Lily George

by Healing the Soldier's Heart

  She quit the vestibule, her slippered feet making nary a sound as she creaked open the door and stepped outside. A feeling of loss, almost of homesickness, washed over her. Rowland would not seek her out, at least for the foreseeable future. What could she do? And, well, it hurt a bit that he hadn’t sent ’round a message. Anything to let her know that he wouldn’t be at the meetings anymore. Or even just a note to share his triumphant news. For it was quite extraordinary that he had landed a job. Why, within just a week or so, he had come so far. She was proud of him. Too bad she could not convey this feeling of pride to him in some way.

  She scuffed at a pebble with her toe and started down the steps. Now she had an entire day off and nothing to do. Sophie was off doing something and would be coming to the veterans’ group later in the morning. Her charges had happily planned a day out with their papa, now that Amelia’s debut had gone successfully and Louisa was quite well. No one had any need of her today. And that made one feel quite lonely and insignificant. As though she didn’t really matter in this world.

  At the bottom of the steps, she paused. She could run by Felton’s shop and just congratulate the ensign. After all, it would be the friendly thing to do. And, while she was in that part of town, she could stop by the bookseller and find a few new books for the schoolroom. That would be a pleasant diversion, and though the weather was rather peevish, it would be a shame to head back straight to Lord Bradbury’s on her day off.

  As she strolled toward the Assembly Rooms, she racked her brain for a way to approach the ensign. She’d have to tamp down her injured feelings, that was for sure. If she showed him how very hurt she was that he didn’t tell her of his good fortune, he might think her quite silly. Or suspect that she had some reason for caring about him beyond the constraints of friendship. Which of course wasn’t true. In fact, she wasn’t even sure why she felt so hurt. It was none of her affair, after all.

  She hastened her steps, as though by quickening her pace, she could run away from her thoughts. ’Twas worth a try. How wonderful it would be to run and run and run until her heart beat wildly against her breast and be far, far away from her troubling thoughts.

  She was a governess, after all. She had no family. She had to make her own way in the world. She had no time whatsoever for any silliness about caring about a young man. In even thinking about it, she was making herself ridiculous.

  By the time she reached Felton’s shop, she was out of breath. Again. It was her lot in life to always arrive breathless before any meeting with the ensign. She would never present a picture of composure to him. Never.

  She tried the door latch, her hand shaking a bit. Inside, the shop smelled pleasantly of sawdust and lemon oil. Her slippers scrunched across the floor, but as she peered around, she could discern no one. Perhaps Rowland wasn’t here after all.

  Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. Holding her head up high, as though she were quite used to mucking around carpentry shops, she wound along behind a large table. An older man, with graying hair and spectacles, glanced up sharply, as though astonished by her presence.

  “May I help you, Miss?” His voice was pleasant enough.

  “Yes. Are you Mr. Felton?” She gave him a nervous smile. Somehow, it was easier to say his name than the one of the man she truly sought.

  “I am.” He rose, dusting his hands on his rough work apron. “Are you in need of some carpentry work, Miss?”

  “No, sir.” She coughed. The sawdust was choking her. Surely ’twas that and not the embarrassment of having to utter the real purpose for her call. “I’ve come to speak to Ensign Rowland. I understand he’s working with you.”

  A sudden grin broke across his face, like the sun peeking through storm clouds. “He is. Just follow me.” He beckoned her over his shoulder.

  A torrent of words poured out of her as she followed him toward the back of the workshop. “I work with the veterans’ group, you see. And Lieutenant Cantrill told me I might find him here. So I came to see him about—” She broke off, colliding with Felton as he paused in a doorway.

  “You’ve got a visitor,” Felton announced. “You may take a bit of a respite, if you like, Rowland. You’ve been working hard all morning.” Turning, Felton gave Lucy a rather cheeky wink. “Miss.” Then he wound his way back through the shop, leaving Lucy standing on the threshold like some ridiculous and lovelorn statue.

  *

  Rowland’s heart pounded in his chest. She was here. Lucy was here. What was she doing here? How did she know he was working for Felton? She stood, still and silent, with dust motes and bits of sawdust falling around her like snow. He stood, schooling his expression to remain pleasant and neutral. He had no right to show his wonderment at her presence.

