by Lily George
“So, then. If she is mentioned in the gossip rags, then she is still living a hedonistic existence.” Aunt Katherine clasped her hands, laden with rings, together over her stomach, peering at him with eyes that had only sharpened with age. “And where does this leave you, Charlie?”
“Forgive me, Auntie, but I don’t understand your meaning.” Honestly, the old woman was as mysterious as the Sphinx. John had warned him so, many times in the past. And yet, since she was meddling in others’ affairs, Charlie found it amusing. Now, faced with it himself, it didn’t seem as funny.
“Tut, tut. There’s no need to get testy with an old woman. I only mean to say it isn’t right for a young man to live alone without thinking about a wife and family. While your work with the veterans is nothing short of admirable, what are you doing to better your own life, my son?”
“You sound like my mother. Always lecturing me to give up my work and settle down with a wife.” And yet, what was so winning about his life? Dinner alone. Walks to the Pump Room. Reading before his cozy fire. It was usually pleasant, but took on a lonely tinge now that he thought about it. “Sometimes I prefer solitude. When Brookes is in town, I have a very active social life.”
Aunt Katherine clapped her hands, her rings tinkling merrily. “Ah, but John is now married, and I am sure he and Harriet will have a family soon. He won’t have as much time for trips to Bath and army reunions. You must create a life for yourself that is rich and full, young Charlie. While austerity has its benefits, I worry that you are missing out on the very vibrancy of life.”
Vibrancy. Warmth. Beauty. An image of blue eyes and hair the color of sunlight passed through his mind. A lively young lady, someone to share his life with. He blinked rapidly, clearing the alluring vision away. “I don’t know, Aunt Katherine. Sometimes I think I was meant to be alone. Perhaps that is why God spared me. To live a life of quiet austerity helping others. It’s not a bad existence, you know.”
Aunt Katherine pursed her lips and shook her head. An unusual quiet descended on the library, broken only by the crackling of the fire in the grate. At length, Aunt Katherine spoke softly. “Not all women are like Elizabeth Gaskell. Not even pretty ones.”
“I am afraid all young ladies are more like her than we care to admit.” The thread of bitterness running through his tone was surprising, even to his own ears. “Especially...” His face began to burn, a flush he could not attribute to the heat from the fire. “Especially pretty and vivacious women.”
“Charlie.” Aunt Katherine’s voice was quiet, the kind of tone she might reserve for a child who had fallen and skinned his knee. “Surely you don’t harbor bitterness and prejudice in your heart.” She straightened up and offered him a kind smile. She was like a mother in some ways, and it made him blink back sudden tears. He was a soldier, after all. No good to cry. “‘Another man dies in bitterness of soul, never having enjoyed anything good,’” she quoted. “Don’t allow what Beth did to rob you of happiness.”
It took a few moments for Charlie to gain composure. He simply stared out the library window, avoiding Aunt Katherine’s gaze while he settled his thoughts. What she said was true. He must get rid of all bitterness in his heart. And yet, it was hard to let go of that anger. It had driven him and fueled his existence for so long, he didn’t know how to relinquish it. It had been hidden under a mask of good cheer, at least where the Brookes family was concerned. But Aunt Katherine, with her uncanny powers of perception, had discovered the truth.
When he was of a more reasonable frame of mind, he rose. It was embarrassing to be so emotional. “Aunt Katherine, I must be going. But I do want to thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your help. I appreciate all you are trying to do for me.”
She extended her hand, jewels winking in the firelight. “Tut, tut, my dear boy. I shall meddle with you tirelessly now that John is happily wed.” She gave him a wheedling smile. “Your mother may be right, after all. And remember that the Handley girls are made of stronger stuff than I think we often give them credit for.”
Her words echoed in Charlie’s mind as he walked back to his flat. Why had she added that last bit? Could it be that Sophie Handley was made of stronger stuff than he imagined? Behind that pretty face, was she something more? He let himself into the chilly flat. His housekeeper had the day off, and he hated coming home when she hadn’t been working all day. His home seemed dour and cheerless without at least a fire burning in the grate and the bustle of work in the kitchen.
