Read The Temporary Betrothal Online
Authors: Lily George
The Temporary Betrothal
From Temporary Engagement to True Love?
Sophie Handley is a charming flirt—just like the fiancée who
jilted Lieutenant Charles Cantrill after he was wounded at Waterloo. Yet her
assistance in helping veterans is proving invaluable. And when she offers to
feign a courtship to appease his family, he finds their arrangement curiously
appealing….
Sophie has been groomed from birth for a life of easy
comfort. Then financial ruin obliges her to reevaluate all her plans and dreams.
Helping veterans and their wives helps her see what’s truly important—and gives
her the chance to enjoy the lieutenant’s very appealing company. Somehow Sophie
must help his embittered heart to see she’s found her permanent place—by his
side, and in his arms.
Sophie patted his arm. “Honestly, Charlie, I am not offended
that anyone would think our courtship was real.”
His heart beat faster. Really? Was that so?
“I am a career soldier, but I confess I have no idea how to
handle this particular battle. I don’t know how to extricate you without
damaging your reputation.”
“Remember who I am? What I am? Fickle and flighty Sophie.”
She gave a bitter laugh that wrenched his stomach. “If it comes to that, no one
will think anything of it if I break our engagement.”
“I don’t think of you that way,” he muttered. It was the
truth. He hated for her to think poorly of herself, when he had seen so much
good in her.
She turned toward him, her bright blue eyes glowing. “Don’t
you?”
“Not at all. I admire you greatly.” It was difficult to say
the words, but something told him she needed to hear it.
She reached up and pecked his cheek. “Oh, Charlie,” she
whispered. “That means more to me than all the diamond bracelets in the
world.”
Books by Lily George
Love Inspired Historical
Captain of Her Heart
The Temporary
Betrothal
LILY GEORGE
Growing up in a small town in Texas, Lily George spent her
summers devouring the books in her mother’s Christian bookstore. She still
counts Grace Livingston Hill, Janette Oake and L. M. Montgomery among her
favorite authors. Lily has a BA in history from Southwestern University and uses
her training as a historian to research her historical inspirational romance
novels. She has published one nonfiction book and produced one documentary, and
is in production on a second film; all of these projects reflect her love for
old movies and jazz and blues music. Lily lives in the Dallas area with her
husband, daughter and menagerie of animals.
The Temporary Betrothal
Lily George
Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you
has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all
these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. Let
the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were
called to peace. And be thankful.
—Colossians
3:13–15
For Hoot
Contents
Chapter One
March, 1818
O
h, botheration. All the buildings in Bath
looked precisely the same. Sophie Handley clutched her bonnet with one hand,
clamping it tightly to her curls as she tilted her chin upward. Her intuition
fled—she was completely and utterly lost. There was no sign of a haberdashery
anywhere on this street. Sophie scoured the directions, written in Mrs. Wigg’s
undulating hand, once more. Very well. She had come up Charlotte Street, just as
the housekeeper instructed. But then, had she taken a right or a left at George
Street? Neither. She’d walked straight ahead—yes, that was the Circus, directly
in front of her. So should she retrace her steps? Or keep going toward the
Circus?
Something splashed onto her piece of foolscap, smearing the
ink. She scanned the swollen clouds in the slate gray sky. Botheration—an
afternoon shower. Rain fell in fat drops, dampening the foolscap so that it
folded itself limply across her glove. And she had no umbrella. Of course. She’d
left it behind, as this was supposed to be a mere dash to secure a few buttons
for Lord Bradbury’s daughter’s frock. And yet here she was, lost in the very
middle of Bath, with no parasol.
Sophie bit her lip in frustration. She had come to Bath full of
purpose and promise, determined to strike out on her own as a seamstress to a
wealthy family. And she was coming perilously close to failure, as she could not
even go to the shops without getting lost and drenched.
If only there were a way to catch her bearings, but Bath was
nothing like home. To find her way in Tansley Village, she had only to note the
position of the sun or the moon and then navigate her way across the fields, the
sweet moor grass swaying in the gentle breeze. The scrubby hills and valleys
were as familiar to her as the face of a dearly beloved friend—but she wasn’t
home any longer. She gave her head a defiant toss. She had chosen to leave home
and come to Bath. And she had chosen a life as a servant. So she had better find
her way to the haberdasher and quickly, and then return home to continue work on
Amelia Bradbury’s riding habit.
