Lily George

by Healing the Soldier's Heart

  “As I mentioned in my letter, work p-precluded me from arriving until this week.” James arched one eyebrow as he surveyed his mother’s aristocratic features. “But the workmen d-did all of the heavy lifting and p-packing for you. Macready even came t-to supervise. You were hardly left on your own.”

  Mother sniffed. “It matters not a whit. The thing is done now. At the very least, I am in a home befitting our station.” She waved her hand languidly around the room. “Four bedrooms, two parlors, a dining room, and a study. It’s at least twice as big as our old cottage, and the gardens are far prettier.”

  “I’m g-glad you like it, Mother. We were lucky to find it on such short notice.”

  “So I take it your work with the Earl of Cavendish and Lord Bradbury has not gone unrewarded,” Mother added, looking at him squarely. “Perhaps now that you have a bit of money, you can cease with this ridiculous nonsense. Working with your hands? You are a Rowland, after all. Now’s the time to begin seeking a mate so you can take your place as a gentleman.”

  He straightened in his seat. Well, Mother had certainly come straight to the point—and to the heart of his purpose for visiting her in her new home. Of course, she had raised two arguments just then—arguments he never, after today, wanted to discuss again.

  Mother smiled at him and picked up her teacup, stirring it with a tiny silver spoon. “There’s a young lady in the village, her name is Elizabeth Warren. She’s the daughter of George Warren, a merchant. She’s a pretty thing, rather buxom for my tastes, but one can’t have everything. She has a sizable dowry, and rumor has it that she is hunting for a title.” Mother set her spoon aside and took a careful sip of her tea. “I’ve invited her to dine with us this evening.”

  In years past, such a pronouncement would have hurled James into a mad, impotent rage—but no more. Whether Mother admitted to it or not, he was the head of the Rowland family, and he would have no woman but Lucy Williams. Now was the time to make that clear.

  “That sounds lovely,” he replied in an easy tone, “but I am afraid I w-won’t be able to stay. I shall be dining at the inn t-tonight.”

  Mother drew her eyebrows together crossly. “Really, James—”

  “Enough, Mother.” He rose and crossed over to the hearth, placing one booted foot upon it. “For years you have c-clung to the absurd notion that the Rowlands are still of the gentry and that a successful marriage on my p-part—to a woman chosen by you, of course—will restore our lost fortunes.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve c-come from Bath to disabuse you of this notion.”

  Mother set her teacup aside with a defiant clink. “You are being disrespectful, James.”

  “I mean no disrespect, Mother. But you must understand that, henceforth, I am the leader of this family.” He kept his tone cool and even, his expression open and frank. As always, when his emotions ran high, his stammer vanished. “I will not cease in my work for Felton. Besides putting a roof over your head and a dowry in Mary’s pocket, my work provides me great personal satisfaction. When I do marry, I will continue to be a cabinet and furniture maker.”

  Mother tsked, her mouth turned downward, and she shook her head. “If your father were here—”

  “If Father were still alive, I’d like to think he would applaud my decision. I intend to stand on my own feet and face the world on my own terms. I will be a coward no longer. I’ve made a rather good career for myself with Felton, and I refuse to cast it aside for any tarnished dreams you hold for our family.”

  Mother’s china-blue eyes widened. “I did not say you were a coward, my son.”

  James sighed, clasping his hands behind his back. “No, you did not. But, Mother, you must know the truth. Until very recently, I lived my life afraid of everything. It all began at Waterloo, when I feigned death to keep from being killed. After that, everything I did was in reaction to that one act. I could find no purpose in my life because I was afraid to act. One person helped me to overcome that cowardice. She is the reason that I stand before you as I am today. Lucy Williams. Lucy is the reason I can look myself in the eye.” Now was the time to tell the truth. It was easier than he’d worried it would be, after all these years. “Mother, I intend to marry Lucy. She is my intended and no one else.”

  “Oh, James.” Mother dropped her head in her hands. “I had intended you to marry so well.”

  “If you mean that you wanted me to marry a woman who loves me, who makes me a better person, who nurtures me as a helpmeet—then you have no better choice than Lucy.” This was it. He was putting his foot down. There was no turning back. “But I refuse to marry a woman for her money, which is—I’m afraid—your definition of marrying well.”

