Lily George

by Healing the Soldier's Heart

  “Girls, that’s quite enough secret-sharing for tonight,” Mrs. Rowland broke in. “Good night, Miss Williams. It was a delight to meet you.” She curtsied briefly to Lucy and then turned to Macready. “A pleasure to see you again, Lieutenant.”

  Lucy managed a curtsy for James but couldn’t trust herself to meet his gaze. This cozy house, James’s strength and gentleness, the warmth and conviviality of the company—why, for a moment she had almost believed they would all be hers. But his mother’s pretty blue eyes held a distinctly steely light as she said good-night. ’Twas quite likely that when she and Macready departed, all the talk would be about her and the reasons why she was a totally unsuitable match.

  She took Macready’s arm and allowed him to lead her down the front steps. He handed her up into the carriage. At no point did she permit herself a backward glance. Doing so would only cause unnecessary pain. She must focus on the future, and her future did not, in all likelihood, have anything to do with Ensign James Rowland.

  “I say, Mary Rowland is the prettiest creature I ever laid eyes on,” Macready pronounced as the carriage wheels rolled into motion. “Present company excluded, of course,” he added with exaggerated courtesy.

  She chuckled. “If we were playing at a farce, I should tap you lightly on the arm with my fan for that remark.”

  “Though your words are cheerful enough, your tone sounds rather wan,” he rejoined. “Were you disappointed in the Rowland family?”

  “Not at all. I liked them very much. I’m just afraid that they don’t like me.” She settled back on the cushions. If she pressed back far enough, the carriage lamps could not illuminate her face, and that suited her quite well. There was no reason for Macready to read the truth in her expression.

  “Why would you think that? Mary seemed quite taken with you.”

  “Mary’s a dear.” Perhaps it was time to deflect the conversation from her feelings to Macready’s. “In fact, I think you two would be a perfect match.”

  Macready gave an embarrassed cough. “You are a perceptive one, Miss Lucy.”

  “I think I would have to be blind to miss the sparks between the two of you. Why, it was tantamount to watching a fireworks display at Vauxhall.” Macready spluttered, his cheeks flushing even in the dim carriage light, and she smiled at his discomfiture. “Don’t worry, Lieutenant. I am rather certain your feelings are returned.”

  “I wish that were true.” He sighed. “Her mother wants better things for her, though. I am quite certain that life with an invalid soldier is not high on Charlotte Rowland’s list of priorities for her daughter.”

  “But Mary stammers most dreadfully,” Lucy argued, tapping her finger on her knee. “And she has no dowry. The family is penniless. Despite their former noble status, Mary’s chances in the marriage mart are slim. And I know you, Macready. You are a good man. Any woman worth her salt would be lucky indeed to catch you.”

  Macready regarded her quietly. “Why can’t you say the same for yourself? We are in the same boat, are we not?”

  She sat back abruptly, hiding herself in the shadows. “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “Come now, don’t dissemble,” Macready wheedled. “It’s quite clear that you and Rowland have been enamored of each other for some time. Surely you see that you are the best thing that could possibly ever happen to him.”

  “I’m a penniless orphan. A spinster. A lifelong governess. There’s no room in my life for love,” she argued, and her voice shook with suppressed anger.

  “Rubbish. Excuses, all of them,” came the curt response from his corner of the carriage.

  “What would you have me say? That I adore James? Well, I do. It’s true. But I also guarantee that his mother is talking him out of any thought of marriage between us right now.” She pressed her lips together, willing them to stop trembling.

  “If that’s true, then you and I should form an alliance against Mother Rowland. We must work together to secure our own ends. Just like in the army—not breaking formation, presenting a united front to the enemy. For if she is talking Rowland out of marriage now, you know very well that she will be telling Mary that I am an unsuitable match, as well.”

  She sighed. “What on earth can we do?”

  “I shall prevail upon Rowland if you will do the same for Mary,” he suggested. “They will be here for a fortnight. So we must dance attendance on them as much as we can. And at the end of the two weeks, I will propose to Mary. I know that Rowland will do the same for you,” he reasoned.

