Sweet Summer Kisses

by Erin Knightley

  “It’s getting harder to remember a time before you, and it hasn’t been six months since the Ascot race meeting.”

  “I would much rather remember each minute with you than any time that you weren’t there.” Susan turned her face to him and kissed him again briefly. “Husband. It’s such a delightful word to say.”

  “Lady Knightwick. Wife. Which do you prefer?”

  She appeared to consider the question. “Wife, I believe. But only until we can add Mama. Then I will be happy to answer to all three.”

  Squeezing her hand, he pressed his lips to hers and continued to show her his love until the carriage stopped. “We are here, wife. We will continue this later.”

  She sighed. “If you insist, husband. My only desire is to please you.”

  Susan managed to maintain a polite expression for only a moment, before she burst out laughing at the folly.

  “You do please me. You please me very well. I love you, Susan, and pledge my life to showing you how much.”

  About the Author

  USA Today Bestselling Author Aileen Fish is an avid quilter and auto racing fan who finds there aren't enough hours in a day/week/lifetime to stay up with her "to do" list. There is always another quilt or story begging to steal away attention from the others. When she has a spare moment she enjoys spending time with her two daughters and their families, and her fairy princess granddaughter. Her books include The Bridgethorpe Brides series and the Small Town Sweethearts series.

  Stay up to date with book releases at her website http://aileenfish.com or on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/AileenFishAuthor

  A Most Suitable Match

  A Brides of Waterloo Novella

  Lily George

  Copyright © 2015 by:

  Lily George

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  This book was built at IndieWrites.com. Visit us on Facebook.

  Chapter 1

  “All right, children. Well done! We are finished for the day.” Louisa Bradbury beamed at the motley assortment of pupils in her care, some wearing garments that spoke all too eloquently of the poverty their families faced, others slightly better dressed. “You may put away your books and slates now.”

  Her students scuffled and shifted, tucking their primers and sundries away, the lids emitting squeaks of protest as they opened and shut the rough wooden desks. Louisa gave a quick glance to her reflection in the looking-glass that hung above her cloak and bonnet pegs. Good—her long brown hair was still coiled neatly on the top of her head, and her brown eyes still held a merry light. Papa needn’t complain that she was working too hard as a teacher when she looked neat as a pin.

  But just for good measure, she gave her cheeks a quick pinch. Now her face looked positively glowing, perfect for tea en famille.

  As she turned from the mirror, her students stood expectantly by their desks, awaiting their dismissal. She couldn’t suppress the smile that crept across her face. They were such darlings, every last one of them. Teaching them, especially those who had lost fathers and brothers, or those who faced stark poverty such as she had never known, was really a blessing from God. Without this school, founded by her former governess Lucy Williams, she would still be just a feather-pated ninny. Her biggest concern would be the next ball or assembly. As a teacher, she was actually teaching children to read and to write.

  “You may go. I shall see you tomorrow,” she pronounced. Her students turned, almost as one body, and lunged for the door. As they opened it, a young man stepped back in bemused bewilderment, his eyes opened wide. He flattened himself against the corridor wall and watched, his head swiveling to follow the students as they surged out the door.

  As the classroom emptied, the stranger turned to face her. Louisa caught her breath. What a handsome fellow he was, with his dark hair clipped close to his head. And arresting blue eyes too. Something about the way he carried himself spoke of a military background, perhaps? The set of his shoulders certainly belied strength. This was not a man who spent his days at White’s and his nights in a ballroom. That much was certain.

  “May I help you?” Bother the quaver in her voice. Now she really was sounding like that simpering fool she had tried so hard not to become.

  “I am seeking the Veterans Group. I understand they meet here at St. Swithin’s.” He took a step inside the classroom. “I suppose this isn’t the place.”

  “You are in the right place, just not the right part of the church.” With a swift turn, she grasped her bonnet and cloak from their pegs. “This is the school for the children of veterans. I am Miss Bradbury, a teacher here. But if you’ll follow me, I can take you to Captain Cantrill. He is the leader of the group, and can help you.” She tugged her bonnet on and tied it deftly under her chin.

