“Books for the children,” she murmured. “I want to start teaching here at the veterans’ group meetings.” She looked up at him, her brows drawing together in confusion. “Why are you here? Aren’t you working most mornings now?”
“F-Felton has g-given me leave to attend the m-meetings. I’ve mmissed them. And it’s a g-good opportunity to s-see you.” He grinned like a mischievous boy, an endearing grin that made her smile back. “A school, you s-say? That’s a g-good idea.”
Warmth glowed through her at his approval. It was nice to be able to confide in him. Why, if they were married, they could meet just like this, walk home in the evenings, share their trials and troubles over dinner in a cozy flat. The mere thought of it filled her with longing. Perhaps—perhaps—he was right. Maybe everything could work out, and they could marry. She briefly explained her idea of a school to him, and he nodded in approval.
“I think it’s s-something the children n-need. And what’s m-more, you’re a g-gifted t-teacher. You should use your g-gift to help others.” Instead of leading her inside, however, he steered her over to the willow tree in the side courtyard. “We’ll join them in a mmoment,” he muttered, pulling her close. “B-but I wanted to let you know I wrote to my family. I am sure M-Mother and M-Mary will join me within a fortnight.”
“A fortnight?” It seemed so soon and yet so long to endure. She allowed herself to rest her head on his shoulder, breathing deeply. The fine linen of his shirtfront rubbed against her cheek, and she closed her eyes. He smelled of shaving soap, a citrusy scent that made her think of the tartness of limeade. Sitting here like this, she could almost believe they would be wed.
“And I have m-more p-plans.” He rubbed his chin against the crown of her hair. “Lord B-Bradbury’s already recommended m-me to some of his c-cronies. I have garnered t-two more c-commissions in the past three days. F-Felton’s given me his approval to keep going with these jobs. So I am m-making inquiries to find a home. Our home.”
She drew back, staring up at him with widened eyes. “Our home?”
“I c-can’t have M-Mother and M-Mary stay with me and Macready anyway,” he teased in a light tone. “B-but it’s something I’ve b-been thinking of for a long t-time. A nice little house of our own. W-will you help me choose one?”
“I don’t know.” She braced herself against his shoulder. First, she was allowing him to court her. Now, he was asking for her help in choosing a home? If she helped him to select a place to live, would she be opening herself up to more heartache later when his mother disapproved? Very likely so, no matter what James said. No, it was better not to even involve herself in the search for a new house.
She stole a glance up at James’s strong profile. He was determined, and he was stubborn. If she said no, flatly, then it would anger him or even hurt him. So it was better to find a different, truthful answer to give him now until this inevitable farce played to the bitter end.
“I’d rather it be a surprise,” she murmured.
He looked down at her, a flicker of amusement in his dark green eyes. She’d forgotten that James was also very, very smart. He said nothing, but a wry grin twisted the corner of his mouth.
“Very well, a s-surprise it shall b-be.” He patted her shoulder. “We’d b-better go in. It looks like rain.”
She pulled away from him and rose, shaking out her skirts. “I did want to say congratulations on your commissions,” she admitted, tucking her hand into his elbow. “I knew you would do splendid work at Felton’s. I peeked into the library yesterday, and I must say it’s looking quite wonderful. Those barrister bookcases are so elegant.”
James smiled. “I would never have g-gotten started without your help.”
She said nothing, but it was hard to tamp down the happiness that welled within her. Even if they never married—even if she never saw him again—James was going to be fine. He had come so far from the lanky young man who couldn’t speak two words to most people. Now, he spoke to almost everyone, with merely the hint of a stammer. He was gaining acclaim for his work with Felton. He was moving out of the flat he shared with Macready.
He was going to make some girl very happy some day. Even if the girl in question wasn’t Lucy Williams.
*
It felt good to be part of the veterans’ group again. James had never been active in the group and had kept to the outskirts of the meetings whenever he’d shown up before, certain that the other veterans scorned him for his lack of courage under fire. And yet, as he entered the narthex today, several of them called out to him in greeting. His work with Felton was the talk of the men, many of whom were looking for work themselves.
