in his chest for the first time in weeks. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes, of course. Harriet has never had anything but the highest praise for you, Captain.”

  “Thank you, Sophie.” He swung into the saddle, eagerness nearly making him forget his manners. Talos pranced restlessly. “I will go to the cottage now, if I may.”

  She beamed up at him. “Yes, do. I left her there only minutes ago. Ride ahead and I will follow at a leisurely pace so you may have time to speak to her.”

  With joy and hope coursing through his veins, Brookes put his boots to Talos’s flanks. He could not reach Tansley Cottage quickly enough. He left Sophie on the hill, waving her handkerchief to wish him Godspeed.

  Harriet puzzled over the letter she found in Mama’s room. The handwriting on the missive was unfamiliar, but its contents were about Papa’s death and Mama’s living expenses. She pored over the letter, trying to figure out its deeper meaning.

  Madame, you realize that your marriage to Hugh was most distressing to my family, and we refuse to recognize it as legitimate. We will, however, provide you with the deed to a small cottage in a nearby village and the sum of twenty-five pounds per year. We do this out of charity, not out of a sense of obligation. The money will cease to arrive if you discuss your relationship publicly with Hugh in your new village.

  Harriet stopped reading, her mouth dropping open in shock. She never thought to ask how Mama paid their few expenses. She assumed there had been some money left from Mama’s stage career, or perhaps her mother had managed to tuck a bit away somewhere. Now she understood. The Handleys paid her mother the same amount they paid any common farm laborer, to keep her quiet.

  She folded up the letter and cast it aside. They had a roof over their heads, but very little besides that. By spring she would need to find a position for sure. She glanced out the window. Autumn’s chill already bit the air, and this was only early September. This promised a harsh winter in more ways than one.

  An urgent pounding on the door shook the desk at which she sat. She jumped, alarm sending her pulse racing. The harsh words from the Handleys still ran through her mind, and she expected to see the duns, or perhaps an irate member of her father’s clan, when she opened the door. She stood, frozen, unsure of whether or not she should answer.

  The pounding continued, echoing through the small house. Her heart beat a nervous tattoo and her palms began perspiring. She forced her steps to the entry hall, but could not gather the strength to open the door and confront whatever awaited her on the other side.

  The door flew open, causing the mourning hatchment to swing wildly. Harriet gasped. John Brookes stood before her, his expression anxious.

  “Harriet, why didn’t you open the door? I’ve knocked several times.”

  “I—uh—I thought you might be someone else.”

  “Were you expecting anyone?” He strode into the entry and hung his hat on the wall.


  “No. I was reading an old letter, and your sudden knock startled me.” It dawned on Harriet that John arrived early from Bath. “Did you get my message?”

  “Yes, and I am very sorry to hear about your mother. Please accept my sincerest condolences.” He took a step closer and Harriet shrunk back.

  “Thank you.” Why was he here? Surely he wasn’t looking for Sophie. Perhaps he had heard from Samuel Eagleton?

  “Are you here because you’ve had news from the publisher?” A note of hope crept into her voice. If her book was on its way to publication, their money woes might be nearing an end.

  “No.” He motioned to the parlor. “Could we sit down and talk?”

  “Of course. Where are my manners? I am so sorry, John. I am so easily distracted since Mama’s death.” She led the way into the little parlor and patted the back of the same wobbly chair he had occupied during his first visit to the cottage.

  He gently grabbed her wrist. “Sit down, please, Harriet.”

  He sank down on the settee beside her. She could feel his warmth and resisted the urge to lean into him. Trying to keep her emotions in check, she stared down at her lap.

  “Harriet, please, look at me. I’ve wanted to say something to you for so long. Now is perhaps the worst time to say it, considering your mother’s passing, but I can wait no longer.” His tone grew husky and dark.

  A blush suffused Harriet’s cheeks as she raised her eyes to his. His gaze held such tenderness that it was all she could do not to look away. “What is it, John?”

  “I must ask you—no, beg you—to marry me. I have loved you since my return from Waterloo, and my esteem for you only deepened as we worked together on your manuscript. I am sorry. I am a brute to be proposing to you so quickly after your mother’s death. But I can’t wait any longer. You must know how I feel.”

  She tried to rise, but he kept her still, pulling her onto his lap. Tears sprang to her eyes at the tenderness of his touch.