Captain of Her Heart: Captain of Her HeartA Father's Sins

by Lily George

  Harriet’s soothing voice broke through the clouds of his memory. “Why weren’t the wounded escorted from the field at once?”

  Brookes shook his head. “We had orders from Wellington himself. No man was to be moved until the battle was over. Otherwise, you ran the risk of too many deserters. Stoames told me the battle ended at dusk, so there was no way to collect the wounded until the next day.”

  He turned away from Harriet, focusing on the fire again. “Sometimes I cannot stop the terrible, burning thirst I felt that day. It’s why I drink to excess sometimes. There was no water. The farmhouse well at La Sainte Haye had been polluted by mud and blood. Stoames gave me the last few drops of his gin ration, and that was all the drink there was for the next day or so, until we reached Brussels.”

  Something gentle pushed against his arm. He looked down in wonder at the top of Harriet’s glossy dark head. She was now sitting beside him on the settee. The warmth of her body flowed through him, easing the anguish he still felt from that terrible night at Waterloo. Her presence was natural and right, like the warm water from the hot spring that had caressed his wounded leg the day before. Still lost in thought, he leaned into her warmth and stroked her hair. The shiny strands slipped through his fingers like ribbons.

  “Do you understand why I lost faith?” He muttered the words, unsure if she could even hear him. “After seeing the worst of mankind, I cannot believe there is a God. If so, why would He let innocent men, dying men, suffer so?”

  Harriet turned her face up to his, unshed tears sparkling in her eyes. “I don’t pretend to know everything there is to know about faith. And I would never insult you by assuming I understood the depths of how you and your men suffered that day.” She paused, her lips trembling. “I—I feel that God won’t stop the terrible things that people do to cause each other pain. Unfortunately, that’s what makes us human. But I do feel most fervently, John, that God was with every man who died that day. He was beside you when you fell, and He was with Stoames, who risked his own life to rescue yours.”

  Brookes ceased stroking Harriet’s hair, allowing her words to wash over his soul. His heart expanded with love and peace. During his boyhood summers, he would lay in the field, staring up at the stars. The constellations he had observed then held infinite mystery and promise. He gazed deeply into Harriet’s ink-blue eyes, fathomless and deep as that summer night’s sky.

  He loved Harriet Handley.

  He would spend the rest of his life learning from her, helping her, endeavoring to be worthy of her.

  He wasn’t sure how. But it had to be so.

  Harriet drifted back from where John’s words had taken her, over the battlefield at Waterloo. Slowly, she became aware that she was sitting beside him, closer than propriety allowed, and he was stroking her hair. Despite all her best efforts, here she was in yet another intimate position with John. She didn’t remember moving near him. Holding still, she allowed her body to rest against him. She couldn’t break the spell yet. Not just yet. In a few moments, she would release him to Sophie with a full heart. Until then, she would savor this kinship whilst she could spin it out. She shifted her gaze to Mrs. Crossley, still snoring on the settee. At least his aunt was unaware of everything that transpired.

  They sat together in silence. His hand rested in her hair, and his touch filled her with longing. His story had shaken her to her core, and she wanted to care for him, easing his burden of suffering for the rest of their lives. Harriet gathered her wits, and it dawned on her that she could no longer bear to write the reality of what he had suffered. “I don’t want to write the book anymore.” She whispered the words, not wishing to change the mood, but needing to tell him just the same.

  “Why? Because of what I said?” He looked down at her, his eyes hooded and inscrutable.

  “No. Because I am unequal to the task. If I didn’t write it well enough, I would feel like I had failed you and everyone who died on that field.” The shame of it scalded her skin, but she spoke the truth, and the sooner he knew it, the better.

  “Write the book. I believe in you. I wouldn’t have told you everything that happened if I didn’t trust you.”

  Their gazes met and locked. His words had been a challenge and a confession. “I will depend upon you even more—” Harriet waited, half expecting to hear him turn her away.

  A gentle smile illuminated his features. “You have only to ask.”

  She realized she had been at the Park for hours, now it was long past time to be home. Harriet pulled away from him reluctantly, breaking the spell. “I should go.”