“It does me good to hear that another bloke is doing well,” a grizzled old veteran laughed, slapping James on the back. “It gives me hope for the future.”
Cantrill was nowhere to be found, which was too bad. He must be in Brightgate visiting his family still. James missed the lieutenant, who, along with Macready and Lucy, had been among the few who cared enough to help break down his defenses and try to help him.
He settled into a pew, giving a brief backward glance to the group of women and children settled near the back of the chapel. Lucy had gathered a group of children off to one side and was reading aloud to them. Judging by their rapt expressions, she had them completely enamored. He couldn’t suppress a grin at the reminder of how smitten he had been when she met him under the willow tree and read from the book of poetry.
Macready limped in and settled onto the bench beside him. “Well, I found a place for you to let. Not that I’m eager to run you off. But as I was on my way over, I turned down a side street and there it was. A charming little house on York Street. The sign in the window read, ‘to let.’ So I knocked on the door and obtained the information for you in case you are interested.”
“Well d-done.” He unfolded the scrap of foolscap Macready handed him and scanned its contents. “S-sizable rooms, s-serviceable k-k-kitchen. D-does it have a g-garden?”
“Yes, a very pretty one in front with flowers and what looked to be a vegetable garden behind. I hate to lose you as a roommate, but I was tempted to take it myself. It’s made of stone, nice sturdy slate roof, as pleasant a little home as you can imagine. I think even your mother would find it suitable.” Macready laughed and waggled his eyebrows.
“You should just b-be happy that I am leaving so you d-don’t have to endure my relatives,” he rejoined crisply, mostly joking. True, Mother could be hard to take. But Mary? His sister was a sweet soul, always had been. “You will c-c-come and c-c-call while they’re here, w-won’t you? B-but you must p-p-promise you’ll at least b-be kind to Mary. She’s a g-good g-girl. Like m-me, she stammers. Her m-marriage p-p-prospects because of it aren’t very h-hopeful.”
“I promise not to be a bore,” Macready replied, solemnly crossing his heart. “The place is furnished except for a few bits and pieces. I told the agent you’d probably stop by this afternoon.”
Thunder rumbled, dulled by the thickness of the church walls, joined soon thereafter by the patter of raindrops against the windowpanes. “I’ll g-go, but I must g-get a hackney. And we’ll t-take Lucy home, t-too. She walked here with a satchel full of b-books. I don’t want her to g-get soaked.”
Macready nodded his assent, and they both turned their attention to the meeting. Reverend Stephens conducted the gathering, leading the men in prayer. When the meeting drew to a close, the reverend beckoned James over, a kind smile on his face.
“I am so glad to see you again, Ensign. Did Felton let you have the morning off?”
“He d-did. He feels the g-group d-does fine things for the c-community, and so he insisted I return to the m-meetings.” James shook the reverend’s hand. “And I owe you a d-debt of g-gratitude, as well. Our c-conversation the other d-day was a turning point for m-me. I am b-becoming a new m-man.”
The reverend nodded. “Well, there was nothing wrong with the old one except a tendency not to forgive.”
/> “Thank y-you again.” With those words, James bowed to the reverend and went to the back of the church to collect Lucy. Perhaps the reverend would be officiating at their wedding before long.
Several of the children clustered around Lucy, pulling at her long skirts with grubby hands. She smiled at each one of them so lovingly, so patiently, where other women would have been politely horrified at the damage to their gowns. “I promise we will continue our lessons every week,” she told them firmly in that musical voice of hers. “Now that I know how many of you there are and what you like to read and learn, next week will be even better. I promise.”
She glanced up, her brown eyes twinkling as James approached.
“It l-looks like your s-s-school is a s-s-success,” he stammered. How pretty Lucy was when she was confident and happy. When she wasn’t deliberately walling herself off from other people. He would spend the rest of his life trying to keep that delighted expression on her face.
“Yes, it is.” The children’s parents clustered around, gathering up their progeny and thanking Lucy for her help. He helped her to gather her books in her worn leather satchel until the church was finally emptied of the families who ventured out into the pouring rain.