  “I don’t deny that Lucy is a sweet girl.” Mother sniffled, her eyes growing misty. “I grew quite fond of her despite myself.” She heaved a gusty sigh. “It’s just…if you could but remember how wealthy our family used to be—the carriages and the homes, the food and the gowns—you would know how very badly I wanted it all back. Not just for me, but for you and Mary, to have everything that should have been your birthright. And Lucy, despite her goodness, was keeping me from attaining those things once more.”

  “Look around you, Mother.” He indicated the cozy parlor with a sweep of his hand. “C-could you ask for better than this? A nice home and two happily married children? Mary and Macready are as happy as I will be with Lucy. We w-want nothing more than what we have. How many of the gentry c-could say the same?” She was softening. He could feel it. And with the conviction that he would get his Lucy, he relaxed. And of course, his stammer returned. It would always return.

  Mother laughed and sobbed at the same time, a strange noise issuing from her throat. “I see your mind is made up, then.”

  “It is.” Never had he been so firm in his conviction before. “You might as well know that I already tried to p-persuade Lucy to marry me despite your wishes, and she refused. She would not c-consent to wed me until she received your approval. Mother, I ask that you g-give your approval to Lucy. She is a virtuous woman, just like the B-Book of P-Proverbs describes. In her, I will have no lack of g-gain.”

  “Well, at least you are asking for something instead of just telling me what you intend to do.” Mother withdrew a handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose. “You are determined, so what more can I say? If I say no, I run the risk of losing you. You may not convince her to marry you without my consent, but I could see you drifting away from my life altogether.” She sighed. “I cannot lose you. It was difficult enough to see you off to war. If you are set on staying a furniture maker for life, then I cannot deny you your Lucy.”

  “Thank you, Mother.” He swooped down from his spot on the hearth and kissed his mother’s finely wrinkled cheek. “I shall b-b-be happy the rest of my life.” His heart pounded in exultation. ’Twas just a matter of a fortnight before Cantrill’s wedding—and he would see Lucy there—

  Mother gave him a sad smile. “I want you to be happy. That’s why I wanted you to marry an heiress. I wanted our family to be well provided for. But since you’re resolute about making your own way in the world, what am I to do? Stand in the way of true love?”

  James grasped her cold hand. “Mother, I know this is hard for you to accept, but I wouldn’t change things. Not for all the t-t-tea in China. I’m attending Lieutenant Cantrill’s wedding in T-Tansley in just a matter of weeks. I w-w-want you to write a l-letter t-t-to Lucy, removing your objections t-t-to the match. She’ll never b-believe me if I t-t-tell her you have c-consented. It m-must come d-d-directly from you.”

  “Lucy will be in Tansley, then?”

  “Yes, Sophie Handley—Lieutenant C-C-Cantrill’s bride—is a d-dear friend of Lucy’s. So I am certain she will b-be in attendance as w-w-well.” In fact, Sophie was making sure that the two of them would meet. She must know that something was afoot. And for once, he was grateful of another woman meddling in his wedding plans. At least Sophie had chosen the right woman to match him with.
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br />   “Very well.” Mother sighed. “I shall post a letter this afternoon. Shall I send it in care of Sophie? That way, it will be ready and waiting for her when she arrives in Tansley.”

  “Yes, M-M-Mother. That would b-be a wonderful idea.” He rose. He had a few more matters of business to attend to before he could strike out for Tansley Village. And now that he was certain that Mother would give Lucy her blessing, he could finish making his preparations. “If you are s-s-still having d-d-dinner with Miss Warren, then I shall t-t-take my m-m-meal at the inn.”

  “What would be the point?” Mother pouted. “I shall cancel our dinner engagement and feign illness. As it is, I feel rather peaked at the moment.”

  “P-p-poor Mother.” He pecked her cheek once more. “I have work to attend to out in the stable. I’ll be b-back to wash up before d-dinner.”

  Mother made a little sound indicating acceptance and shrugged her shoulders. Well, she’d likely sulk for a few days. After all, her entire world had changed in the space of a fortnight.