  She stepped into his workroom, her honest, forthright gazing boring into him. “I understand congratulations are in order, Ensign,” she began in that quiet, musical voice of hers. “I went to the veterans’ group for our meeting, and Cantrill said you wouldn’t be going to the meetings for quite some time.”

  The meetings. He hadn’t forgotten so much as he had been wrapped up in his new prospects. He’d wanted to tell Miss Williams about his new position many times, but why would she care? Even if he had sent ’round a note, it would seem awfully forward of him. After all, he was nothing to her except a charity case. No need to make himself ridiculous.

  “M-m-my apologies,” he began. His throat worked, but nothing else would come out. Any explanation was choked off, and he stood there, staring at her like a fool. Yet again his stammer was robbing him of any dignity.

  “No apologies necessary.” She turned away from him and began fidgeting with a block of wood he had hewn earlier in the morning, rocking it back and forth on his worktable. “Lieutenant Cantrill said that I could continue our lessons if you wish, but of course, I don’t see how you would have the time. Being busy with your new position here and all.”

  He watched her graceful fingers. Of course, she was busy, too. One of her pupils was making her debut soon—or had already. So likely Miss Williams was stretched thin. Perhaps this was her way of politely letting him know. He understood. James nodded, but her face remained stubbornly turned away from his and she did not see his expression.

  “I am happy you got this job, you know.” Her voice was quieter now; he had to strain to hear it. “It shows how determined you are to improve.” She gave the block of wood a final pat and turned his way. “I also wanted to tell you that I spoke to Dr. Phillips about you. He works with the veterans’ group, you know. He said if you wanted his opinion on your condition he would be happy to speak with you.”

  Rowland’s blood turned a shade cooler, and a buzzing sound caught his ears. Miss Williams had spoken about his condition to someone else? This wasn’t right. He thought—he thought—well, no matter what he thought, it wasn’t quite fair. “W-w-what?”

  She looked up sharply, as though the word shocked her. Or perhaps she was reacting to his tone. “I spoke to Dr. Phillips last week,” she repeated. “Louisa was ill with a bad cold, and while he was there, I asked him what he thought could be done with your speaking problem.”

  He looked down at his hands as they gripped the side of the worktable. His knuckles were growing white. Anger and despair poured through him like molten lead. He really was nothing more to Lucy Williams than a charity project. And she, whom he had trusted—she, who had asked if he really wanted to be well—had discussed his problem with someone else. The fact that she spoke to a physician as if his condition was an ailment to be cured was ludicrous anyway. There was nothing wrong with him except his own cowardice. He knew it, and the fact that she spoke about him as though he were a particularly interesting specimen with some tony doctor served to double his humiliation.

  “N-n-nothing c-c-can be d-d-done,” he managed, his face growing hotter as he tripped over the words. His stammer was growing worse, hang it all. “T-tis my own cowardice. N-nothing more. D-do not speak of it again, Miss Williams. T-t-to a
nyone.”

  Her velvety brown eyes grew wider and her face paled until the freckles stood out in bold relief across the bridge of her nose. “I beg your pardon, Ensign Rowland?”

  “I c-c-can’t speak because I was a coward on the b-b-battlefield,” he spat, clenching the workbench until a splinter stabbed his palm. Oddly, it caused no pain. “N-no physician c-can help me. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  “I see,” she murmured. But something in her expression gave him pause. What was she thinking? Was she pitying him, even now? He didn’t want her pity. He wanted her to like him. Not, of course, that she would fall madly in love with him, but it would be nice to be anything to her besides a mere curiosity.

  “D-don’t.” He gave a long, shuddering sigh. He didn’t want her concern.

  “Don’t what?” She gazed at him with those same fathomless eyes that had haunted him for days after he first met her.

  Don’t pity me. Don’t coddle me. Don’t think of me as less than a man. But the words would not come.

  It was time to put an end to this interview. He was dangerously close to losing what little grip he had on his infamous temper. ’Twould do neither of them any good if he began throwing tools against the wall in a fit of rage.