  John looked out of the window. “The rain has eased, but not much. I’ll ring for my carriage.” He rose and extended his hand, drawing her up from the settee. The brief touch sent a jolt of awareness through Harriet, but she carefully schooled her features so it wouldn’t show. He gave the bell-pull a tug, while Harriet smoothed her hair and her dress.

  “Bunting, the carriage for Miss Handley.” John barked the order the moment the door to the library opened, without even turning around.

  “Right away, Captain.” Bunting bowed out.

  John offered her the crook of his arm. “I’ll escort you to the door.”

  They stood together in the entry hall, waiting for the carriage to pull up to the front door. Harriet could think of nothing sensible to say, so she remained quiet. She looked up at the ceiling, where candlelight flickered in a simple brass chandelier, and down at the floor, which was rubbed to a highly polished gleam. Brookes Park was very much like its owner—masculine, unadorned and yet very handsome. Sophie expressed such intense pleasure at seeing the Park, and gushed about how she longed to be mistress over everything. How would her sister’s lovely but slightly florid style transform this house?

  Harriet breathed a sigh of relief when the carriage rounded the courtyard and neared the door. She took a step forward, but John drew her back. Sliding his hand down her arm, he clasped her hand and brought it quickly to his lips. The kiss burned through Harriet’s glove, leaving her light-headed and breathless.

  “Thank you.” It said everything, yet it said nothing. Then he handed her up into the carriage. The coachman flicked the reins, and they were off. Harriet peered at John through the curtains lining the carriage window. Before they rounded the curve of the courtyard, John disappeared into the house. Settling back against the cushions, Harriet fought a rising fear that he would likewise disappear from her own life.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Auntie’s silence was an accusation. She sat across the supper table from Brookes, toying with her dish of beefsteak and shallots, not saying a word. Her lack of conversation disconcerted him more than anything. Usually Auntie held a ready opinion on every subject, so when she kept her counsel it was an almost incriminating act. Had she heard what transpired in the library this afternoon?

  Brookes regarded his aunt with a watchful eye. Then he turned his gaze down to the steak on his plate as fatigue rolled over him like a wave. How nice his warm bed would feel at the end of this evening. His confession to Harriet tired him, but beneath the exhaustion an inexpressible feeling of lightness lingered.

  “Nephew, I have a wish to go to Bath.” Ah, there it was. Auntie’s imperious voice broke through his weary fog.

  “Matlock Bath? Of course. I’ll make sure the carriage can take you tomorrow.”

  “No, my beloved idiot. I meant Bath proper. I’m feeling achy in my joints and bored to tears and I think Bath would be the best cure for it all.” Aunt Katherine bestowed a warm and loving smile on him.

  “Very well.” He looked up at her, lifting his brows. “How long will you be gone?”

  “You must come with me. I couldn’t possibly travel alone.” She rested her fork beside her plate, folding her hands in her lap.

  “I would love to, but it would be i
mpossible, Aunt. There’s too much for me to do around the Park and the mill.”

  Aunt Katherine smiled, glossing over his work at the mill and on the farm as though they simply didn’t exist. “I’ll bring Harriet Handley along as a travel companion, and the pair of you can work on her book.”

  He blinked. His aunt, with her acute powers of sensibility, read his mind. If Auntie brought Harriet along, he could find a way to win her hand during their excursion. But it wouldn’t do to be too obvious about it. He racked his brain, trying to find the right answer. Harriet’s book. Of course. “There’s an old army chum of mine, living in Bath. Charles Cantrill. I will see if I might visit him, and bring Harriet along. It might help her book if she talks to another soldier who was there. Cantrill lost his left arm, Aunt, so he’s taking the waters until his health improves.”

  His aunt regarded him, eyes sharp and bright. “Perhaps taking the waters would do you good, too, my boy.”

  Brookes couldn’t recall the last time he blushed, but it had been many years. He hoped his aunt couldn’t see the flush creeping up his cheeks now. He felt like a lad caught stealing gingerbread from the larder. Attempting to put her off the scent, he smiled. “True, though the bathhouse here might be effective.”

