Lily George

by Healing the Soldier's Heart

  Yes, Rowland knew that townhome. His mind flashed back to the day he walked Lucy home. Would she be there this afternoon? Would he have a chance to see her—just to catch a glimpse of her?

  After luncheon, he took a hackney up to the Crescent, a box of pencils, foolscap and measuring devices tucked under his arm. As he approached his lordship’s palatial townhome, he cast his glance at the upstairs windows, but Lucy wasn’t there. At least, she wasn’t looking outside the windows as he approached.

  She was probably busy with her charges and might not even know he was there. He didn’t know whether to be disappointed or grateful.

  The butler showed him into the library, which was surprisingly shabby. Rowland walked over to the rows of shelves that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. He smoothed one of them with his fingertips. It wobbled slightly under his touch, and his forefinger, when he pulled it back, was streaked with dust. How very odd that such an immaculate home should have a library in such disrepair.

  He turned as the door opened, admitting his lordship and a young lady he recognized as Louisa, Lucy’s charge.

  “Ah, Rowland,” his lordship said in a hearty tone of voice. “So glad to meet you. Felton speaks highly of your talents. Hoping you can make something of all this.” He waved his hand around the room with a listless gesture.

  Rowland’s nerves seized hold of him, and his throat worked mightily. “O-o-of c-c-c-ourse,” he finally managed, his cheeks burning with shame. Why did he have to lose his power of speech now in front of his lordship? ’Twas wretchedly humiliating, especially when he was striving to appear professional.

  Louisa stepped forward, tugging her papa’s arm. “Papa neglected this room shamefully for years, because it was my mama’s favorite room—”

  “Louisa,” her father broke in sternly. “Mr. Rowland does not care about the circumstances of this library’s decline.”

  “But we need to tell him what we want done. He will understand better if he knows why. Mama is why I think we should redo everything,” Louisa responded, turning to face her father. “We’ll make it a new room, one that won’t remind you so sharply of her. That’s all I wanted to tell Mr. Rowland. That we want to have everything done—chairs, tables and all the shelves.”

  “S-s-s-so Mr. F-F-Felton told me,” Rowland broke in. He didn’t want to stand there helpless as father and daughter relived their grief. ’Twas a private affair and none of his business.

  “Yes, so, Rowland, a complete overhaul, I think. New furniture, new shelves. I rather like those bookcases with glass fronts on them. Do you think you could fit us out in something like that?”

  Rowland nodded. ’Twould be easy enough to do and would look quite sharp. He pulled out his box of tools and set about measuring as father and daughter continued to natter on about the details.

  “Well, darling, you shall have your new library. But I confess, I can’t attend to the details,” Lord Bradbury was saying. “You know how Amelia’s debut is consuming all of our time.”

  “Then I shall oversee it, Papa. I’ll get Lucy to help me.”

  Rowland paused his measuring, keeping his face turned toward the bookshelf. Lucy Williams? Was she really going to help in this project? If so, ’twould be impossible to avoid her. Again—was that good or bad?

  “Ah, splendid thinking. But I must say, I will put Miss Williams in charge of the project, and you may help her.” At Louisa’s good-natured groan, her father gave a short bark of laughter. “If you have your way, everything will be upholstered in ermine and studded with diamonds,” he teased. “Miss Williams is quite organized and has good sense. Go and fetch her, Louisa. We’ll talk about the matter now, while Rowland is here.”

  A scuffling of slippers and the door banging shut announced Louisa’s departure. Rowland schooled his features to an outward semblance of calm as he continued measuring the shelves and walls of the library. His hands shook, and he had to redo one set of measurements three times until they finally made sense. But surely his lordship, who kept up a stream of polite chatter, did not notice.

  The door to the library swung open again, and Louisa entered the room with Lucy.

  His heart leaped in his chest as he turned around to bow to her, but he was determined to remain aloof and professional. He’d made such a fool of himself over and over again that he must have at least one meeting with Lucy that did not end in disaster. So he would force himself to remain calm and practical no matter what happened.

  For her part, Lucy appeared a little pale, but that could be anything. Surely it wasn’t his presence causing her pallor.