  He walked out of the house and toward the stable. The brisk October breeze ruffled his hair. The clouds gathered in a silver mass over the horizon, and the leaves on the trees were a kaleidoscope of reds, yellows and browns. If he were uncertain of his future, this autumn weather might add to his depression. But now, it served merely to remind him that November was on the way, and with it, his chance to make Lucy Williams his once more.

  He creaked open the door to the stable and stepped inside, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim, filtered light. His saddlebag rested on a bench nearby. Reaching inside, he withdrew a length of a willow branch. The wood was smooth and had dried rather well. It would be perfect for his purposes.

  He set about to work, whittling the wood down to a manageable size. Good thing he’d brought a few tools along from Felton’s shop. This was, perhaps, the most delicate thing he’d made so far and it was certainly the most important. He had to get it right. Fortunately, he had about a week to work on it for his beloved.

  *

  His lordship’s carriage rounded through the gates of Brookes Park. What a pretty part of the country this was. Lucy pressed her face against the window, straining for a better look. And ’twas nice of his lordship to allow her to use one of his carriages, for riding all this way on horseback would have been quite tiring. As it was, she’d covered the distance between Windmere, the Bath country seat, and Brookes Park in a mere quarter of an hour.

  Louisa and Amelia had begged to come along, but Sophie had insisted that Lucy come for tea alone. The girls would have to wait until the wedding, which was but two days away, before visiting with their former modiste and friend again. Lucy was sorry to leave the girls behind but also excited at the prospect of having a real visit with Sophie. It had been far too long since they’d had a conversation.

  The carriage drew to a halt before Brookes Park’s dignified façade. But as Lucy stepped down, the front doors were flung open by none other than Sophie, her blond curls bobbing merrily.

  “Lucy!” She fairly flew down the steps, smothering Lucy in an embrace redolent of violets. “I cannot believe you are here! It has been too long.”

  “Too long, indeed,” Lucy agreed, returning the embrace warmly. “I am so happy for you, my dear.”

  “Thank you.” Sophie drew back, her wide blue eyes sparkling. “Come inside. This weather is wet and chill, even for a November. I’ve a fire burning in the parlor, and Rose promised to bring in some of her biscuits and scones. We’ll sit and have a proper chin-wag, as Aunt Katherine says. And Hattie gave her word that she won’t pop her head in until after we’ve had a jolly good chat.”

  They mounted the wide stone steps and went inside. Brookes Park was a stately home, rather grand in its way but not smug or self-important like most country homes.

  The two friends sat in the parlor, which was as warm and cozy and friendly as Sophie had described. It was good to be with a friend again. Lucy realized with a pang that she’d retreated into solitude these past few weeks, just as she had in the orphanage. In the warmth of the parlor, and aided by Sophie’s sunny smile, her very soul began to defrost.

  “Oh, goodness. I am so glad you are finally here. I’ve been on the edge of my seat with excitement, and now I can finally know the truth.” Rifling under a pillow, Sophie withdrew an envelope and held it out to Lucy. “It’s from Charlotte Rowland, for you. I’m dying to know what it says. Read it right away.”

  Lucy’s heart pounded in her chest with a force that was painful. Her fingers trembled as she grasped the envelope and broke the seal. It would be bad news. It had to be. Perhaps she had arranged a marriage between James and another girl—a wealthy girl. She closed her eyes and held the letter still in her lap.

  “Oh, botheration. I’ll read it.” Sophie snatched it from her grasp. Lucy opened her eyes, watching her friend’s face as she scanned the sheet of foolscap. If it were something truly awful, she would be able to tell from Sophie’s expression.

  “How marvelous!” Sophie dropped the letter and clapped her hands. “She’s withdrawn her objection to your courtship with James. She says you can marry him, and she will be happy to call you daughter.”

  “No,” Lucy gasped. “I don’t believe it.” She dropped her face into her hands, breathing deeply.

  “It’s true! She says right here, ‘James has made it clear to me that the only woman who can make him happy is you. I want my son to be happy, and so I withdraw my objection to your marriage.’” Sophie handed her the letter. “Read it for yourself.”