“Macready and I are rrenting a hackney. C-come, let us escort you home,” he said when they finally had a moment to themselves.
“A hack? Oh, goodness, how kind you are. I did not relish the prospect of walking home in this downpour,” she replied with a happy chuckle.
Macready joined them in the vestibule. “I’ve already called for the hack,” he replied, indicating his damp clothes with a wave of his hand. “As you can see—even just waiting outside for one was a bit of a soak.”
“M-Macready, d-don’t think you’ve m-m-met Miss Williams.” James set about making the introductions as calmly as he could. Macready and his gift of Irish gab—he’d have to be careful and not allow his comrade to say too much. Lucy was so easily embarrassed and so determined not to be thought of as anyone but a governess. Certainly not James’s sweetheart.
“I apologize, I didn’t catch your rank,” Lucy replied sweetly, curtsying before Macready. “I want to make sure I address you correctly. I know how important that is to military men.”
Macready’s thin face broke into a wide grin. “Oh, tosh, Miss Williams. You may call me plain old Macready. It’s how all of my friends address me.”
“Very well then. How do you do, Macready?” Lucy smiled. A dart of jealousy shot through James. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the way Macready was looking at Lucy. As though she were a sweet, ripe apple and he was hungry for a bite. James offered her his elbow, asserting his place once more.
“Shall we g-go?” Blast his stammer. He was learning to live with it, but surely as the sun set in the west, it would pop up at the worst times. And standing next to Macready, with his fluent speech and his gift of complimenting the ladies, made James’s deficiencies stand out in bold relief.
“Yes, of course.” Lucy tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, her gentle brown eyes shining up at him.
They exited the side door and rushed down the steps. The hack stood patiently down at the foot of the stairs, but even with the carriage ready and waiting, the chilly rain drenched them all to the skin. He bundled Lucy inside and leaped in after her, Macready close on his heels. Macready slapped the side of the carriage before he shut the door, and the hack took off.
Lucy settled on the bench, laughing and wiping the raindrops off her cheeks with her gloved hands. “Oh, dear. I cannot tell you how thrilled I am that you gentlemen were willing to share this ride. I would have had to wait inside until a break in the storm.”
“We’re only too glad to help,” Macready chimed in, before James could say anything. “What do you do with the veterans’ group, Miss Williams?”
“Well, I am a governess for Lord Bradbury’s daughters, and I am assisting the group by reading to the children,” she explained, peeling off her sodden gloves. “I hope someday to teach the children the rudiments of reading and writing. Perhaps a little basic arithmetic.”
“Excellent. I know you’ll do a superb job. Rowland here speaks quite highly of you.”
James slanted a warning glance at his friend as the color rose in Lucy’s cheeks. Macready turned to less potentially dangerous topics, maintaining a pleasant stream of chatter as they rolled toward the Crescent. Even James was able to dart in a comment here and there. As the carriage pulled up in front of his lordship’s impressive townhome, James helped Lucy out and escorted her to the back door.
Rejoining his friend in the carriage, he noted Macready’s pensive, almost meditative air. He rested, his chin in his hands, and stared out the window at the driving rain. “You know, Rowland, the bachelor life is quite losing its charm for me,” he muttered after a long pause. “Like you, I think I am ready to settle down.”
James clenched his jaw and said nothing. A suspicion, strong as black coffee, washed over him. Lucy made Macready doubt the bachelor lifestyle. He’d have to watch his comrade and his easy charm. Not that Lucy was the type of girl who was easily swayed—but still.
He was releasing most of his self-hatred. He was coming to accept his past and he now believed he could move on from his actions. But the old insecurities were slow to loosen their hold. Part of him still believed that Lucy could do better—that a stronger, braver man could make her happier. He would have to be wary lest some such man sought to steal her away. Caution was a virtue when happiness was so close.
