by Lily George
With a reluctant sigh, Amelia did as Sophie bid her. And that gave Sophie the perfect opportunity to slip, unnoticed, from the drawing room. She hastened to the dining room and made a careful count. Yes, sixteen shining places were laid on the polished mahogany table. Servants bustled around, making the few final touches that would make the party entirely comfortable and luxurious.
Sophie leaned against the wall. She filled her lungs with air and slowly exhaled. Everything was going to be fine. So far, Amelia was doing quite well. And Lord Bradbury had distracted Mrs. Cantrill perfectly. There was no need—just yet, anyway—for Mrs. Cantrill to doubt the veracity of her courtship with Charlie. Only one problem stood in her way—Charlie’s dark, unreadable expression.
It wasn’t jealousy, was it? No, of course not. Likely he saw the bracelet and assumed the worst. Thought of her as frivolous and silly all over again. And why not? She darted a glance at her wrist. Why, this one bracelet could keep two veterans’ families in great comfort. Or it could feed dozens of hungry children. She resisted an urge to unclasp it and fling it across the room.
She was caught, straddling two worlds she didn’t comprehend, though she knew both well. Poverty and wealth. Servitude and privilege. As a servant, she belonged to neither. Too well-borne and well-paid to be poor, and yet too humble to pretend to be anything but a helper to The Honorable Amelia Bradbury. In all honesty, she didn’t know which world she really wanted.
Charlie’s dark, forbidding face crossed her mind.
No, she did know.
But that path—given what the man thought of her—was likely closed to her forever.
* * *
Bradbury was up to something. Charlie toyed with his empty glass. Since he didn’t drink after dinner, there was very little to do at these functions but watch as the men enjoyed their port. And Bradbury had the smug, satisfied air of a cat who’d gotten the cream—or at least, knew the cream was close at hand.
The ladies had already retreated to the drawing room, led by Amelia, who had been subtly prompted by Sophie. All through dinner, Charlie had watched Sophie as she guided her young charge through the complicated rituals of Society. Nary a gaffe had been made, a rarity for a young girl’s debut.
Mother’s expression throughout the meal had mellowed and softened, and when they left the room, she had claimed Sophie’s arm. The faux courtship was now, as far as Mother was concerned, a reality. She liked Sophie, he could tell. Now, all that remained was to see if Mother would try to coax him back to Brightgate again.
But there was the matter of that bracelet. The way Sophie had blushed when Mother mentioned it did not bode well. He flicked a glance over at Lord Bradbury. Had he given the bracelet to Sophie? And if so, what were his intentions?
“A pretty young gel, what, Bradbury?” one of the older men at the end of the table said with an appreciative chuckle. Charlie strained his ears.
“Whom are you speaking of, Whitlock? My daughter Amelia?” Bradbury leaned forward, an amused grin crooking the corner of his mouth.
“Ah, I was speaking of the blonde chit—your daughter’s gel. Susan? Sally? Blast, what was her name?” Whitlock poured more brandy into his glass with a steady hand.
“Sophie. My daughter’s seamstress.” Bradbury lolled back in his chair.
“Rather decorative, what? Sir Hugh’s daughter, I presume?” Whitlock replied.
“She is rather decorative, and a huge help to my daughter. Practically arranged this evening herself, you know.” Bradbury was holding something back. You could see it in his elaborately nonchalant expression.
“Well, to the manor born, and all that.” Whitlock smiled. “Now, I meant nothing against Amelia, you understand. But one can’t pay elaborate compliments to one’s host’s daughter,” he explained with a laugh.
“No offense taken, I assure you. And I agree—Miss Sophie is very—ahem—ornamental to have about the house.” Bradbury tipped his glass at Whitlock with a sly grin, and both men chuckled.
Something gnawed at Charlie’s gut—a primal urge he hadn’t felt in years. He clenched his fist under the table. So Bradbury thought Sophie decorative, did he? Had he given Sophie that bracelet as a token of his esteem? If so, what had prompted her to accept? Surely she understood what accepting such an expensive gift signified.