  Lucy’s cheeks burned hotly. Thank goodness the dim carriage light hid her flush. “He already has. But I postponed making an answer until after his mother leaves.”

  “There you go.” He smiled and rubbed his hands together with mock glee. “Within two weeks, I daresay we will both be planning our weddings.”

  The carriage lumbered to a halt, and Lucy gathered her skirts. What an odd evening it had been. And yet, it was good to have a friend and ally in Macready. He was rather like the elder brother she always wanted but never had.

  He helped her out of the carriage and pressed her hand warmly. “Soldier on, Miss Lucy. All will be well.”

  “Thank you,” she said with a smile. “It’s good to have a fellow soldier in the fight.”

  *

  Mother sank into the worn velvet chair she favored, reaching her hands toward the blaze kindled in the hearth. James watched her warily. All evening, he knew this moment would come. He’d felt it in his gut. And now that it was here, he was already anxious to have done with the conversation.

  “Mother, I know what you want t-to t-talk about, and I want to let you know that I won’t s-stand for any r-rude r-remarks about L-Lucy.” Perhaps if he began the attack, she would fall back, and her arguments would dissolve before they even began.

  “On the contrary, she’s charming.” Mother sat back in her chair and poured a cup of tea from the china teapot on the table beside her. “But you do understand your position in the family. Charming though she may be, she is not the wife for you.”

  “That’s m-m-my choice to m-make.” He leaned against the mantel, grasping it for support. The rough oak rubbed against his fingertips. He’d have to plane it and sand it down. There was no need for a mantelpiece to be so splintery.

  “Of course.” Mother’s voice was so soft that he could barely register the remark. She blew gently on her tea before gingerly taking a sip. “But you do understand what I mean. If your father were here, he could put things so much better than I can.”

  “You w-want me to marry an heiress.” His voice was growing louder. Mary could surely hear them arguing. But trying to hide anything from his sister was pointless. They’d known intuitively of each other’s sufferings and triumphs since childhood. Even if she didn’t hear their conversation, Mary probably already knew how he felt.

  “Shush. Your servant might hear.” Mother carefully settled her teacup back in the saucer and turned her bright blue eyes on him, facing him squarely. “You’ve known for some time what I expect of you. Why do you act so defensively now? Your duty is to the family, and that means marrying someone who can restore our lost fortunes. Someone who, in exchange, would appreciate the value of our family name.” She dabbed at her mouth with her starched handkerchief. “Goodness, I detest having to put the facts so baldly, but since you insist on a confrontation…”

  “Enough.” He turned away from the mantelpiece, his hands clenched. “Lucy is a sight too good for this family if you ask me. She’s intelligent, witty and kind and has made her own way in this world. She helped me when I was at my lowest ebb. And I must mention the obvious—she’s a beautiful woman.” He paced the floor, the boards squeaking in protest. “Speak ill of her, and you might as well insult me.”

  Mother’s mouth dropped open. “Where is your stammer? Do you lose it when you grow agitated?”

  “S-sometimes. Yes.” As if that mattered at this particular moment.

  “Well then, I say it’s too
bad you don’t get furious all the time. Our family fortunes might improve.” Mother gave a sharp little laugh. “Now, then, I don’t doubt that Miss Williams is all the things you say she is. But that doesn’t change the simple fact that she doesn’t have money or a family name. We must have one or both, James. Surely as a practical man, you see the wisdom of this.”

  A white-hot shaft of anger pierced through James, painful in its intensity. Talking and arguing with Mother would get him nowhere. She was as determined in her way as he was in his. This was futile. He must convince Lucy to marry him with or without his mother’s approval. In time, his mother might soften when she saw what a lovely person Lucy really was. But until then—

  “I am determined, Mother. We shall never speak of this again.”

  “Your mind is set, then?” Mother folded her hands in her lap with the same calm deliberation that a man might use when choosing his dueling pistols.

  He nodded. She might as well know the truth. He’d never budge.

