Lily George

by Healing the Soldier's Heart

  She glanced speculatively at her friend. “How are you going to tell his lordship no? I would never, ever want to defy that man. He’s generous, but I think he would be a terrible adversary. Isn’t he coming up to see you this evening? What do you propose to do?” She had a sneaking suspicion that her diplomacy and tact would be called upon in the near future.

  “I’m leaving.” Sophie threw off the coverlet and rose.

  “Where are you going?” Lucy stared at her friend, her mouth dropping open.

  “I’m going home to Tansley, where I belong. I’m leaving right now through the back door. And don’t you breathe a word of this to Lord Anthony.” Sophie scurried about, changing out of her chemise and into a dark wool riding habit. “I’ll take one small bag with me so that I can travel quickly. You can have the rest of my clothes.” Sophie opened a carpet bag and tossed a few garments inside.

  Lucy leaped from the bed and knelt beside her on the floor. She was losing the only friend besides James that she had in Bath. That was deeply troubling on its own, but there was more at stake here than Lucy’s comfort. Sophie’s very safety could be at risk if she left without taking adequate preparations. “Sophie, are you mad? There is no way for you to travel alone. Have a little sense. At least stay the night and start fresh in the morning.”

  “I have my own money. I shall hire a yellow bounder and leave right away.”

  Sophie wasn’t thinking clearly. There was no way that Lucy would allow Sophie to leave in this state of mind and on such a long journey alone. “If you do that, I shall tell Lord Anthony. Right now.” Lucy stood and walked over to the door. “It’s simply not safe for any young woman to travel alone.”

  “Botheration, are you on his side or mine?” Sophie snapped.

  “Neither. But I would never forgive myself if you were harmed, Sophie.” Lucy’s hand rested on the doorknob. Her heart pounded in her chest. She’d never defied anyone this openly, but she couldn’t stand aside and watch her friend get hurt.

  Sophie sat back on her heels. “Stop. Don’t tell him. I shall think of another way.” She paused for a moment, her brows drawing together. “I shall leave right away and go see my aunt Katherine, and she and I will arrange my travel together.”

  Lucy removed her hand from the doorknob. If Sophie was traveling with family, then that would be all right. Certainly safer than going alone. “That’s more sensible. She will travel with you or send a servant.”

  Sophie finished her packing and then turned to Lucy. “Will you find a way to tell Louisa and Amelia that I am all right and that I send my love? Without alerting Lord Anthony, of course.”

  Lucy nodded, her brows drawing together. That would not be an easy conversation. Sophie was so adored by both of the girls. “I don’t relish the task, but I will.”

  Sophie opened the drawer of her dresser and withdrew a leather pouch. She weighed it in one hand and looked at Lucy.

  “I pawned the bracelet Lord Anthony gave me.”

  Lucy nodded. “Yes, I know.” The bracelet, like her pearl necklace, had been the talk of the servants’ hall for many weeks.

  “Do you think that the money I received from pawning the bracelet is mine? Or should I give it back to his lordship?”

  Lucy paused for a moment, giving the matter some thought. It was a rather heavy moral issue. “Why did you sell the bracelet, Sophie? For material gain?”

  “No. I sold it because it seemed like such a fetter. Even then I was being tied to Lord Anthony in a way I disliked. I was going to use the funds to make clothes for the widows and children of the veterans’ fund. I never had a chance to do so.”

  “Oh, Sophie.” Lucy came over and folded her in a warm embrace. “Of course, it’s yours. I would keep it and do whatever I want with it. Lord Anthony has plenty of money, and besides, he gave that gift to you. It was yours to keep.”

  “Then this is what I want you to do. After I am gone—several days after I am gone, in fact—I want you to take the money to Charlie and say it is an anonymous gift for the widows. Then, if you don’t mind, try working with the women to create a sort of sewing class or ladies’ group—one that would allow its members to sew dresses for each other.”

  Lucy accepted the leather pouch from Sophie and opened it. “My goodness, there is enough money in here to feed and clothe several families for a year or more. Sophie, are you sure you want me to do this without telling Charlie anything?”