  “D-don’t ever speak of my condition with anyone else again.” Rowland released his grip on the table and regarded her as evenly as he could. “T-tis my affair and no one else’s.”

  “I see.” Lucy drew herself up to her full height, but even with perfect posture, she still was so small. His heart lurched. He’d been a bully and a buffoon, and here she was—the only person who cared enough about him to seek to ease his affliction. When would his temper cease to get the better of him?

  “I apologize, Ensign Rowland. I knew, in some ways, that speaking to Dr. Phillips was an invasion of your privacy. I hesitated to do so but thought perhaps he could really be of assistance. Please understand it was done in an attempt to help you rather than as a way to hurt you.” She turned to go and then whirled around, her skirts flaring about her slippers. “And I understand from Lieutenant Cantrill that you will be far too busy in your work here to attend any more meetings. Shall I consider our reading sessions finished for the time being?”

  He nodded. His heart was lodged in his throat, making speech impossible once more.

  “Very well.” Were those tears in her eyes? Surely not. He must be imagining things—putting thoughts and emotions on Lucy that weren’t really there. “I wish you the best of luck, Ensign. I hope your new position gives you a great deal of happiness.”

  He nodded once more. She patted the table with one graceful, gloved hand and gave him a long, searching glance. “Did you know that you regain your speech almost entirely when you are angry, Ensign? I just thought you should know.” Then she left, taking with her the last bit of beauty, of life, of hope in that small, dusty workroom.

  Rowland sank onto his step stool, the weight of her departure sinking like lead into his very being. He had been so close to having her friendship, and then he threw it away.

  When would he stop being a coward?

  Chapter Seven

  Lucy was still shaking when she let herself into the back door of Lord Bradbury’s townhome. Whether she was shaking with fury or fear mattered not a whit. In fact, she refused to examine her emotions too closely. She needed the privacy of her room. No, she needed first a bracingly hot cup of tea. Which she would then carry to the comfort and solitude of her bedroom. She would relax then for never had she been so rattled in her life.

  Lucy retrieved the kettle from the cabinet and began boiling water for her tea. Thank goodness the kitchen was blessedly empty. She didn’t want to make small talk with any of the other servants at the moment. She smoothed her still-trembling hands on her apron. She needed to gain some measure of calm before speaking to anyone else.

  She’d never really argued with anyone before— certainly not with a young man. She’d spent her life trying to get along with others, playing the part of helper in the background of other, more important people’s lives. She never had mattered enough to anyone to even get into a disagreement. Much less a fight.

  She retrieved the canister of tea leaves and placed them into the strainer, breathing deeply. The smell of tea leaves was so pleasant, so soothing. She closed her eyes and breathed once more, just as the whistle of the kettle rent the air. She splashed the hot water into the cup and carried it upstairs, not bothering with a tray and all the accoutrements of a proper tea break. She just needed to be alone, and the quicker the better.

  She settled into her window seat, pressing her hot cheek to the cool glass. But her solitude was short-lived. As soon as Lucy settled behind the curtain with her cup of tea, a knock sounded on the door.

  “Enter?” Perhaps it was the girls, returned from their day out with their papa. But no, Sophie poked her head in the doorway. Lucy sighed with relief. Perhaps she could confide in Sophie.

  “Oh, good. I was hoping you were back.” Sophie bounded into the room, plunking herself down on the settee. “I’ve some news. I think I shall be headed for Brightgate soon.”

  “Really?” Lucy’s heart lurched a bit. With no more lessons, and Sophie gone, ’twould be a dreary existence indeed. It was good for her to go and all—but when Sophie left, Lucy had only her charges to talk to.

  “Yes, if Charlie can arrange matters. You see, his mother is determined that I should come to Brightgate for a proper introduction to the family. I don’t know how we shall manage it, but Charlie feels that perhaps Aunt Katherine could help.” Sophie toyed with a loose thread on the upholstery fabric, her face turning a lovely shade of pink.

  “But…your engagement isn’t real, is it? I thought this was merely a ruse to keep Cantrill’s mother from hounding him about marriage.” Honestly, this farce of Sophie’s grew stranger by the moment. Why wouldn’t she just admit her love for Lieutenant Cantrill and be done?

