Lily George

by Healing the Soldier's Heart

  But that was a ridiculous notion. And the more Louisa chattered on about it, the more Lucy began to believe it. Even though she kept her feelings tucked away, never letting on, it would do her no good to continue listening to Louisa. In fact, it could do real harm. It allowed Louisa to spin fantasies when she should be studying, and it made Lucy dream of marriage, a home, a family of her own—when she should be concentrating on her charge. In fact, she hadn’t done a thing about creating a school for the young children of Bath. She should be working on that instead of daydreaming. A wave of guilt swept over her, and she turned sharply to Louisa.

  “You must drop these silly notions about Ensign Rowland and myself.” Her voice was nearing shrillness—she’d have to calm down before she continued. She took another fortifying deep breath. “Ensign Rowland comes of a noble family,” she explained, noting Louisa’s crestfallen expression. “He does not have any designs on me, and indeed he simply cannot. I have no family. Any possible connection between the two of us would be considered by his family a dreadful misalliance. Do you understand?”

  “His family name is Rowland?” Louisa had stopped her dancing, and now she stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought. “Rowland. Rowland. I shall have to consult Papa’s DeBrett’s. I haven’t heard of them.”

  “Minor nobility. Penniless, I suppose,” Lucy hastily amended. Goodness, what if Lord Bradbury caught Louisa digging in his copy of the peerage for a connection for her governess? Oh, the madness that would then ensue. She closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself.

  “Well, if they are penniless, why do they care whom he marries? I mean, you are as wonderful as any titled lady in Bath.” Louisa drew close and enveloped Lucy in a warm hug. “I can tell when I see you two together how very much you both like each other.”

  “Well, I suppose if they are penniless, they want their son to marry an heiress.” Lucy returned the hug and then set Louisa away from her, looking into her charge’s dark eyes. “You must listen to me, Louisa. There is no relationship between myself and Ensign Rowland, nor is there likely to be. We cannot talk about this any longer. It’s a waste of breath and time.”

  Louisa shrugged, the corners of her lips pointing down. “Very well. I won’t say anything about it anymore. But I think it’s rotten that you can’t marry the ensign just because of money and titles.”

  “Rotten? It’s your world,” Lucy replied, unable to suppress a laugh.

  Louisa’s face turned a shade paler, and her frown deepened. “I don’t think that’s funny.”

  A pang of remorse shot through Lucy. “I’m sorry, Louisa. I wasn’t thinking.” She looked at the little clock on the mantel as it began chiming the quarter hour. “I shall run downstairs and check in with the ensign about the library. While I am gone, I want you to continue your history lesson. And after lunch, we shall go for a walk. Would you like that?”

  Louisa nodded and trudged over to her desk.

  Oh, bother. She shouldn’t have been so sarcastic with Louisa. But it was so difficult to make her young charges see the differences—not just in the classes of people one found in society but differences of situation and even differences of temper. Both Amelia and Louisa, coddled and pampered from birth, had enjoyed carefree, happy lives. They expected that everyone around them had, as well. She quit the schoolroom and closed the door gently behind her.

  It was her nerves that had done it. She’d worked herself up over the ensign’s impending arrival, she chided herself as she descended the main staircase. If she had been as calm as she should, then Louisa’s silly expectations and notions would not have ruffled her feathers as they had. She must gain control of her emotions. She really must.

  A cacophony of hammers and sawing greeted her as she neared the library. Workmen shuffled in and out of the room, carrying out crate after crate of books. These crates, she noted, were stacked neatly in the hallway or in the adjoining billiards room. Despite the racket, the entire operation looked calm and orderly. She was grateful for that. Though this plan carried with it some obvious need to cause disarray, it would please his lordship that the chaos was being kept to a minimum.

  James would certainly earn his lordship’s approval. But where was he? He was nowhere to be seen among the workmen bustling to and fro. So she must enter the hornet’s nest, so to speak. Gathering her skirts along with her courage, she stepped over the threshold.