  “I’m Thomas Wright.” He took her cloak from her hands and held it out, draping it over her shoulders. “I would appreciate your help. I am quite at a loss.”

  Louisa’s heart fluttered just the tiniest bit. She really must control her reactions. A fresh young chit heading to her first ball surely had more control over her emotions than she—and here she was, hoping to make a career as a teacher, just as Lucy had before her. Lucy would never behave in such an addle-pated fashion. “Well, then, I am delighted to help,” she replied briskly.

  He offered her his arm in courtly fashion, and she placed her fingertips in the crook of his elbow. “Are you a veteran yourself?” she queried, directing him down the stone corridor toward the back of the church. “You seem rather young to have been in battle.” The moment the words tumbled from her mouth, she could have bitten her tongue. Such an observation implied that she was studying his appearance. And though that were true, it was most unseemly to admit to such scrutiny.

  “I saw enough of the war.” His reply was curt and even. Louisa snuck a quick glance at him from beneath her bonnet brim. His expression was unchanged, but a muscle in his jaw twitched. Better not to tread further into this line of conversation. Perhaps, like many of the veterans, he had bad memories of the war. Surely the men who came to Captain Cantrill’s group had seen the worst of humanity. And many of them were loathe to speak of their time in service, or at least, to do so in front of the ladies.

  “Captain Cantrill is a wonderful man. A friend of my family’s, in fact,” she prattled on as she led him down the draughty corridor. “I am certain he will be of assistance to you.”

  Thomas Wright gave her a brief nod, but no more. As always, in times of distress, a need to wash over a terse situation with a flowing brook of words overcame her. “I have been teaching here for just a short amount of time. But I enjoy it more than anything else I could consider. More, even, than a ball. My papa thinks it rather silly of me to spend all my time here. But, he allows it on the condition that I continue to act the role that is expected of me.”

  Her companion stopped short, gazing down at her, his dark blue eyes glowing. “What role is expected of you?”

  Being observed at close range by those magnificent eyes was a trifle exhilarating. She blinked a few times, clutching at her bearings. “Why, Papa expects me to behave as a gentlewoman should. You know, to really care about this season’s gowns, or to learn how to run a household. At one time, those things mattered a great deal to me. But now, after teaching, I find them rather empty.”

  He frowned. “I understand. Often, I feel that the roles we must play in Society quite tiresome, to say the least. You said your name is Bradbury? Are you Lord Anthony’s daughter?”

  Of course, everyone knew Papa. His name was legendary throughout Bath, if not the whole of England. “Yes, I am his second daughter. My elder sister was married to Lord Spencer recently.”

  “A very glittering affair,” Thomas Wright avowed. Ah, so he had heard of her sister’s wedding too.

  Louisa stifled a smile as she turned him bac
k down the hallway. Yes, Amelia’s nuptials were quite grand, much more of an event than one usually saw in Society, especially in a place as sedate as Bath. But then, Amelia exalted grandeur above all else. Funny that Mr. Wright should know so much about her and her family in the space of just a few moments, while she knew almost nothing about him. Not that she would mind knowing more, of course, if he cared to share it.

  She paused before a heavy oaken door. “This is where Captain Cantrill works during the day.” She turned, extricating herself from his hold. “I’ll leave you to your discussion. If I tarry much longer, I shall be late for tea. If I am tardy, Papa will have one more reason to find my employment here objectionable.”

  A slight grin curved the corners of Mr. Wright’s mouth, and he bowed. “Thank you for your assistance, Miss Bradbury.”

  She bobbed a curtsy, and made her way back down the hall. All her instincts told her to stay, and to find out more about the fascinating Mr. Wright. If she did, then she certainly would risk exasperating Papa.

  That wouldn’t do at all.

  ~*~

  Thomas paused outside Captain Cantrill’s door as Miss Bradbury’s footsteps faded away. What had he come here for anyway? Surely this was an exercise in futility. He had no material wants, unlike some of the people he had seen here. Indeed, some of the children in Miss Bradbury’s class were edging close to raggedness in their dress. Neat and tidy raggedness, but their clothing implied the kind of poverty he would never have to face.