  “It was, but now our plan has taken on a life of its own.” Sophie kept her face downcast, her brilliant blue eyes turned toward the Aubusson rug. “How did you fare?” she asked after a moment’s pause. “Did you see your ensign today?”

  “Yes, I did. But not at the veterans’ group.” She cleared her throat. How much of this should she tell Sophie? Sometimes, Sophie only appeared interested in her own problems. Would she even listen if Lucy spilled the whole truth? Still, Sophie was her only confidante, and she would be leaving soon for Brightgate. It wouldn’t hurt to tell her everything. In truth, it would be a relief to unburden herself.

  Lucy confided the whole of her morning to Sophie, whose eyebrows shot up in surprise as Lucy finished her tale. “Goodness,” she breathed, patting Lucy’s hand.

  “So, you see, I had to run home and just give myself a moment to mull things over. I don’t know what to do, Sophie. I—I have no purpose in life now. The girls are growing up and won’t need me soon. Helping the ensign was going to be so interesting, and now that’s gone, too. And soon you will be leaving me for Brightgate…” Hot tears welled in her eyes, and she broke off with a sniffle.

  “Oh, sweet Lucy. If it makes you feel any better, have a good howl.” Sophie enfolded her in a warm, violet-scented embrace, breaking down the last of Lucy’s reserve. She cried until the bitter disappointment flowed from her being, washed away by her salty tears. Then, hiccupping a bit, she pulled away from Sophie and fumbled for her handkerchief.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I am so upset.” She blew her nose and gave a deep, shuddering sigh.

  “Well, I imagine it’s for many reasons, though I am not certain you are ready to admit them to yourself just yet,” Sophie replied in a gentle tone.

  Lucy glanced up, her defenses bubbling to the surface. “I don’t love the ensign if that’s what you are implying. He is—he was—a good friend to me. Someone of my own age, whom I could speak to. It’s nice, after years of being alone, to have friends.”

  “Why are you so stubborn, Lucy? Why not
admit that you can—and should—fall in love?”

  Lucy leaned back against the comforting arm of the settee. How to explain her feelings to someone like Sophie? After all, though Sophie had never suffered poverty, she’d never been truly alone. Truly independent. She’d always had her sister and no end of swains. There was always someone there to love her, to want to take care of her. She hadn’t had to learn—as Lucy had, while still quite young—that there was no one for her to depend on but herself.

  “Not all of us are beautiful,” she snapped, regretting her tone as soon as she’d bitten the words out. Sophie drew back a little in surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry, Sophie. It’s just that I realized at a very early age that I was truly alone in this world. I cannot hope for someone to come along and take all my troubles away. I have to earn my own bread through my own wits.”

  “Does that mean, then, that you can never fall in love?” Sophie eyed her expectantly.

  “It means that, though I may lose my heart just as anyone would, I may not allow myself the luxury of love. I’m far from an eligible match, so there is nothing to gain and much to lose should I put my heart at risk. I shouldn’t lose my temper or waste any more thoughts on my situation with the ensign. We were friends, and through my own stupidity, I lost his friendship.” Hateful words, they were. But it was better to be honest with oneself. There were no hearts and flowers in her future. “The only question is, what shall I do to occupy myself now that the ensign no longer wants my help?”

  “Well, there is always a lot of work to be done with the veterans’ group, even if the ensign is no longer attending meetings,” Sophie replied in a determinedly cheerful tone of voice. “I’ve got a bee in my bonnet about a sewing club for the widows. Bringing everyone together to sew clothes. I think it would do the women a world of good. Some of them have such threadbare dresses. Why not do something to teach the women or the children of the group? It would help immensely, and it might make you feel better, too.”

  Lucy’s heart warmed to the idea. The little children who darted in and out of the pews at Saint Swithin’s were so adorable. How delightful it would be to sit with them, and read to them and instruct them. It would be as close to her dream of her own school as she could get. And when Louisa made her debut, and Lucy had to search for a new position, having some experience with small children might make it easier to find a new job.