  James glanced up from his station at a library table as she entered. His eyes glowed with an excited light. He beckoned her over with a wave of his hand. “C-c-come in,” he shouted, his voice carrying over the noise. “As you see, we’ve s-s-started.”

  “So I can tell,” she shouted, giving him a smile. Goodness, carrying on a conversation in this din would be a chore. “Do you need anything from me?” Perhaps making this brief appearance would be enough to satisfy everyone, and she could return to her schoolroom. Lingering too long with James was an invitation to heartbreak.

  “Yes. B-but let’s find someplace quieter.” He laughed as his voice was drowned out by hammering. He grasped her arm above her elbow and steered her toward the doorway. She allowed herself to be carried along, enjoying the feeling of sure strength that came from being beside James. She would permit herself this morsel of enjoyment but no more than this.

  They stepped out into the hallway, and James turned to her. “Where c-can we g-go for a few moments’ p-p-peace?”

  The workers, like industrious ants, continued filing in and out of the library, going back and forth between it and the billiards room. Well, perhaps they could have a moment in the music room. Louisa’s practice would not take place until later in the day. “In here,” she responded, crossing the hallway and opening the door. “We should have reasonable quiet to discuss our plans.”

  He nodded and followed her inside. She gave a sigh of satisfaction—this was the prettiest room in the house, in her opinion. The walls were a pale shade of almond green, very restful and serene to the senses, and the floor to ceiling windows offered a glimpse of the gardens outside. The pianoforte, a prized instrument that was well worth its weight in gold, anchored the room, providing a sense of purpose. And Amelia’s golden harp glowed in the corner. Lucy smiled and sank onto the settee.

  James remained standing, his hands clasped behind his back. This peaceful room seemed to have the opposite effect on him—for he began pacing back and forth. After a brief, tense moment, Lucy spoke. She had to break the strain. “Is something wrong with our plans for the library?”

  “No, n-nothing is wrong with the l-library. It should b-b-be splendid, thanks t-to you.” James glanced over at the open door. “D-do you mind if I c-close that?”

  “No. Of course.” It wasn’t entirely proper to be alone in a room with a young man, but ’twas quite unlikely that someone as noble as James had dishonorable intentions. There was likely a practical explanation for their need of privacy. Perhaps there was a problem with the workmen, and he didn’t want them to overhear as he explained the issue to her.

  He shut the door with a quiet click and resumed his pacing before her.

  “Oh, James, I wish you would say what’s troubling you. I am quite in a swither, wondering what’s causing you to march up and down on the rug.” Perhaps a bit of humor would help ease the sudden nervous energy pulsating throughout the room.

  He stopped and turned to face her. A brief grin flashed across his face. “M-my apologies. It’s not the l-library. It’s about y-you and m-me.”

  A knot worked its way up her throat, and in a moment, she would burst into tears or cry out. He knew that she fancied him, and he was going to let her down gently. She swallowed convulsively, but her mouth was dry as a desert.

  “L-Lucy.” He drew close and knelt on the floor before the settee, taking her hand in his. His hand was large and warm, whereas hers had grown cold. He chafed them, as though trying to thaw them. “I m-must speak frankly and quickly, for I—I—I lose m-my voice at t-times like these. B-but I m-must know the
t-truth. C-c-can you—c-could you ever—c-care for m-me?”

  She stared down into his face. Had she heard aright? Surely he’d said something else, and she misunderstood. Her silence grew long, and a bright flush stole over James’s handsome features.

  “I—I—I know I am a c-coward, and I s-s-stammer, but I’m m-m-making something of myself. And I am doing so b-because of you. I w-want to be a b-better m-man because of you.”

  Well, that couldn’t have been her imagination. He had to be saying those words. She stared at his lips, her heart beating so that she had trouble catching her breath. Was he—did he—like her? Care for her?

  James tightened his grasp on her hands. “P-p-please say something.” His voice broke slightly, and he looked away.