  “The Park is lovely, but the waters of Bath are incomparable. And you’ll have the chance to visit your friend. I shall write to Harriet’s mother after dinner and beg her to release Harriet for a few weeks. How long will it take you to ready yourself for the journey?”

  He made a rough mental calculation of the state of affairs at both the mill and the farm. “I could be ready within three days.”

  “Excellent. We will travel in easy stages, my boy, none of your breakneck speeds for me. We could be down there within a week and a half, and then spend a month or so there. It would amuse me and I am sure the waters will improve my health. And you will be able to work with Harriet whenever you wish. It’s the best solution.” She picked up her fork again, biting into her steak with relish.

  Perhaps she slept through his interview with Harriet this afternoon. But Brookes rather doubted it. She was up to her old tricks, meddling and manipulating to help others find happiness. A sudden grin broke out over his face. Only this time, he would allow himself to be manipulated. It suited his needs perfectly.

  “Harriet! Come here at once.” Mama’s voice rang down the stairs, startling Harriet so that she dropped her pen. Precious ink splattered across the page, and Harriet blotted it in haste. She capped the inkwell. Why did Mama sound so angry?

  Dashing up the stairs, Harriet tried to think what she could have done wrong. By the sound of her voice, Mama was upset. Perhaps she found out that Harriet had all but embraced the captain yesterday. Or perhaps she knew that Harriet went to the bathhouse with him. That last thought slowed her steps. None of her actions had been consciously calculated to harm Sophie’s chances or show her true feelings to the captain. But Mama wouldn’t care about Harriet’s reasons. Elevated to polite society through marriage, Mama cared only for decorum and appearances—she did not care a fig for intentions.

  Entering the room, Harriet steeled herself to make a full confession. She sank onto the foot of the bed. “Mama, I—”

  “Harriet, I must know why Mrs. Crossley wrote, asking me if you would be a companion to her on her journey to Bath.” She regarded Harriet gravely, peering at her over the sheet of foolscap she was clutching. “Have you been pushing yourself at her too much? We are too poor to mingle with people like Mrs. Crossley, at least until Sophie marries the captain.”

  Harriet snatched up the letter, scanning through its contents. Yes, there it was. Mrs. Crossley had written to ask her mother to spare her for a few weeks. Harriet raised her eyes to her mother’s face, hoping her confusion registered with the dawning hope in her expression. “Mama, I had no idea. I’ve spoken to Mrs. Crossley quite often, and the subject of Bath has never come up. Honestly. This is the first I’ve heard about it. All I have been doing is working on the book with Captain Brookes.”

  “Oh, your book.” Mama waved her hand and sighed. “If anyone should be going to Bath, it should be me. I am the one who is ill. There was a time when I went to Bath once a year to take the waters, see the plays, hear the concerts. Now it’s all gone.”

  Harriet nodded, hoping her mother would cease her reminiscences there, instead of working herself into a hysterical fit. Mama snatched the letter back.

  “Well, I will simply write her back and tell her no. I couldn’t possibly spare you for all those weeks. What if something should happen to me?” She sank back onto her pillows.

  Disappointment surged through Harriet, and tears blurred her vision. She never thought of going to Bath, but Mrs. Crossley’s invitation stirred the excitement in her blood. A change of scene—what a lovely thought. Determined not to let the tears show, she blinked and nodded slowly.

  “Besides, we are too poor. You haven’t any clothes fit to wear in Bath, and I wouldn’t have you looking like a poor relation. You are Sir Hugh Handley’s daughter, though some might want to forget it.” Mama cast the letter aside and faced Harriet squarely.

  Harriet sighed, hoping to stem the litany that was sure to follow. Her mother would start listing all of her grievances against the Handleys, and grow so upset that she would have to take a dose of laudanum. Harriet hated when Mama took the laudanum. Her now-constant reliance on the medicine sent a prickle of unease through Harriet, and the marathon naps she took after a single dose was troubling. If only they could find a different, or at least less worrisome solution for Mama’s illness.