  Why was he here? When he struck out for St. Swithin’s this afternoon, a driving sense of purpose filled his soul. He would talk to other veterans, men who had served alongside him and his elder brother Matthew, and the doubt and confusion that had swirled about him so recently would dissipate. But now, that need for companionship seemed paltry indeed. Who cared about him and his doubts? There was real need here.

  It didn’t help matters that Miss Bradbury completely discombobulated him from the moment he spied her in her classroom. Such lively brown eyes and an altogether exhilarating torrent of conversation were surely a breathtaking combination in one so young.

  To be sure, she was Anthony Bradbury’s daughter. He shook his head in amazement. Why was the old roué allowing his child to work for a charity? His lordship must find it amusing or some such. And if she was a daughter of privilege, then she was not for Thomas Wright. He may have wound up as the head of his family, with all the traditions and expectations that the role demanded. But it was not a role he was intended for, nor was he fashioned for it. He would shoulder his responsibilities begrudgingly, but that was all. Miss Louisa Bradbury was, as Lord Anthony’s daughter, merely a talisman of all he resented.

  Therefore, he would simply put her out of his mind.

  Drawing on calm reserve as he would a cloak, he knocked on the door.

  “Enter.”

  Thomas opened the latch and stepped over the threshold. Captain Cantrill, whom he had heard so much about and in such glowing terms, sat behind a desk piled high with stacks of foolscap and ledger books. He poured over the ledgers, his forehead shielded by his one good hand, his empty, useless sleeve dangling at his other side. The captain glanced up, warm welcome suffusing his kindly, open countenance.

  “May I help you?” He rose, extending his hand. Thomas stepped forward and shook the captain’s hand.

  “Captain, my name is Thomas Wright. I came to learn more about the Veterans’ Group.” Now was the time to be a man, and not break down sniveling like a child. “I am a veteran myself, and would like to help.”

  “Are you? Sit down.” Captain Cantrill waved him over to an empty chair and resumed his place behind his desk. “Pardon me for saying so, but you are rather younger than most of the veterans we see here.”

  “I was at Waterloo with my elder brother Matthew.” He paused for a moment. Saying Matthew’s name aloud had gotten easier with the passing of time, but the pain would never fully dull.

  “Matthew Wright? I have heard tell of his heroics in battle.” Captain Cantrill shuffled a few stacks of foolscap aside. “If you are of the Wright family, then your eldest brother was Jacob? I heard he passed away recently. Please accept my condolences.”

  “Yes. I am the youngest of three.” As such, the last one living, which was the root of the problem. “I have been thrust into the role of master of the Wright family now that Jacob has passed. I must say, it’s a responsibility for which I was never groomed. I am a man of action, Captain, and the duties of my new position are already beginning to pall.”

  “Never cared much for that kind of life myself.” Captain Cantrill shrugged. “My elder brother manages all that, and I remain independent of those obligations. Because of this freedom, I have leave to manage the Veterans’ Group, which is where my heart belongs.”

  “I understand, and that is why I am here.” Thomas leaned forward a bit in his chair. Sitting for too long always brought on nervousness. He’d be up and pacing in a moment. “I want to help in some way with the Veterans’ Group. I don’t need assistance myself. I do miss the camaraderie of military life, and I feel driven to assist my brothers in arms.”

  “Well, I am glad to have more assistance,” Captain Cantrill admitted. “But won’t your work here cut into your work as the head of your family? I cannot, in good conscience, ask you to relinquish your duties to your family to help our men.”

  Thomas shook his head. “One less trip to the club won’t be missed.”

  Cantrill laughed. “Very well. I could use assistance with finding some of the men decent housing. Some live in hovels, you wouldn’t believe your eyes if you saw the conditions in which they live. Could you come back on the morrow? I will have a list of men drawn up by then.”

  Thomas rose, a sense of purpose and satisfaction suffusing his being. “I shall return on the morrow. Thank you, Captain.”