  “Ah, Miss Williams,” Lord Bradbury said, nodding to her as she entered the room. “We’re going to completely redo this library. Floor to ceiling. Furniture to shelves. It’s a project dear to Louisa’s heart—” he paused to pat his daughter’s curly brown hair “—but I want you to oversee it with a practical eye. You’ll work with Rowland, here. He’s a carpenter in Felton’s shop, and I’m giving him free rein.”

  “They already know each other, Papa,” Louisa hissed. Lucy fixed her charge with a glare that would curdle milk.

  Rowland couldn’t suppress a grin at Louisa’s cheekiness. “Y-yes we d-do. Miss Williams.” He gave her a brief bow, allowing his amusement to shine through his eyes.

  She raised her chin and curtsied but did not smile. “Ensign Rowland.”

  “Ensign? A military man? Excellent. Then you know about discipline and whatnot.” Lord Bradbury clapped his hands. “Louisa may pick out the colors and the materials, but I want you to keep her in line when it comes to spending, Miss Williams. I’m depending on the three of you to handle this project—for I am far too worried to pay any attention to it. Louisa knows my tastes, Rowland knows carpentry and Miss Williams knows the value of a penny. I’m leaving it up to you three to finish this project and make me a happy man.”

  Lord Bradbury gave a general bow to the room and left. Rowland was sorry to see him go. Now he was left with two females who were obviously not in great accord with each other about something—either this project, or possibly—just possibly—his presence.

  He was never much of a commander, but he had to seize control of the situation. ’Twas the only way to remain in a professional frame of mind in Lucy’s presence. “M-Miss W-Williams, I shall draw up a few plans for your approval this afternoon. His l-lordship has already m-mentioned g-glass fronted b-b-bookcases. M-M-Miss L-Louisa, do you have any s-suggestions?”

  “I shall have to give the matter quite a bit of thought,” Miss Louisa responded, giving him a grin. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’ll leave you two here to work out the details and go mull it over in my room.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Lucy responded. “Ensign, if you will send the plans to me when you are done, I shall be happy to look them over. And take your time with the measurements as well as the planning. I shall send Roberts, Lord Bradbury’s butler, in to assist you with anything you might require.”

  She curtsied deeply, keeping her eyes cast down, and turned to follow her charge without a backward glance. As the door clicked shut behind them, Rowland grasped the edge of a table, holding on until his knuckles turned white.

  He must remain master of his emotions. He’d be working with Lucy for the foreseeable future, and it would do no one any good if he thought of her as anything other than a partner in this project. After all, it was hardly likely that she could care for a worthless cripple like himself.

  Chapter Nine

  “Oh, Lucy, don’t be angry,” Louisa pleaded as they headed upstairs to the schoolroom. “After all, Papa’s library does need work. Even you noticed how shabby it has gotten over the years.”

  Lucy wasn’t angry. She had had ample time to prepare herself for the inevitable confrontation with her charge from the moment Louisa ran upstairs to fetch her to the moment they both curtsied and left the room. The entire time she’d been coolly polite to the ensign, she’d been formulating just how to handle the matt
er of Louisa’s matchmaking in the back of her mind. And the solution dawned on her in that moment, like the sun breaking through the clouds.

  She would do nothing. Nothing at all.

  After all, anything she did would only fuel the fire of Louisa’s romantic daydreaming. If she allowed herself to show that Louisa’s actions in bringing the ensign to their home and having her work on a project with him threw her into a tizzy, Louisa would only continue to meddle. Louisa was determined to prove that the ensign and Lucy would fall in love like a couple in one of her romantic novels. But if Lucy grew nonchalant about the entire matter, then Louisa would lose interest and move on to something else, leaving her governess in peace. And perhaps Lucy could convince herself to truly be indifferent, as well. It was worth a try at any rate.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Lucy mustered in her heartiest, snippiest governess tone of voice. “If his lordship wants me to assist in this project, I should be happy to oblige. Don’t take on so, Louisa.”