She turned back down Gay Street. At the intersection she would
try heading in the opposite direction. She shouldered past the milling throngs
on the sidewalks, wealthy lords and their well-dressed ladies, scruffy children
darting to and fro, and servants soberly dressed in black and white. All of
them, every man jack of them, seemed to have an umbrella.
Sophie tossed her now-sodden scrap of paper into the gutter and
folded her arms across her chest, holding them closely for warmth. She tucked
her chin down, so that most of the moisture rolled off the brim of her bonnet.
She assumed a casual air of nonchalance, as though she had forgotten her
umbrella on purpose, and hastened her steps along George Street. But oh, it was
hard to seem collected when a cold droplet of rain worked its way down your neck
and under the back of your frock.
She turned the corner of George Street, colliding with
something warm and strong. “Oof!”
“I beg your pardon.” Whatever or whomever she had collided with
had a lovely baritone voice. “I hope I haven’t injured you, miss.”
“Oh, no.” Sophie righted her bonnet, which was knocked askew by
the force of their collision. She turned her head upward, her cheeks hot with
embarrassment. “It’s my fault, really. I was hurrying along and paid no heed to
where I was going.”
The brick wall straightened, tilting his umbrella back. His
face—she knew that face—
“Lieutenant Cantrill?” she gasped. Of course—she knew he lived
in Bath. Her sister, Harriet, had told her that much. But she hadn’t seen a
familiar face in her two weeks of living in Lord Bradbury’s home, so it was
rather disconcerting to see someone she knew after drifting along an unfamiliar
landscape for so long.
“Miss Handley?” One eyebrow quirked, and a half smile crossed
his face. He was much handsomer than she recalled. In fact, when he was at
Harriet and John’s wedding, she hardly noted his presence. But here, on the
sodden streets of Bath, he wore the air of a rescuer, a strong and solid
presence in a sea of the unknown and strange. He tilted his umbrella over her
and offered her the crook of his elbow. “Are you quite all right? Do you need
assistance?”
She shook out her wet skirts and took his arm. It was his
damaged one, the one he’d lost at Waterloo. Her fingertips brushed against the
leather straps that held his artificial forearm to his biceps. His jacket fit
snugly over his shattered limb, so that unless she had touched him for herself,
she might never have known that he had been injured. Without thinking, she gave
his elbow a slight squeeze—so lightly that he might never discern it.
He coughed a bit—so suddenly and so shortly that it might have
been to cover a gasp. She didn’t mean to embarrass or discomfit him. Why had she
done that, after all? Better to pretend she stumbled a bit and had grasped him
for support. She tangled her foot in the soaking-wet hem of her gown and lurched
forward ever so slightly, and squeezed his arm once more. “Oh, thank goodness
you came to my rescue.” Sophie affected the breezy tone of voice that always
caught men’s ears—the lilting and musical cadence that had, since she was a tiny
slip of a girl, gotten her everything she wanted. “I am lost and forgot my
umbrella. I was at my wits’ end, I assure you.”
“I see.” He steered her through the milling crowd on the
sidewalk, managing to set them on a clear path without bumping into a soul or
spearing anyone with his umbrella. How extraordinary. She sidled a bit closer,
reveling in the feel of being with someone who knew exactly where he was going
and precisely how to get there.
He spoke once the mob thinned out. “Where are you going?”
“Well, I was trying to find the haberdasher at the Guildhall
Market. The housekeeper wrote out my directions, for I am new to Bath and get
lost easily. And it seems I’ve done it again.” She glanced up at his profile. He
wore a stern, almost abstracted expression, his firm lips turned downward and
his face bent low, as though he were walking against the wind. “Thank goodness
for you, sir. I was quite unsure what to do next.” She prepared to flutter her
eyelashes and purse her mouth so her dimples would show, but he never looked her
way.
“Guildhall Market? That’s a bit of a hike from here. You really
did get lost, didn’t you?” Lieutenant Cantrill turned the umbrella so that the
pelting rain no longer touched her gown. “I’ll help you find it. Here—let’s turn
down Milsom Street. It’s a good cut-through.”
They passed another row of shops—a confectioner’s called
Munn’s, a modiste and a shop that sold nothing but cheese. How extraordinary. A
cheese shop. At Tansley, if one wanted cheese, one had to go milk the cow. But
of course, they couldn’t afford to keep a cow, so they relied heavily on the one
shop in the village that kept everything from sugar to foolscap.