  Chapter 2

  Louisa held onto her bonnet with one hand as she skimmed up the pavement toward home. Her meeting with Mr. Wright had made her a trifle tardy for tea with Papa, but that was no matter. She could always charm Papa. He might be a little cross with her, but after a quick embrace and some lively conversation, all would be right as rain. Besides, becoming acquainted with Mr. Wright was worth a few extra moments. He’d said he’d seen enough of the war, but what did that signify? Had he been a soldier himself? Or perhaps he was merely related to one, and wanted to find ways and means of helping others.

  She danced up the front portico steps two at a time, and let herself in. Then she untied her bonnet strings and cast it onto the low velvet bench beside the door. As she shrugged out of her cloak, the butler came in.

  “Your father is in the library, Miss Louisa,” he remarked as he took her coat. “Tea has already been served.”

  “Already? Oh, bother. I am later than I thought.” She stripped off her gloves and handed them over. “Is my sister here?”

  “Yes. Her ladyship is also in the library.” The butler’s countenance remained smooth and imperturbable. But then, with a sudden swift gesture, he ducked close to her ear. “Make haste,” he whispered in a conspiratorial tone.

  Louisa grinned. The butler had always been her staunch champion in the family, sweeping aside or covering up her many scrapes with deft grace. “Thank you, Higgins,” she replied with a quick nod. Really, she had to rely upon her servants for so much of the basics of her existence. Sophie her seamstress had taught her about style and grace, Lucy had imparted her wisdom and unflinching moral code, and Higgins had softened the corners of life as one of Lord Bradbury’s daughters. To them, she really owed more than to her own family, in a manner of speaking.

  She gathered her skirts and dashed down the corridor toward the library, slowing her pace and dropping her skirts as she approached the doorway—which of course, was opened. No hope of patting her hair down or smoothing her bodice to make herself more presentable. With as much poise as she could summon, she strode into the room, her head held high.

  “You ar
e a half-hour late, at the very least,” Amelia spoke up from her position on the settee.

  Louisa made an elaborate show of ignoring her elder sister, sweeping over to Papa and planting a kiss on his forehead. “I am so sorry, Papa. I had a few additional duties to attend to at the Veterans’ Group after school ended, so I am behind.”

  Her father smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “No matter, no matter. Sit, Louisa. I have great satisfaction, seeing both of my lovely daughters at one time. Now that Amelia is a married woman, I visit with you two together far too infrequently for my tastes.”

  Amelia gave him a tender smile. “But, Papa, my life with John must come before any other obligations. Surely you understand.”

  “Of course I do,” Papa admitted. “Still, can’t a doting father express a wish to dine with both of his daughters more often? Even Louisa, my baby daughter, is too frequently absent attending to her work with the veterans’ group. I vow, I have been considering taking you to London for a Season, my dear, just to see you more often.”

  Louisa sank into a nearby chair, uncertainty flooding her soul. “London? Papa, we haven’t been to Town for a Season in years. Not since Mother died. We all love Bath too much.”

  Her father nodded, his still-handsome face reflecting both doubt and excitement. “I know. And we’ve been very happy with our hermetic existence here in Bath. Amelia was able to find a suitable husband without ever setting foot in a London ballroom. You, my dear LouLou, have given me pause.”

  Louisa swallowed. Papa hardly ever called her by her old childhood pet name. Only when she was sick or in terrible trouble did her nickname surface. “Why have I give you pause?”

  “Why, you show no interest in the Marriage Mart. You are seventeen now, a year older than Amelia was when she wed. And yet, there is nary a suitor to be found. I have yet to chase a lovesick swain off our front portico, or intercept a love letter. My daughter is in terrible danger of becoming that most dreaded of all caricatures—the bluestocking.” Papa shook his head. “You spend far too much time with the veterans’ group. I indulged this fanaticism as long as I dared, for I think it a good thing for young ladies of privilege to do some charitable work. But you must begin thinking of the future.” Her father sat back, a tolerant smile creasing the corners of his mouth. “We’ll go to London in March. I am making arrangements with my man of affairs. Our townhome in Grosvenor Square is now vacant and he will help me find staff and so forth. You’ll enjoy a dazzling Season, LouLou.”