  Louisa paused on the landing and turned to face her teacher. Confusion quirked her eyebrows. “You—you mean you aren’t angry?”

  “On the contrary,” she replied briskly. Her plan seemed to be working—no need to stop it now. “I shall do whatever his lordship bids me to do. It’s my job to do so after all.”

  “Oh.” Louisa looked distinctly crestfallen, her shoulders sloping in disappointment. “I thought I would get a tongue-lashing.”

  Lucy managed a bright laugh and continued her progress up the stairs. This was going better than she had thought. “Not at all. Now, this afternoon I should like it if you would spend some time working on your father’s library. Sketch out a few designs for furniture, if you like, and jot down any thoughts you have for furnishings. I want to have something to share with the ensign once we begin going over his plans.”

  Louisa grumbled her reply, and Lucy was hard put to smother her grin. Served the little meddler right. She loved Louisa, but she had to learn not to interfere in other people’s affairs. Lucy would see to it that the girl spent as much time working on the library as the ensign. That would be her restitution for interfering in her instructor’s life. And by the time the library was refurbished and life returned to normal, ’twas quite likely that Miss Louisa Bradbury would be sick of the sight of libraries, blueprints and architectural renderings.

  They worked in the schoolroom side by side until the shadows began to lengthen on the wall. ’Twas late afternoon—time to bring an end to the school day. As Lucy and Louisa began packing away their things, Sophie and Amelia bounded into the schoolroom— Sophie’s rosy cheeks and starry eyes indicating a high level of excitement.

  “I leave tomorrow for Brightgate,” she announced breathlessly, grasping Lucy’s hands. “It’s all arranged. Aunt Katherine is taking me.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Lucy squeezed Sophie’s hands. Though Sophie wouldn’t admit her feelings for Lieutenant Cantrill, they were as obvious as the dimples in her cheeks. This trip would likely wind up with their faux engagement becoming a reality. Which was wonderful, only—Lucy’s heart gave a little lurch. Then Sophie would go, and she’d be on her own again. She’d come to rely so heavily on Sophie’s friendship. She took the loneliness out of life.

  “I think it’s horrid,” Amelia scoffed, flouncing over to a nearby chair with a huff. “For now I have no one to chaperone me next week. Papa won’t do it, you know. He’s always too busy with his own affairs once we arrive at a ball.”

  Sophie and Lucy exchanged a mutually understanding glance. Lord Bradbury’s reputation, particularly as a wealthy and sportive widower, was well established amongst the ton. More than one highborn widow or captivating soubrette had been linked to his lordship since his wife’s passing. And while he was a dedicated father, he also put a lot of thought and emphasis into his affaires de coeur.

  “I think Lucy should escort you,” Sophie replied, casting a pleading glance in Lucy’s direction. Lucy understood the look. If they placated Amelia, then Sophie could go in peace. “Lucy is your governess after all. She understands all the rules of deportment just as well as I do.”

  Amelia toed the rug with her slipper, her eyes stubbornly downcast. “Papa says that because Lucy isn’t of the gentry—”

  Sophie cut her off with a snap of her fingers. “You shouldn’t repeat such nonsense, Amelia.” Her voice was so stern that Lucy eyed her curiously. Why would Sophie say such a thing? Whatever was the matter?

  “Amelia, Louisa, we shall settle this matter later. Sophie has a chance to take a trip with her aunt, and we will not begrudge her the opportunity. Now, shoo.” Lucy flicked her hands at both girls, flushing them toward the doorway. “Your dancing master awaits your presence down in the ballroom.”

  As both girls retreated, Lucy shut the door behind them. Now she would have an opportunity to get to the heart of the matter. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face Sophie. “Why did you shush Amelia so sharply?”

  Sophie colored to the roots of her golden hair. “She was about to say something rather rude—or so I feared.”

  “Rude? In what way? I know full well that I am not of the gentry.” Lucy sank onto the chair opposite Sophie and cocked her head to one side. Both girls were a little spirited, to be sure—but hardly ever outright offensive. They were too well bred for that.