Chapter Fifteen
Lucy hesitated before Sophie’s door. Servants’ gossip was just servants’ gossip—but still. The house was abuzz with titillating details about what had transpired between Sophie and his lordship that morning. They’d been seen leaving the house together in his lordship’s carriage; Sophie was wearing a prized pearl necklace that had last been seen in the window of a very exclusive jeweler in Bath. And the pair of them had just returned not two hours ago with Sophie swooning on his lordship’s shoulder. Of course, the ready excuse was that Sophie was hungry and exhausted and had succumbed to a fainting fit. But everyone in the house, from the scullery maid to his lordship’s impassive butler, knew the truth. His lordship had made a certain offer to Sophie—but not an offer of marriage.
Or at least, that was the gist of things. The cook had spilled all the details out to Lucy over luncheon preparations. And if all of this were true, it would explain why Sophie was holed up in her room, hiding from everyone. Lucy stole up the stairs, her mind whirling at the news. She’d suspected that his lordship harbored some kind of affection for Sophie—indeed, what man wouldn’t? Sophie was so lovely. And Sophie had grown up in wealth and luxury, at least until her father’s death. Would she be willing to bankrupt her very soul and become Lord Bradbury’s mistress? Such an action would assuredly bring her the material comforts she’d been missing.
Lucy paused outside Sophie’s door. Though they were close in age, Lucy felt older than Sophie by years. She had been awakened to the harsh realities of life much quicker than Sophie, and had no family to back her as Sophie had. She had a responsibility to nurture Sophie and direct her on the right path. And yet, if Sophie suspected that Lucy was acting as her elder sister, she might just as easily balk and agree to become Lord Bradbury’s mistress out of pique. For there was nothing that Sophie disliked more than being told what to do.
No. She’d have to pretend to support Lord Bradbury. She’d have to show Sophie only the sensible aspects of becoming his mistress. And Sophie, who hated being preached to—rightly or wrongly—would then choose the right course of action.
Lucy knocked briefly and then let herself in. She squared her shoulders and assumed a look of practical nonchalance. “You look rather mutinous, Sophie. I fear that doesn’t portend well for Lord Anthony.”
“Would you have me stay in Bath and be his mistress?” Sophie snapped, sitting up sharply from her nest of pillows.
Lucy tilted her hea
d to one side, considering Sophie’s situation. Now was the time to dictate all the supposed benefits of mistresshood. After all, there might be some good to be had from that kind of security. “Well, he would protect you. And you would be set up for life. He’s very generous—the way he treats his daughters, the high pay he lavishes on all the servants—he would never be stingy or mean.”
“He offered to set me up as a modiste. With my own townhome,” Sophie admitted, plucking at the fringe of her coverlet.
Lucy’s heart lurched. Was Sophie actually considering it? Her plan was going awry—she must lay on the sensible aspects with a trowel. “You see? You would never have a care in the world. And just think, Sophie. After turning down two marriage proposals and losing out with Charlie Cantrill, this may well be the best offer you will ever have. So why do you look like a thundercloud? Surely this is a wonderful bit of luck. You have nothing to lose by becoming his mistress.” Though the words choked her a bit, she steadied her voice and offered Sophie a brisk smile.
“I would lose my self-respect. I would lose everything. My life would be just like that vacant townhome he showed me today—beautiful but empty. I don’t love him. And I won’t debase myself by entering into a relationship with him that cannot be sanctified.”
Ah, there it was. Sophie knew she’d lose any sense of self she had if she agreed to Lord Bradbury’s terms. Lucy eyed her closely. Sophie’s mind was set, surely. But just to be sure, Lucy fired her last set of arrows. “But what of Louisa and Amelia? You could become like a second mother to both of them. They both adore you so.”
“I love them too, but I cannot be a second mother to those girls when I am a courtesan to their father.”
Lucy sat back and suppressed a wide grin. What a relief. Sophie had an honest and honorable heart, but she was also accustomed to a very different life than that of a seamstress. The temptations of a secure situation of greater luxury than she would ever be likely to earn on her own must have been powerful indeed. How good to know that Sophie’s higher principles had held strong.
Lily George Page 13