  She gasped, as though someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over her head, and leaned forward so that he had to turn back and look at her. At the very least, she owed him the truth. “I do care for you.”

  *

  A rush of heady triumph surged through James. She cared for him. Despite his stammer, despite his cowardice, Lucy Williams cared. He made a motion as though to scoop her into his arms, but the expression on her face stopped him. This was not the way a woman joyfully in love should look. Her creamy cheeks were so pale they were almost translucent. The freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose stood out in bold relief.

  And those eyes. Those rich brown eyes that haunted him night and day. All the spark was quenched from their depths.

  She looked sick and terribly sad.

  His heart dropped like a stone. “What’s wrong?”

  “We can never speak of this again,” she whispered, trying to extricate her hands from his grasp. “I should go.”

  “You can’t go. Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” If he let her leave now, she’d disappear from his life. He was certain of it. The mutinous tilt of her chin, the quenched fire in her eyes, all spelled a determination to leave him. “If you care for me as much as I do you, we should be the happiest creatures in all of Bath.”

  “We might be, perhaps,” she admitted. “But what of your family? Surely they would be quite unhappy at our declarations.”

  “Mother? And Mary?” He was befuddled, he had to admit it. Why would his family object to Lucy? She was an extraordinary woman. Surely they would see it the moment they met her.

  “James, please listen.” She stopped trying to take her hands from his grasp, but she kept her eyes cast down. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? “I am a penniless orphan. I have no family connections. Nothing to recommend me. Your mother and sister are relying upon you to marry well, I am sure.”

  “My family is not as snobbish as you think.” Mother wanted him to marry well, of course, but once she met Lucy she’d know what a wonderful girl he’d found. He rose from his spot on the floor and sank beside her on the settee, moving as close to her as propriety would allow. “And I would never marry any woman for her money or her connections.” His stammer had quite vanished under the emotion of the moment and he said a silent prayer of gratitude. ’Twas hard enough to say these things aloud without tripping over his words.

  “Oh, I know you wouldn’t, James.” She gave a deep, shuddering sigh. “But I am a realist, and you must be, too. You must know that my lack of family, lack of breeding, lack of anything to recommend me makes me a very poor choice for you.”

  “I won’t listen to this any longer.” A spark of anger grew hot within him. “Your family—your father—were good people. I won’t have you denigrate them. And I won’t sit here like a fool and beg you.” He let go of her hands and rose. “Perhaps these excuses are a ruse because you don’t really like me and want to ease my hurt feelings.”

  “They aren’t. And I do care for you very much.” At length, she gave him one of her quick, darting glances, her eyes bright with unshed tears that extinguished his anger in an instant. “I have told myself time and again not to care, because I was certain there was no future in it.”

  “D-don’t c-cry.” His voice sounded ragged even to his own ears. He touched the side of her face with his hand, stroking his thumb along her jawline. “There is a future for us. I swear t-t-to it.”

  She closed her beautiful eyes, and tears spilled forth, tracing paths down her pale cheeks. “I wish I could believe it.”

  He was so close to happiness. It was like a leaf dancing on a chill autumn wind. He kept drawing closer, trying to grasp it, and another fickle breeze would blow it just out of reach. “Will you c-c-come home with m-me and m-meet m-my family?”

  “I can’t leave here. Not with Sophie gone to Brightgate.” She gave a little hiccupping sob. “The girls are relying upon me.”

  “Then I shall write to Mother and Mary and ask them to join me here for a visit.” He withdrew his handkerchief from his pocket and gently scrubbed away the paths of her tears. “Once they meet you I am certain they will adore you.”

  “I wish I could be so sure.” Her lips trembled into a shadow of a smile.

  “You c-c-can be.” Again, happiness just flitted out of grasp. He was ready to seize it—to make it his. “L-Lucy, d-d-do you want to m-marry m-me?”