  “Do not tell him it came from me.” Sophie hefted her valise in one hand. “When I came to Bath I had every intention of striking out on my own. And over these few months, I have failed at every turn. I failed with Charlie and now with Lord Anthony. I have barely begun to shepherd Amelia through the rigors of a London season. And I never had a chance to do anything for the widows.” She patted Lucy on the shoulder and crossed to the door. “Perhaps if I stay far removed from it, the Widows of Waterloo will become a success.”

  “Sophie, don’t feel that way. None of this is your fault.” Lucy’s eyes burned with unshed tears. It was so difficult to see Sophie leaving. But then, feeling as she did, there was no other choice.

  Sophie blew her a kiss. “I shall write when I get settled at Brookes Park.”

  And then she was gone. Lucy blinked back the tears that pricked at her eyelids. There was nothing to do but allow Sophie to go back home. Perhaps in the comfort and security of her family, Sophie would find peace. She deserved it. She was such a sweet girl.

  Lucy weighed the leather pouch full of coins in her hand. She certainly had her work cut out for her over the next few weeks. Telling the girls would be a stroll in the park compared to telling Lieutenant Cantrill that Sophie was gone. He likely wouldn’t believe her unless she told him everything, which meant finding a way to inform him that Lord Bradbury had tried to make Sophie his mistress. Not to mention that Lord Bradbury would probably have her hide if he found that she’d helped Sophie leave without his knowledge. And then, sometime in the next few days, James’s mother and sister would be arriving from their cottage in Essex.

  Lucy trudged back over to Sophie’s bed and sank down onto its plump, soft surface. However would she make it through? She bowed her head and prayed for the strength to carry herself with dignity. After all, if Papa could minister in prison wards, then she could face down a few aristocrats.

  *

  “So, have your mother and sister arrived yet?” Macready inquired as he entered the parlor of James’s new home. “Have I missed anything important?”

  “N-not yet.” James waved Macready over to a chair. “G-good of you to c-come t-tonight. It makes things easier, having your support.”

  Macready sat and glanced at James with mirth twinkling in the depths of his black eyes. “So you think your mother won’t create a scene whilst I am here? You have that much faith in her innate breeding and tact?” He chuckled, rubbing his hands together. “So what are you worried about?”

  Everything. Nothing. It was all so complicated. “Mother won’t like that I am w-working with my hands,” he admitted. “She still cclings to the nnotion that our family n-name m-means something. She probably d-daydreams that we should have a home of our own on the C-Crescent.”

  “And instead, her only son is building a library for a lord in a townhome on the Crescent,” Macready finished. The corner of his mouth quirked ruefully. “I don’t envy you that conversation.”

  “I haven’t t-told her about L-Lucy either,” he added. His nerves were so shot that he no longer cared if he kept his feelings about her a secret. Certainly it wouldn’t hurt to tell Macready that they were, for all intents and purposes, engaged. After all, Macready had suspected something was afoot from the very first moment James laid eyes on Lucy.

  “I am sure your mother will find her delightful—as we all do,” Macready said gallantly—a trifle too heartily, as well. Again, jealousy pierced James like a particularly cunning arrow. After all, Macready was handsome and wellborn and quite jolly to be around—much more so
than he. ’Twas entirely possible that someone as sweet and delightful as Lucy would prefer Macready over him.

  A knock sounded on the door, sparing James the necessity of a response. His new housekeeper, Mrs. Peyton, would answer it. He was used to getting his own door, but now he could afford a servant or two. And having a few people in service would help show Mother that he was getting on in the world.

  “That’s probably your family.” Macready ran a finger under his collar, loosening it a bit. “I’m already nervous for you, old fellow.”

  Nervous wasn’t precisely the right word for how he felt. This was worse than getting a poor mark in school and having to show it to his parents when he got home. This was more like trying to put back something you’d taken and getting caught in the process. Just like when he was a boy and got caught replacing Father’s pipe in the humidor after taking one sickening puff.

  The parlor door opened, and Mrs. Peyton admitted his guests. Mother drifted in, pale and faded yet still lovely—rather like a worn lace curtain buffeted by a breeze. Mary followed behind, her bonnet completely obscuring her bowed head.