  “I know, but what she was going to say was far too impolite toward you.” Sophie pursed her lips, her brilliant blue eyes clouding a bit. “You see, his lordship has a silly notion that because you grew up in an orphanage you don’t know the finer points of etiquette or how to move in society. That is why, even though I am a seamstress, he placed me in charge of Amelia’s debut.”

  Lucy’s stomach sank like a stone. Of course his lordship felt that way. After all, Sophie’s father was Sir Hugh Handley, and they had a grand family home before they fell prey to bankruptcy. Even though Sophie had no money, she was of gentle birth and breeding. But even before Lucy lost both of her parents to gaol fever, she had no grand roots. Her father was nought but a humble preacher. And he preached to the least of them—prison inmates.

  ’Twas a background that hardly qualified her for socializing with the ton.

  Some of her conflicting emotions must have showed on her face, for Sophie leaned forward and hugged her. “Don’t worry, Lucy,” she soothed. “I’ve told his lordship that you are more than qualified to take over. And I insisted that you, and no one else, escort Amelia to the Assembly Rooms ball next week.”

  “I am not angry or upset.” Lucy extricated herself from Sophie’s embrace, a cold feeling settling at the pit of her stomach. She could well understand why her employer would hold those beliefs about her, even if they weren’t true. It hurt, of course, to have Lord Bradbury say such things about her, but what could she do? That was how their world worked. And though she might be clever enough to teach his children, his lordship would never think of her as a gentlewoman.

  Unbidden, an image of Ensign Rowland flashed across her mind. He was of impoverished nobility, much like Sophie. To his family, just like Lord Bradbury’s family, she would be labeled an outcast. No matter how clever she was, how hard she worked or even how genteel her deportment might be, their perceptions of her would hardly change.

  Whatever did that matter? She had no designs on Ensign Rowland, nor had he designs on her. His family, wherever they were, could rest easily.

  Taking a deep breath, she looked Sophie squarely in the eye. “I shall be happy to take Amelia to the Assembly Rooms ball if his lordship will consent to me acting as a chaperone. I daresay I can be trusted not to spit on the floor, nor chew on straw whilst we are there.” A thread of bitterness ran through her tone, and she masked it with a little laugh.

  “I appreciate your help, Lucy. And I told his lordship on no uncertain terms that you are far more to be praised for how well his daughters have turned out as I am. After all, you’ve been with them for years. I’ve only been working with Amelia for a few months.” Sophi
e rose. “Excuse me, dear. I must begin packing.”

  Lucy held herself together until the door clicked shut behind Sophie. Then, pillowing her head on her arm, she allowed herself one good cry. It had been a difficult day after all. The way in which the Bradburys interfered with her life, and judged her past, made matters worse. What would Ensign Rowland think of all this? She blew her nose on her embroidered handkerchief.

  And why did she keep thinking about the ensign and what his thoughts would be? She was as insignificant to him as a dust mote on a bookshelf. Now, more than ever, she understood her place in this world. She must continue to take care of herself and to make her own way in the world.

  With both parents dead and no family to speak of—not to mention her background in the orphanage—she could rely on no one but herself.

  *

  Ensign Rowland let himself into the humble flat he shared with Macready. He paused in the doorway, hanging his hat on the nearby wall hook and removed his gloves. He’d spent all day working on his lordship’s library. This one commission could make his career. As it was, he’d be earning enough money that he could, if he wanted, move into his own flat. He could hire his own housekeeper. For the first time in his life, he would be completely independent.

  He tossed his gloves into a little wicker basket Mrs. Pierce kept by the door. It could actually be nice to have a home of one’s own. Nothing grand, of course. Just something modest and cozy that he could kit out with furniture he made by his own hand. A sudden image of Miss Lucy Williams flitted across his mind. It could be more like a home than just a bachelor’s quarters. And in time, maybe he could share it with…

  Enough of this nonsense. He ran his hand through his hair, tousling it as though the gesture could drive Lucy from his mind forever. She didn’t care a whit about him. Why, in the library today, she’d been as frosty as a snowflake. When would he accept that she had no personal feelings for him and that she’d only wanted to help him, as a Good Samaritan would help anyone?