  “I…I do. But I cannot make any promise to you. Not until I meet your family and gain their acceptance and approval.” Her lovely face had settled into lines of determination. She was a stubborn one. He admired her for it, and at the same time, exasperation threatened to overtake him completely. He was ready to sweep her into his arms and kiss her until she consented to become his wife and gave up this silly nonsense about family connections.

  But as a solider, he had to know when to make a strategic retreat. He had not given up, but he knew that victory would not be won today. At least he knew she cared. That little flicker of hope would keep him going. And once Mother and Mary came and met Lucy, the matter would be settled. They would be married, and he would have his adorable Lucy forevermore. He need only be patient a bit longer.

  He stroked her soft cheek with the pad of his thumb. “B-but I shall ask again s-s-soon. I h-hope to hear a happier answer then. And in the m-meantime, I shall c-c-court you with a v-v-vengeance.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he laid his finger across her lips. “Just s-s-say yes to that, L-Lucy,” he breathed, willing her to understand the depths of his emotion.

  Lucy looked at him, her dark eyes still bright with tears. She gave a trembling sigh. Then—“Yes.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lucy stuffed another schoolbook into her bag. The children of the veterans’ group would wait no longer. As of today, she would start spending her off days up at Saint Swithin’s, holding an impromptu school. ’Twas something she’d meant to do for weeks, before Sophie’s departure and Amelia’s debut made it necessary for her to put it aside.

  But if she were to be honest with herself, the idea of a school was a good distraction that she needed now more than ever. She had not seen James for three days now, not since the day he proposed to her in the music room. And she had not breathed a word of their conversation to anyone. When Sophie returned home the day before, Lucy kept her counsel, immersing herself into Sophie’s problems with Lieutenant Cantrill. She’d certainly not said a word to Louisa. Besides being highly improper, such a course of action would open Lucy to an onslaught of Louisa’s romantic notions, and she was not strong enough to endure more of that nonsense.

  She laced up the leather satchel, which now bulged with books, slates and slate pencils. She’d done such a fine job of convincing herself that James’s proposal was meaningless—hopeless, in fact—that sometimes she wondered if it had really transpired. Perhaps she’d dreamed the whole thing. And that thought made her heart ache. She wanted it to be true, even though the marriage he’d said he wanted could never, ever come to fruition.

  She struck out for Saint Swithin’s alone. Sophie had broken off her engagement with Lieutenant Cantrill and would no longer be attending any veterans’ group meetings. The lieutenant was probably still home in Brightgate,
so he wouldn’t be there. It promised to be a rather small crowd with no familiar faces. She infinitely preferred the familiar. At the mere thought of confronting a lot of strangers, Lucy began twirling a lock of her dark hair with her fingers. But then, it was either this or sit at home where she would have the option of listening to Sophie wail or sitting at her window seat and stare at the walls, replaying her conversation with James in her mind over and over. Action was definitely preferable to moping about the house.

  The weather was gray, and storm clouds gathered menacingly on the horizon. It was going to be a wet walk home, quite likely. She scanned the skies with an anxious glance. Perhaps she could stay in the church until the storm passed this afternoon. It would be horrid to get soaked to the bone, and the books would likely be ruined, as well.

  She mounted the stone steps leading to Saint Swithin’s as hastily as ladylike behavior would allow. Bother. The satchel with the books was so dreadfully heavy. Why had she brought so many? She’d have to start a lending library and leave the books in the chapel. She’d ask Reverend Stephens if that would be a welcome thing. It would certainly save her back and shoulders to do so.

  A familiar figure stood at the top of the stairs.

  James.

  Her heart leaped as he spied her and began descending the stairs, his face creased with a sudden smile of welcome. James grasped the satchel and lifted it onto his shoulders, stealing a quick peck on her cheek as he did so. She darted a warning glance at him as she surrendered her burden.

  “What?” He laughed with triumph. “I p-promised you I would c-court you. You c-can’t b-blame a fellow for t-trying.” He tucked her arm into his elbow and led her up the rest of the stairs. “What’s in the b-bag?”