He kindled the fire himself and extended his hand to the blaze. The warmth ran from the tips of his fingers to the pit of his heart. Perhaps he had allowed bitterness to settle and become part of him for too long. Perhaps it was time for spring—in more ways than one.
Chapter Six
“Oh, Sophie!” Amelia cried, flinging herself through the door of Sophie’s sewing room. Sophie glanced up in surprise. Shouldn’t Amelia be studying with Lucy in the schoolroom?
“Amelia? Whatever is the matter?” Sophie removed a pin from her mouth and stabbed it through the dress form she was working with.
“Papa has agreed to have a dinner party a fortnight from now, and I am to be the hostess. Imagine! My first entrée into Society. So I must have a very pretty gown, you know.” Amelia danced around the room, her long curls bobbing as she clapped her hands.
“That is excellent news, Amelia. What do you think of this blue dress I am finishing? Surely it would fit the bill nicely.” Sophie stepped back and surveyed her handiwork with a critical eye. A bit more pin tucking around the bodice, and it would just suit her young muse. And perhaps a bit of lace, as well?
“Yes, yes, it’s very pretty. But, Sophie, that was the gown I am to wear later in the Season. I want something special for this occasion, something entirely new. Perhaps—” she spun around the workroom, running her hands over the bolts of fabric “—perhaps something in this yellow?” She held out a yard of gauzy fabric, wrapping it around her middle.
A brief wriggle of unease made its way up Sophie’s spine as she watched Amelia prance around the room. Here they were, surrounded by luxurious fabrics of every conceivable color and finish. And here was her young charge, dancing around in delighted anticipation of yet another new dress, made expressly to her whims.
Sophie’s mind flashed back to the widows, old and young, whom she had met at St. Swithins. Their clothes were so worn and patched, they were almost threadbare. Why should one young girl have so much, while others had so little? Sophie gave her head a defiant shake. It seemed rather unfair. To distract these unpleasant thoughts, Sophie gave her full attention back to pin tucking the bodice, stabbing the pins in place with shaking hands.
“Sophie, is anything the matter? Don’t you think the yellow will suit me well?” Amelia dropped the fabric, a worried frown puzzling her brow.
“Oh, no. So sorry, Amelia darling. Bit of a headache coming on, that’s all.” Sophie managed a small smile for her charge. After all, it wasn’t Amelia’s fault that she was born into great wealth while others were wanting.
“I am sorry to hear that.” Lord Bradbury lounged against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. Sophie jumped a little, startled at the sound of his rich, sophisticated baritone. “I was depending upon you to help prepare Amelia for her debut as hostess.”
Were none of the Bradburys where they were supposed to be at the moment? Amelia was supposed to be studying. Lord Bradbury was supposed to be wherever a wealthy lord spent most of his day. Honestly, having the peace of her workroom completely interrupted by the family was disconcerting. Especially by his lordship, who always managed to ruffle her emotions.
“How can I help, your lordship?” Sophie stuck the last pin into the bodice and turned to face her employer.
“Well, Miss Handley, Amelia will need some assistance with the finer points of being a gracious hostess. Since you were born into the Handley family, I am sure you know how to manage such an affair.”
Another mention of th
e Handleys. Why was he so fixated on her family connections? Surely he knew that the Handley family never acknowledged or spoke to Mama, Harriet or herself. Everyone, it seemed, knew of her family’s downfall, the auctioned estate, the years of penury and debt. She slanted her glance toward Amelia, who was bouncing up and down, waiting for her response with heightened anticipation. How much of her sordid past did she dare reveal in front of her young charge? And yet...Amelia looked so hopeful, her eyes wide and pleading.
“Well, your lordship, I shall try. But I must admit that was a long time ago, and I had little practice myself. My elder sister was the only one out at that time. I was still in the schoolroom.” She managed a demure smile for Amelia’s benefit.