  “Well, then. There’s nothing for this poor old woman to do but slink off to bed.” She rose and planted a kiss on his cheek and stalked out of the room. But something in the tilt of her head—the stiff carriage of her back—told him that the battle had just begun.

  Mother would have been an excellent soldier. Even Wellington himself would find her formidable.

  ’Twas going to be a long fortnight.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Thank the good Lord, a man could still attend his veterans’ group meetings without Mother or Mary by his side. James mounted the stone steps of the chapel two at a time, a spring almost in his step. He might even whistle. An hour or two away from Mother’s agitated company was like a furlough. Macready had been dancing attendance on Mary since the disastrous dinner party a week ago, and Mother was frothing at the mouth that Mary hadn’t attracted a more lucrative prospective husband. Getting away from her frustration was a tremendous relief.

  And there was the chance to see Lucy today. He hadn’t seen her since she left with Macready after dinner that night. An urge to apologize, to soothe and to bolster her flagging confidence fought for primacy in his being. She must know what she meant to him, no matter how Mother behaved.

  The door of the chapel banged open, and Lieutenant Cantrill stormed out, his face as dark as a thundercloud.

  “What ho, L-Lieutenant?” James called. Perhaps something was amiss, and he could help.

  “Rowland,” Cantrill acknowledged with a brief nod. Cantrill reached out and caught the lieutenant’s good arm.

  “M-may I b-be of assistance?” By Jove, Cantrill looked ready for a fight. Even his arm was tensed as though he were prepared to strike a blow.

  Cantrill hesitated a moment, as though weighing his words. “That cur Bradbury made an improper offer to my Sophie. And now she has fled. She’s gone home to Tansley.” He spat the words out as though they choked him. “When I lay hands on that…that deceitful wretch I will thrash him within an inch of his life.”

  Well, that would be disastrous. Lord Bradbury was one of the wealthiest men in Bath—if not in all of England. His power was far-reaching, his influence extensive. Cantrill should confront him for his improper actions, of course, but in a less belligerent frame of mind. He must stall his friend until his temper was a little less…combative. “How d-did you find out? Are you certain it’s the t-truth?”

  “Of course it’s true. Lucy Williams just told me everything.” Cantrill withdrew a leather pouch from his coat pocket, giving it a shake so it jingled. “She gave me this, too. Money. My dearest Sophie sold the bracelet that blackguard gave her to help fund a ministry for the women here in the veterans’ group.” He gave a long, shuddering sigh. “What a fool I am. I should never have listened to my brother. My family—they poisoned my mind against her.”

  He could well relate to that. A wrench of pain seized his gut. If meddling mamas had their way, there would be no happy marriages in all of England. He nodded, looking Cantrill squarely in the eye. “If Lucy says it’s so, then you c-can be assured it’s the truth, no m-matter how sordid the circumstances sound. But you must g-gain some c-control over yourself. You c-can’t thrash a man like B-Bradbury. Have some sense.”

  “I must be allowed to do something,” Cantrill muttered, his mouth twisted into a grimace. “It’s not right for him to get away with that.”

  “C-confront him, certainly,” James agreed. “But leave physical violence out of the matter unless you want to end up in gaol. I work for the m-man. His influence in this city is p-profound.” If all else failed, he could interfere on his friend’s behalf, but he hoped it would not come to that.

  Cantrill gave a long, shuddering sigh. “I will go and brazen this out now.”

  “You must p-promise me not t-to use violence to settle the matter.” James laid a restraining hand on Cantrill’s arm. ’Twas odd to be holding back a superior officer; in the army, he would never have attempted to do so. But now, in civilian life, he gained an authority that the uniform never leant him.

  “I give my word.” Cantrill clenched his jaw as though wishing he could bite the words back. He flung off James’s hold and tore down the rest of the steps, fury evident in every line of his body.

  James turned and continued his progress up the steps. He must find Lucy. She was, in all likelihood, quite shaken from her encounter with Cantrill.