  Lucy grasped the foolscap, willing her hands to stop trembling so she could read the words. Dearest Lucy, it said, I shall be happy to call you daughter someday…The lines blurred together as her eyes filled with tears.

  “Now, we must plan for the wedding—and decide what you shall wear,” Sophie pronounced as she grabbed a plate from the tea tray, filling it with chocolate biscuits. “With your coloring, I rather think something in a yellow or perhaps in gold would look very well. Do you still have all my gowns from Bath?”

  “No,” Lucy choked on a sob. Her head was whirling. There was no longer any impediment to marrying James Rowland. Why, it was all over. If he but asked her again she could say yes. Freely and happily—yes. And they would be together. And she would never be alone again.

  “Gracious, what happened to them? Never mind. I have a gold gown here that will do quite nicely. We may have to make some adjustments, for I made it for Hattie, and she is taller than you. But she’s increasing, and it will no longer fit her. I think we shall do very well with the gold and perhaps a few ribbons woven into your hair?”

  Whatever was Sophie talking about? “Of what importance is my appearance at your wedding? What does it matter what I wear? All eyes will be on you.” She took a deep, steadying breath.

  “Because Ensign Rowland will be there, silly.”

  Lucy raised her eyes to her friend’s face, unsure she had heard aright.

  Sophie chuckled at Lucy’s expression. “Yes, it’s true. All the veterans have been invited. Charlie wrote to James quite a while back, insisting that he come to the wedding, as well. So, you see? ’Tis of utmost importance that you look your best.” Sophie passed the plate of biscuits to Lucy. “First, you must eat something. I vow you’ve grown thinner since I left Bath, and you’ve gotten all wobbly since reading Mrs. Rowland’s letter. Eat all these biscuits, and then we will go upstairs and try on gowns.”

  Lucy bit into one of the biscuits, like a well-behaved child obeying her mother. They were delicious. Of course, his lordship always employed good cooks, but the cook here at Brookes Park must be quite extraordinary. The biscuits were so light that they melted in one’s mouth.

  “Rose will be pleased to see you eating so hearty.” Sophie smiled, filling her plate. “We’ll fatten you up before the wedding for sure.”

  “But it’s only two days away,” Lucy protested. “Surely there’s no time—”

  Sophie rolled
her eyes merrily. “Not my wedding, you goose. Your wedding. Come, bring the biscuits with you, and I shall bring mine along, too. I am in a fever to get to those dresses. We shall make you an incomparable, for certain.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  St. Mary’s was in Crich, just a few miles away from Tansley Village, and the wedding ceremony filled the little country church to overflowing. James recognized many of his fellow men from the veterans’ group as he approached the chapel. He nodded and smiled in passing but did not stop for conversation. He was a man on a mission. He had eyes for only one person—and thus far, she seemed not to have arrived.

  He ducked inside the chapel, but Lucy’s dark curls and wide, laughing brown eyes did not materialize within the crowd. There was nothing to do but wait. He’d promised himself that he would be patient and not press his suit as he had before but blast it all. He’d waited an eternity for this day, and it was finally here.

  “Excuse me, Ensign,” a familiar voice piped up behind him. He whirled around to see Louisa Bradbury standing there, a knowing grin pasted on her young face.

  “How d-do you d-d-do, Miss Louisa.” He bowed.

  She bobbed a quick curtsy and leaned forward. “Lucy just finished helping Sophie dress. There’s a little side room over there,” she whispered urgently, flailing her hand over toward the side of the church. “She’s there now.”

  He nodded, giving her a conspiratorial grin. “Thank you,” he murmured. Then he strode off in the direction she’d indicated. Stepping just inside the back of the church, he caught a glimpse of Lucy. In the dim light of the hallway, she shimmered in a captivating gold dress, her abundant chestnut locks swept up and bound with ribbons. The sight of her took his breath away, and he could only gasp. “L-Lucy.”

  She turned, regarding him, her almond-shaped eyes growing wider. “James.”

  “I need t-to t-t-talk with you.” Again, the urgency. He had to calm himself—to approach her as he would a skittish colt. He’d behaved so badly before. This time, he must do everything right. “When and where c-can we m-meet?”