His jaw clenched. He’d like to wipe that smug look off his lordship’s face with one quick jab. The way his lordship spoke, as though Sophie were an object to be attained—no different from that ridiculous ormolu clock he had brayed about to Mother. His heart surged with a feeling of protection for Sophie. She was his best friend’s sister now, for all intents and purposes, and he needed to watch over her. For Brookes’s sake. Not for any other reason.
As the men joined the women in the drawing room, Charlie sought out Sophie and remained stuck, like a stubborn burr, to her side. They talked of everything and nothing. He made more polite chatter in that night than he had in years. But it didn’t matter. He was staking out his territory, and that was that. Several times Bradbury looked their way, his brow lifted, and Charlie was hard-pressed not to raise his brows in return.
As the guests began to depart, Sophie wandered over to the fireplace, standing before the blaze. He followed, drawing closer to her magnificent form than he had dared before.
“Charlie, are you angry at me? Honestly, I can’t read your expression. Your mother—she believes our courtship to be real, does she not?” Sophie whispered.
“No, I am not angry.” He stared into the fire as though he could find the key to his jumbled emotions in its flames. “Who gave you the bracelet?” It slipped out before he could stop it.
“I am borrowing it. It is no gift,” she said. “I don’t own anything fine enough for an evening like this.”
Something in his heart unclenched. “You look lovely.” And she did. She looked, well, more than lovely. She looked like the kind of young lady a fellow would be elated to court.
She blushed so deeply he could see her color rise in the firelight. “Thank you.”
The drawing room was nearly deserted; it was time for him to go. Bradbury was glancing his way, sizing him up as he would over a game of chess—or even a pair of dueling pistols. “Thank you for a pleasant evening, Miss Handley,” he said, projecting his voice a bit. “Shall I come to call on you Thursday when you are off work?”
She looked up at him, startled confusion darkening her eyes. “Um, yes. Of course, Lieutenant.” Then she darted a glance over at his mother, and held out her hand. “Until then.”
He bowed over her winking diamond bracelet, triumph making the blood rush to his face. He paid his respects to Amelia Bradbury and smiled cordially at his lordship before bundling his mother off into the carriage they had hired for the night.
Well, nearly a smile. Perhaps more like a slight smirk.
“Sophie is a lovely girl, Charles.” Mother settled against the cushions with a satisfied smile.
“I agree, Mother. Tonight—she was incomparable.”
“You’ve chosen well.” Mother’s tone was more relaxed than it had been in ages. Charlie smiled in the gathering darkness.
“Yes. Yes, I have.” If he closed his eyes for a moment, he could just imagine that the courtship wasn’t false, and that Sophie Handley really was his intended.
Chapter Eleven
Sophie yawned openly. With only the last few servants milling about, cleaning up the remainder of the dinner party mess, it was a luxury she could at last give in to. Amelia had already retired upstairs about half an hour before, to gossip with Louisa and Lucy. Sophie had remained behind to help put the house back in order, but also to sort out her jumbled emotions. Really, the entire evening had been one long turn on the torture rack, as far as she was concerned.
She prided herself as a master of the art of flirtation. In fact, there were few young women in Derbyshire as talented in that particular form of expression as she. And something had transpired tonight. Rivalry had run high
between Charlie and Lord Bradbury throughout supper and afterward. And Charlie had made a point to announce that he would call on her on Thursday. Loud enough for his lordship to hear. Weren’t they supposed to keep their faux courtship a secret? Only his mother was supposed to know. It was, after all, a ruse to keep her happy during her trip to Bath, a ruse that would be dropped the moment she left for Brightgate.
In proclaiming his intentions so loudly, Charlie ran the risk of piquing his lordship’s attention. And if his lordship knew she was engaged—even falsely—then he might dismiss her. Many young women lost their posts the minute they announced an impending marriage. It wasn’t a pretty fact of life, but it was a true one. And in mentioning his intentions, he ran the risk of making a faux courtship seem like a real engagement, which could lead to all sorts of problems and difficulties.