“Nonsense. I can tell you were born to do it.” His lordship flicked an appraising glance over her figure, making her cheeks burn. “Some women have natural grace. Others cannot buy it with all the money in the world.”
She acknowledged the compliment with a slight incline of her head. “Thank you, Lord Bradbury. I am sure Miss Williams can also assist, if you like.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps. But Miss Williams was not born into quality, as you were.”
Sophie’s mouth dropped open in surprise. What an astonishing thing to say. And rude. After all, Miss Williams was certainly good enough to be entrusted with his daughters’ education. She shifted her gaze to Amelia, to gauge her reaction. But if Amelia felt obliged to defend her teacher, she said nothing. She just eyed Sophie expectantly, an excited smile quivering on her dimpled cheeks.
She turned to face his lordship. He was gazing at her with an inscrutable expression in his dark eyes, a look that made her breath catch in her throat. Whatever did he want from her? It seemed like he always wanted something, gauging her reaction or waiting for an opportunity to, well, pounce. Like a barn cat. Or a tiger. She choked back a sudden nervous giggle. He smiled as though she had finally satisfied his question.
“So? We are in agreement? You will coach Amelia on the finer points of being a gracious hostess.” He stepped closer to Sophie, and the simple movement sucked all the oxygen out of the workroom. She took an abrupt step back, knocking against the dress form.
Lord Bradbury lifted one puzzled eyebrow. “Miss Handley?”
“My apologies, sir. As I said, I have a bit of headache coming on.” She rubbed her elbow ruefully. “But of course I will be happy to help Miss Amelia.”
“Oh, Sophie!” Amelia rushed headlong into Sophie, catching her in an embrace that squeezed the breath out of her. “Thank you ever so much. I shan’t feel half so awkward if you are there.”
Sophie returned the embrace, smoothing Amelia’s curls. “Well, my dear Amelia, I shan’t really be present at the party. But I shall be guiding you every step of the way until it begins.”
Amelia tilted her face up toward Sophie, trouble brewing in her eyes. “But Sophie, I shall need you there to guide me. Papa, isn’t that so? Shouldn’t Sophie be at the dinner party?”
Sophie shook her head. “Amelia, it wouldn’t be right. I am a servant, after all.” She had learned her place well after her first few days of missteps and blunders. And it was a good thing—something that made her proud, in fact—that she was earning her place in the world. Even if it meant the social niceties would often be closed to her for the rest of her days.
“On the contrary, Miss Handley. I think your presence would be most welcome at our dinner party. Not only can you continue to assist my daughter with her entrée into Society, you are rather—” he paused as though searching for the right word “—decorative yourself.”
“I haven’t any gowns that are suitable.” She needed any excuse to back out of this arrangement. Something wasn’t quite right. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was rather akin to being tested. And really, one should know all the rules of engagement before being put to the test.
His lordship waved his hand at the bolts of fabric littering the room, his signet ring glinting in the pale sunlight that poured in through the parted curtains. “Make anything you like, Miss Handley. Surely your talents can extend to creations for yourself.”
Sophie froze. A new gown? A creation from new fabric, made expressly for her? Such luxury. She had been cutting down Mama’s old court dresses and making them over for an eternity. How would a new dress look and feel? Her imagination surged, conjuring images of a pale lavender frock with a modest neckline, some ruching at the bodice...
“Well, Miss Handley?” His lordship was staring at her, the same inscrutable expression on his face that made her heart flutter. Surely there could be no harm in helping her young charge make her debut in Society, could there? And surely, after her years of sacrifice, she deserved one fine gown.
“Very well, my lord, I shall be happy to assist Amelia with her debut, and I will be present at the dinner party, as well.” She tossed him a warm smile of gratitude, which he returned with ease. He was handsomer when he smiled. Much less...forbidding. He turned on his heel and vanished without another word.
Sophie hastened her young charge back to her studies, her mind full of plans. For the first time in ages, she would have a taste of real Society. And, though she hated to admit it, it was a flavor she had sorely missed.