  Mama sharpened her gaze, regarding Harriet with the air of one trying to read her soul. “And besides, shouldn’t Sophie be the one getting to know the family better? Book or no book, you spend entirely too much time at the Park.”

  A need to justify her visits compelled Harriet to speak quickly. “But I am writing the book to benefit our family, Mama. If I sell it, we might have some money, and I could take care of the whole family.”

  “The book is a nice gesture, Harriet, but there is no guarantee you can write it well enough that it will sell. I have indulged your dream of your book, but in truth I do not approve of young girls working for money. It’s simply not done. The only real chance we have is Sophie’s marriage to the captain, and I won’t have you ruining that by keeping them apart for any reason.” Mama dismissed Harriet’s novel with a shrug of her shoulders.

  “Harriet, be a good girl, go and fetch me some fresh water. Mix a little tincture for me, won’t you?” Mama gave her a rare, cajoling smile, and patted her hand. “I will write to Mrs. Crossley while you prepare everything, and send my response straight away. No use allowing the question to linger. Become a companion for her? What nonsense. You’re already my companion, aren’t you?”

  The next morning, Harriet had no idea what the future of her book might be. The chances of finishing grew slimmer by the moment. If Mrs. Crossley left for Bath, her daily trips to Brookes Park to work on the book must cease, as she would have no chaperone. And Mama did not want her to continue anyway. So Harriet sought comfort in the garden. Putting her pen aside was like an act of treason, but she did so anyway. Her manuscript hindered her sister’s courtship, and nothing more could come of it.

  The sound of carriage wheels ground to a halt in front of the cottage. Harriet stood up, shielding the sun from her eyes with one dirty, gloved hand. That was Brookes’s vehicle. While Harriet gazed in wonderment, a tiny old woman alit gracefully, stopping in front of the house. Mrs. Crossley. What on earth? Stripping off her gloves, Harriet stepped across the path, picking her way through the muddy garden.

  She doused her face and hands with chilly water at the pump, wiping the droplets off with a corner of her apron. She must look a mess, but nothing could be done about it now. She entered the cottage through the back door, tiptoeing though the k
itchen. The sound of voices carried in from the parlor, where Sophie and Rose had congregated with Mrs. Crossley. The old woman’s imperious tone rose above the rest. “No, thank you, no tea. I am here to speak with Harriet and Lady Handley.”

  Harriet strode into the room, extending her hand. “Mrs. Crossley—what a nice surprise. I am so happy you came by for a little visit. Are you leaving for Bath soon?”

  “Yes, it so happens that I am leaving in two days’ time. And that’s why I am here.” Mrs. Crossley rose from her chair by the fire. “I received a most upsetting letter this morning, from her ladyship. She says she cannot spare you to be my companion for my journey. I should like to speak to her, if I may.”

  “Her ladyship is very ill, Mrs. Crossley. She’s taken a little tincture of opium this morning to ease her nervous exhaustion.” Rose’s eyes darted from Mrs. Crossley to Harriet, silently pleading for assistance. “I don’t think she’s well enough to receive anyone.”

  “Oh, tosh. I shall only need a few moments of her time.” Mrs. Crossley rapped her knuckles on the back of the chair. “Her ladyship needn’t come down. Show me the way to her room, and I will visit with her there.”

  Harriet glanced at Sophie, who hadn’t uttered a word. Her sister’s eyes grew wider, but if Sophie was shocked, she tried to carry the moment with appropriate social grace. “Oh, Rose, do take her up to see Mama. I’m sure she would hate to miss speaking with Mrs. Crossley. We receive so few visitors.”

  Harriet’s heart surged with gratitude. Her little sister had handled the situation with style. Sophie would make John a fine wife, one who would run Brookes Park with elegance, if she continued to grow in refinement and poise.

  “Very well, dearie. Follow me, if you please, Mrs. Crossley.” Rose ushered her out of the room and up the stairs.

  Sophie turned to Harriet, her eyes sparkling. “What is this about Bath? Will you travel with Mrs. Crossley?”