Charlie understood these things, surely. Didn’t he?
She bent to pick up a spent cigar butt that had missed its target, the ash tray, by at least a few feet. My, how nice it would be to retire upstairs, cozy in bed with a hot brick at her tired and throbbing feet.
“Miss Handley?” A cultured baritone voice boomed behind her.
Startled, she dropped the butt on the Aubusson carpet and turned to face her employer.
“Taking up a new habit?” he inquired, nodding at the remnants of the cigar.
She chuckled appreciatively. “Oh, no, your lordship.” She dusted her hands on her skirt. “Merely trying to clean up.”
“Leave that for the other servants,” he replied tersely. His mouth was stretched into a taut line. “I should like to speak to you in my study before you retire.”
Oh, goodness. Here it was. She was going to be sacked, just because her faux courtship had been brought to his lordship’s attention. She followed her employer down the interminable hallway, past all the doors painted just alike, and into his study, where a fire crackled in the grate. He patted a leather chair with his large hand, and took his seat behind the desk.
She sank into the chair as bidden, her heart in her throat. How it would hurt to leave Louisa and Amelia and Lucy. They were all becoming sisters to her. Replacing the void that Harriet had left when she married—not that Hattie had intended to abandon her. That’s just the way marriage worked.
His lordship stared at her, his dark eyes unfathomable. Really, it was most unnerving. Despite her best efforts, she twitched in her chair. Would this interview never begin?
“What, exactly, is your connection to young Lieutenant Cantrill?” His lordship’s voice was smooth as silk.
“He is a good friend of my family, your lordship. His best friend, Captain Brookes, is married to my sister Harriet.” Surely that would stave off all further questions. It was rather like being in the Old Bailey, only she wasn’t sure what crime she was accused of committing.
“Ah, yes. I know John Brookes. He’s a good man.” Lord Bradbury turned his head, staring off into the fire. “Is there any other connection I should know about?”
She swallowed. Would he simply come out with it and sack her? Or must she hang by her fingertips a bit longer? She racked her brain for an excuse that was both reasonable and true. “I am helping Lieutenant Cantrill with his work with the veterans’ widows. My sister is funding quite a bit of their welfare, and I am acting as her liaison while I am employed in Bath.”
A muscle twitched in his lordship’s jawline. “I see.” Those terse two words, ground out from clenched teeth, did not offer much comfort.
She sat quietly, hardly daring to draw breath. Her fate seemed to hang in the balance. A wrong word here or there, and she might lose her position. But his lordship said nothing—merely stared into the fire with a moody expression on his face.
The tension was like a bow string stretched too tautly. Surely she would snap if she had to stay here much longer. The best thing to do was to assume control of the situation, and make a graceful exit. She rose, fumbling with her bracelet.
“Thank you so much for the loan of this bracelet, your lordship.” She extended the bauble toward him, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way her hand shook. “It was the perfect match for this gown.”
He turned, staring at her with those same dark, unreadable eyes. He waved one large hand idly in the air, as though swatting at a fly. “Keep it. I purchased it expressly for you, Miss Handley.”
“Oh, no. I couldn’t.” She still clutched the bracelet in midair. “It’s far too expensive a gift to keep.”
The corner of his mouth quirked down, and a dangerous spark lit his eyes. “I can afford it, I assure you.”
“I am not sure I can,” she whispered.
“What does that mean?” For once, she had his full attention. He was poised, like a cat ready to jump on a plump and unsuspecting mouse.
“An expensive gift like this could carry a higher burden than I am able to pay.” It was difficult to explain. Surely he took her meaning. It could mean her position, her reputation, or even Charlie Cantrill. Not that she was really engaged to him. But she could not have him thinking ill of her for accepting such an expensive gift.
“You told Mrs. Cantrill it was a present from a friend. And it is. I want you to keep it.” He pushed his chair away from his desk and rose.
Sophie’s mouth went dry. What was he about? She placed the bracelet on his desk and took a step backward. “I couldn’t think of anything else to say when she asked me about it. ’Twas the first explanation that came to mind. I meant nothing by it.”