  The church was abuzz with activity. Men stood shoulder to shoulder and hailed James in hearty voices as he entered the narthex. “If ye’re looking for Miss Williams, she’s in the back with the young’uns,” a grizzled veteran said, jerking his thumb over one shoulder. “She’s right patient with them, despite their high spirits.”

  The corner of James’s mouth quirked. Everyone knew that he and Lucy spent far too much time together. He’d have to marry her. If not, he had a sneaking suspicion that the veterans’ group would have his hide for leading her a pretty dance.

  And there she was. She sat on the stone floor—two children nestled in her lap and a group of half a dozen urchins kneeling on the floor in a half circle around her. She was bestowing upon them her loveliest smile, a smile that lit her eyes with an amber glow. He caught his breath, watching her as she told the children a story, her lilting voice carrying over the din from the men gathered at the front of the church.

  As he drew near, she looked up and caught his gaze. A pretty pink flush stole over her cheeks and she finished her tale rather abruptly as he came to stand beside her. He took her hand, and as the children tumbled from her lap, he helped her to rise. Her hand, so small within his, was cold. He chafed the top of her hand with his thumb.

  “I just saw C-Cantrill,” he murmured into her ear as he drew her to her feet. “That was a brave thing you d-did. Most women would have merely sent round a note or some such.”

  “I thought the direct approach was best.” She withdrew her hand from his, keeping her eyes cast down. “I did it rather more quickly than Sophie wanted, but I wanted the lieutenant to know as soon as possible.”

  “I’ve missed you,” he whispered. If only he could recapture her hands again, just for a moment. He’d been deprived of her for only a week, but it felt like an eternity.

  “Hush.” She took a step backward, the rosiness in her cheeks deepening. “You shouldn’t speak so.”

  “We’re engaged,” he responded, closing the distance between them with a single step. “If I weren’t t-to speak t-to you in this fashion, something would b-be sorely amiss.”

  “We’re not engaged—not formally,” she admitted, and placed her hands on his chest in a warning gesture. “And we are in church. I would ask you to remember where you are and what you are about.”

  “When may we b-be formally engaged?” His voice held an urgent note. “You’ve m-m-met my family. When m-may we announce it?”

  “Your mother sent around a note to invite me to tea tomorrow.” She removed her hands from his person and folded them across her chest. “I don’t feel it’s r
ight to say anything until after I’ve met with her.”

  “Very well.” He looked at her from under his brows. “You are very stubborn, Miss Williams. Has anyone ever t-told you that?”

  She shrugged, the ghost of a smile crossing her pretty lips. “I’m not being stubborn. Merely wise and prudent.” She leaned over, looking past him, and nodded. “Macready? How are you this morning?”

  Oh, blast. He’d only had Lucy to himself for a few moments. Why couldn’t Macready make himself scarce? He turned to face his brother in arms, warning writ plain on his face. “Macready.”

  “Miss Williams, Rowland.” Macready nodded to each in turn. “I hate to interrupt, but—could I speak to you in private, Rowland?”

  Lucy gathered her books into her leather satchel and scooped it into her arms. “Of course, Lieutenant. I was just leaving.” She curtsied and brushed past them, and as she passed, he touched her silken sleeve.

  “T-tomorrow,” he murmured.

  She kept her head bent down but nodded—the gesture so slight that if he’d blinked, he would have missed it.

  After she was out of earshot, Macready turned to James. “Are you going to marry her?”

  “If she’ll have me.” Whether or not his mother liked her was no longer an impediment. Mother asked her to tea, didn’t she? So that boded well.

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Macready pulled him over to the side of the pew, glancing back over his shoulder. “Sit, won’t you?”

  “What’s this all about?” ’Twas thoroughly annoying to have Macready interrupt his few precious moments with Lucy and then this nonsense about looking over his shoulder and making sure no one overhead—he was behaving like an inept robber in a farce. But Macready looked so serious that worry started to gnaw. What could this be about? Was his friend ill, or in some sort of trouble?

  Macready leaned up against the wall, staring down at James with an inscrutable expression on his face. “I love your sister. And I am asking your permission to seek her hand in marriage.”