  “M-M-M-M…” He hadn’t stammered this badly in months. He couldn’t even cease stammering long enough to try a new word. This was disastrous. His throat worked painfully, but only a series of gasps pushed their way out. He flicked a pained glance at Macready, who was staring openly at Mary. Perfect. Just when he needed help most, Macready’s mind was obviously elsewhere.

  “James, my son.” Mother’s aristocratic features registered resignation at his plight. “Don’t try to speak. I know how difficult it is for you.” She bestowed a kiss on his cheek, then turned to survey the room. “My, what a cozy place this is.”

  He knew that tone of voice. It was her “I am disappointed, but hiding it” tone of voice. His hackles began to rise, ever so slightly. The little cottage wasn’t as big as his lordship’s home in the Crescent, but it was certainly bigger than Mother’s place in Essex.

  Mary, blushing hotly under Macready’s scrutiny, embraced her brother warmly. “J-James, d-darling, how g-good to see you again.”

  He nodded, the painful lump in his throat still rendering any attempt at speech impossible. It was good to see Mary again, too. She’d always softened Mother’s sharp edges.

  Mother turned to Macready. “How good to see you again, sir.”

  He bowed over her hand with extravagant courtesy. “It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Rowland.”

  Mother laughed into her fine linen handkerchief, which had been mended a few times over. “Do you know, sir, that you and I are the only ones here who can converse without stammering most dreadfully? I vow, it shall remain our duty to keep the flow of conversation from ebbing.”

  And there it was. The iron fist in the velvet glove. He had forgotten how Mother’s barbed comments could flick on a raw wound. Mary uttered a pained little cry beside him, and the sound gave him the courage to speak.

  “M-M-Mother.” He stopped to clear his throat. “M-Mary and I shall d-do our p-part as w-well.”

  “I’m sure you will try, the pair of you. But honestly, it can take a very long time for you to finish the simplest utterance.” Mother’s voice was soft and her blue eyes grew wide and pleading. As though she were trying to calm a recalcitrant child. “Now, where should we lay our things?”

  Frustration welled within him along with the old urge to chuck something breakable against the wall, but he quelled it with some effort. “M-M-Mrs. P-Peyton will show you t-to your rooms.” He rang the bell.

  “How fortunate that you have a servant, though it hardly seems necessary in a house as small as this.” Mother waved her hand about the room with a languid smile.

  “I think it’s p-pretty,” Mary rejoined stoutly, giving James the old “chin up” look they used to share.

  “It’s certainly better than my old flat.” Macready joined in with a hearty laugh. “I don’t even have my own servant. I share one with Lieutenant Cantrill.”

  “Ah! Lieutenant Cantrill.” Mother dropped her hand and nodded at Macready. “Now there is a young man who came back from the war horribly disfigured and yet has made quite a bit out of his life despite the unfortunate circumstances.” Mother shot a knowing look at James. “You should follow his example, my son.”

  “Well, I don’t know that Cantrill’s family would agree with you.” Macready, always game for a fight, took up the reins with alacrity. “His own mother came here not long ago, begging him to live in a style more suitable to their family’s standards.”

  “Well, we mothers worry,” Mother simpered. “It’s hard to understand you boys once you enter the military—how very fundamentally it changes you.”

  “And I am thankful for it.” Hot anger singed through James, burning its way through his stammer.

  “Why, James—” Mother began, but the door to the parlor creaked open, admitting Mrs. Peyton.

  “P-p-please show my g-guests to their rooms,” he murmured, running his hand through his hair. He was tired already, and Mother hadn’t been here more than a few moments.

  Mrs. Peyton nodded and beckoned to Mother and Mary to follow her. As the door clicked shut behind them, Macready turned to James, a rueful grin twisting his face. “It’s going to be a long visit.”

  “Yes,” James admitted with a sigh. “B-but Lucy is worth it.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I cannot believe Sophie has gone. I refuse to believe it.” Amelia jumped up from her spot on Lucy’s bed and walked over to the window. “She would never leave without saying goodbye.”