“Will you accept it as a gift if I tell you that I am indebted to you? All of your efforts to help Amelia paid off handsomely tonight. She was flawless, and the evening went off without a single problem. I must say, I was more than impressed.” He came around the side of the desk, a changed expression altering his face. For the first time ever he was open and friendly, without a trace of his former feral grace, his eyes unclouded.
“Thank you.” She glanced away. His pure regard was almost as troubling as his usual inscrutable expression. Could she leave now, without seeming ungracious? Fatigue settled over her like a heavy cloak. Her eyes felt as though sand had been blown into them.
“Miss Handley,” he replied, his voice free of its usual silky tone. “I would take it very much as an honor if you would accept this little gift. Seeing my Amelia so confident, so proud tonight—it was quite astonishing. And I owe you something for your efforts.” He scooped it up and handed it to her. “Accept this trinket as a token of my gratitude for all your hard work.”
His tender affection for Amelia was genuine. Her mind flashed back to the moments before the soiree, when he gifted Amelia with her mother’s pearls. He truly adored his daughters and would likely be grateful to anyone who helped them succeed in Society. With a nod, she took the diamond bracelet, which was warm to the touch—even through her glove. Perhaps the interview was finally over.
“Now, then. We understand each other.” He smiled as though immensely satisfied. “Go on to bed, Miss Handley. You must be exhausted. When you awaken tomorrow, I am sure Amelia will want to see you. She has much to plan for the upcoming Season.”
“Of course.” She bobbed a curtsy. “Thank you so much, Lord Bradbury.”
He waved a careless hand. “Think nothing of it. Off with you, now.”
She couldn’t suppress the wide grin that broke across her face. Why, it was as if she finally understood her employer, and he understood her. The faint thread of darkness that always wove through their conversations had vanished. It seemed she had a true ally and friend in his lordship.
She mounted the stairs, her legs heavy as lead. Perhaps she could sneak past the girls’ rooms and retire without having to speak to anyone. It would be so nice to sort through the evening’s images in her mind. Usually, after an event like this, she loved to stay up and talk about it with Harriet. But tonight she couldn’t wait to be on her own.
She changed into the nightgown that had been thoughtfully laid out on her bed by one of the servants, and b
rushed her hair with long, steady strokes. She tucked the diamond bracelet into a box on her dressing table. She would never wear it in public, of course, but it was rather nice to know that such a pretty object was hers.
Satisfied, she looked in the mirror. She would have to pay Aunt Katherine a call soon. The older lady wanted to know all about Amelia’s debut, and had made Sophie promise to spill the details as soon as she could. Perhaps she could call on Auntie tomorrow, after her tasks were done. A good “chin-wag,” as the old lady termed it, would be just the thing.
* * *
Mother sailed into the sitting room the next day, barely acknowledging Mrs. Pierce, who answered her authoritative knock as quickly as her arthritic knees would allow.
“Charles, my son! Guess what I’ve done. I’ve written your uncle Arthur and told him all about you and Sophie. You always were his favorite, you know.”
Charlie dropped his Bible, his morning’s meditation shattered. Warning bells clanged in his mind. “What did you tell him, Mother?”
“Merely that you’ve found a nice young gel and will probably wed her soon.” She swatted him on the shoulder in a rare, playful gesture. “Uncle Arthur is a veteran, too. I knew my brother would be pleased to hear about how far you’ve come since returning from Waterloo.”
“Mother, there is no guarantee we will get married.” His heart thumped painfully against his ribs. “We’ve only been...courting.”
“Well, I am sure that an engagement isn’t far off. I saw the way she looked at you.” Mother removed her gloves and untied her bonnet. “I am sure that by the time the letter reaches your uncle in Italy, you will be betrothed and ready to set about reading the banns.”
Mother’s brother was a shadowy figure from his past, someone she spoke of often, but whom Charlie had only met once. Perhaps it would be possible to remedy her mistake without too much trouble.