* * *
Charlie sat before his hearth, Mother’s latest missive in his hands. She was coming to Bath. No longer content with issuing orders from afar, Moriah Cantrill would descend on him in a matter of a fortnight. No letter would dissuade her. She was intent on bending her son to her will. And if he capitulated to Mother, then in no time at all, he would be forced to return to Brightgate. He couldn’t give in to one family member without giving in to them all.
The clock on the rough wooden mantelpiece chimed the hour. Blast, he would be late for St. Swithins unless he made haste. He rose, tugging on his greatcoat. Perhaps working with his fellow men, helping others with their problems, would help him, too. It gave him great satisfaction to answer the needs of his fellow men. Their wants were so few and so simple—food, clothing and shelter. Not a man jack of them cared about their position in Society. None would be cowed by Moriah Cantrill, that much was certain. A morning spent in service would clear his mind and help him come up with a solution to his problem—which was nothing at all compared to what these men faced.
Once at St. Swithins, he dove into his work, rolling up his sleeves and toiling away on securing the most basic foundations for the men who served with him in battle. There were fewer men here on Saturday, as most elected to come on Thursdays. But the few who gathered had such gaunt, haunted looks on their faces that he was determined to help them, no matter the cost. A few women huddled in the back, but dared not step forward. If only Sophie Handley were there to talk with them, but of course, one day a week would be the most she could manage with her duties to Lord Bradbury and his family. He would have to set some time and energy aside for the widows when he was done with the men.
“Lieutenant Cantrill! I was hoping to find you here this morning,” a musical voice trilled in his ear. He spun around, trying to will away the flush creeping over his face. Sophie Handley. It could be no one but her. Several of the men stepped back in deference, their admiration of Sophie’s beauty written plainly across their faces. Funny how a pretty creature could make these men instantly lose sight of their troubles.
“Miss Handley,” he replied with a bow. “Are you here to assist? I was not aware that you knew I helped some of the veterans on Saturdays.”
“One of the widows informed me of it at our last meeting,” she admitted, a sweet smile curving her lips. “I cannot stay long, but I wanted to stop by this morning and assist as much as I can. And you will be proud of me, Lieutenant. I found my own way here.”
He chuckled. Her chin was tilted at a proud angle, and her eyes danced with merriment. “Even though you are well acquainted with the twists and turns of Bath, I would be delighted to walk you back home.”
One of the veterans guffawed, but then tried to disg
uise it as a sudden cough. Charlie looked with daggers at the man, willing him to stay quiet. So he wasn’t well schooled in the art of flirtation. What did that matter? He was just...answering her in like tone. That was all.
Sophie’s eyelids fluttered down over her brilliant blue eyes, and a slight flush stained her cheeks. “That would be lovely.” She dipped a slight curtsy. “I’ll go see what the widows might require.”
He worked the rest of the morning with a curious lightness in his heart. As before, when he made Sophie’s acquaintance, all his problems seemed insignificant. He practiced how he would tell her about his latest missive from Mother, how he would reenact her stern warnings, her dire predictions. And she would laugh that silvery laugh—it reminded one of bells tinkling. And he wouldn’t feel so blasted alone any longer. So while he helped each man who turned to him, finding sources for clothing, or offering food, or locating shelter, his mind remained firmly fixed on Sophie Handley as she toiled away in the back of the church.
It may have been a kind of sin, but he couldn’t shake his mind free.
As they left, she took his arm. “What a pleasant morning, Lieutenant. You know, I think what the women need most is clothing. Not just for themselves, but for their children. I wonder if we could have some sort of sewing bee, where we all join together and sew as a group. Wouldn’t that be a practical solution?”
His mind was drifting again, fixating on her pretty profile rather than her sensible words. He forced himself to pay attention. “Yes, of course.”
“You seem distracted again,” she chided in a cheerful tone. “Pray, what has claimed your interest this morning?”
Ah, now was his chance. “Another letter from home. My mother intends to come to Bath in a fortnight and bring me to heel,” he began, aping an aggrieved tone of voice, but was cut short by Sophie’s stifled gasp.