  “I’m afraid she had to leave in rather a hurry.” Lucy followed Amelia and laid her palm gently on her charge’s shaking shoulders.

  “Why?” Louisa piped up from her spot on Lucy’s settee. “Why did she have to leave so quickly that she couldn’t even say farewell?”

  Lucy hesitated a moment. How could she tell Louisa and Amelia that their Sophie had left because their beloved father made an improper proposal to her? A proposal she rejected? No, it was impossible. She must spare their feelings—and their innocence—a bit longer.

  “There was a personal emergency that required Sophie to leave at once. Because time was so urgent, she did not have a chance to stay and bid an adieu to you two. But she did beg me to tell you both how much she loves you.”

  Amelia turned from the window, wiping her eyes with her fingertips. “Of course. I know I shouldn’t be so selfish, but I shall miss her dreadfully.” Lucy handed her a handkerchief from the freshly laundered stack in her chest of drawers. “Thank you, Lucy.” She blew her nose gustily.

  Lucy was buffeted on a sea of emotions. Her stable world had changed so much in the past few months. Her days used to be so simple, so predictable. Schoolroom work in the mornings, afternoons for lesson plans, Thursdays and Sundays to herself for reading and sewing. She expected nothing more of the world—for the world had nothing more to offer her. And then, in the space of a few weeks, she’d made and lost a friend in Sophie. She’d started working with the poor children of the veterans’ group. She’d met James and come to care for him more than she should ever allow herself to care for another human being.

  “I wish everything weren’t so topsy-turvy,” she sighed and sank onto the settee beside Louisa.

  “Are you quite all right, Lucy? It’s not like you to speak so.” Louisa’s brows drew together with concern. “Usually you are so brisk and cheerful.”

  “I don’t feel brisk and cheerful. Not anymore.” She pursed her lips. She shouldn’t speak so. The girls were not her confidantes, after all. Everything was just overwhelming at the moment. She’d never even had a chance to tell Sophie about James’s proposal or his mother’s impending visit. And now Sophie had gone home with rather dreadful problems of her own. To whom could she confide?

  Never before, not even in the orphanage, had she felt so unbearably alone.

  She must snap out of this.

  “Shall we go for a walk? Perhaps a stroll near the C
ircus would help to revive our flagging spirits,” she suggested, rising and stretching her arms.

  “No, thank you. I shall stay and write a letter to Sophie,” Amelia demurred. “Will you post it? Do you know her address?”

  “She promised to write when she is settled,” Lucy said, opening her closet and rummaging for her bonnet. “But I am sure we can just direct it to her in Tansley village. It’s a small place, and I daresay there’s only one Sophie Handley living there.” She tied her bonnet strings under her chin and drew on her gloves. “Louisa? Are you coming?”

  “Yes, I will come with you.” Louisa rose from the settee and walked over to the door. “I’ll meet you outside, Lucy. I need to find my bonnet and pelisse.”

  Lucy nodded. After Louisa and Amelia left her room, she hastened downstairs and out the front door. The cool breeze caressed her skin and caused her bonnet strings to dance. The leaves on the trees were beginning to fade from vibrant green to earthy oranges and yellows. Soon, fall would come. And what would it bring? Glad tidings or emptiness? She shivered a little. She should have brought her shawl.

  The crunch of boot steps on the brick sidewalk made her glance up. James was fast approaching, his head down, his features obscured by the brim of his hat. Goodness, whatever was he doing here? They weren’t supposed to work on the library until the morrow. She cast a hasty glance up at the house. Louisa had not descended yet.

  Lucy scurried down the walkway to meet him. “James?”

  He glanced up and halted when he spied her running his way. “Lucy.” As she drew near, he grasped her arm and drew her close to his side, planting a kiss on her cheek that made her toes curl in her boots.

  “Whatever’s come over you?” She glanced over her shoulder. If Louisa saw that kiss—

  “Mother’s here,” he announced, his emerald green eyes staring down at her with an intensity that made her catch her breath.

  Well, of course she was there. She had been due to arrive any day now. After all, James had invited her. And yet, why did the news make Lucy feel as though she’d been knocked from her horse?