They walked in silence as Sophie drank in the sights. She
wasn’t jaded yet after two weeks out of the countryside. Everything still
retained the crisp edge of newness. Sheltered from the rain and warmed by the
lieutenant as he strolled along by her side, Sophie permitted herself to relax
the tiniest bit and enjoy their walk.
“It’s very kind of you,” she murmured as he steered her onto
another street. She had no idea what this one was called, and would likely
forget, anyway. So...why not try to wheedle a smile from her rescuer? “If it’s
not too much trouble, Lieutenant.”
“Not at all.” His voice was pleasant but distant. “I live near
there, anyway. Was just on my way home.”
“Oh, really? Where do you live?” She maintained her light and
breezy tone. He would pay attention to her soon, wouldn’t he? At least dart a
glance her way?
“I have a flat on Beau Street. Near Mrs. Katherine Crossley’s
flat.” He still spared her no glance, and his tone remained polite but
disinterested.
“Aunt Katherine! I had no idea you two lived so close to one
another,” Sophie replied with a merry laugh. “She helped me to get this position
with Lord Bradbury. I am on my way to pick up a few notions for Amelia
Bradbury—I am her seamstress.”
“Yes, your sister wrote that you would be coming to Bath to
live here. She mentioned that you might be willing to assist me in my work with
the veterans’ group.” Was that a spark of attention in his voice? She must
pursue it.
“Yes, of course I will.” He spoke of that charity for indigent
soldiers that Harriet was so interested in. Hattie had told her something about
it, but she couldn’t remember much. Seeing it had caught the lieutenant’s
interest, she pressed on. “Tell me more about it.”
He looked down at her, and a light sparked in the depths of his
brown eyes. “Well, I was hoping you and I could work together, as it were. You
see, I get on very well with the soldiers, being a fellow comrade in arms. But
the widows are reluctant to ask me for assistance. I know they need help, but
they cannot bring themselves to ask a man. So I thought perhaps they would feel
more comfortable if another woman were there, helping out.”
Work together? “That sounds fine.” While she had his full
notice, she flashed her dimples by giving him a slow, easy smile. He
straightened and turned away from her, a flush staining his thin cheek. So he
was susceptible to flirtation, then? She chuckled inwardly. It was so delightful
to be walking with a young man again, smiling and talking playful nonsense
rather than working away in her sewing room. She had almost forgotten how fun
being a woman could be.
“We’re here. Guildhall Market.” The lieutenant’s voice was cold
and remote once more, as though he had shut a door between them. She didn’t like
that tone of voice.
“Oh, Lieutenant. Thank you for getting me here safe and sound.”
She should release his elbow, but this lieutenant was too much of an enigma to
let go—not before she had spent a bit more time in his company. “Do you mind
very much waiting for me, and then you can point me in the correct direction
back to Lord Bradbury’s house? I am so afraid I will get lost again.”
His jaw muscle set, and his strong, firm lips tightened. Yet
when he spoke, his voice was well mannered and courteous. “Of course, Miss
Handley.” He strolled with her over to the haberdashers, and bowed as she went
in.
As she sorted through the bins to find the perfect set of
buttons, she flicked a glance out the streaming windowpane to Lieutenant
Cantrill as he stood outside, waiting. He exuded an air of casual power, as one
trained as a soldier should. His broad shoulders were encased in a wool jacket
that was simply cut but well made. His face was a trifle thin. Did he have a
housekeeper who cooked for him? Perhaps one of the ladies at the veterans’
group? She’d have to be an old woman, not young and sweet.... An unreasonable
pang of jealousy tore through Sophie, and she shrugged it off.
What did it matter what he ate or wore, or even whom he kept
company with? Lieutenant Charlie Cantrill was merely her brother-in-law’s
dearest friend. And while she loved flirting with him—she always loved a
challenge, after all—’twas no business of hers what the lieutenant did in his
spare time.
* * *
Dash it all, Sophie Handley was far prettier than he
remembered. When he attended John and Harriet’s wedding a few months ago, Sophie
was among the crowd in the chapel and later at the wedding breakfast, but he
hadn’t taken careful note of her. Her cheeks were sallow, and her eyes were
still glazed with something like shock back then. Probably their mother’s death,
which was surely difficult. But still, that creature bore no resemblance to the
rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed sylph who gazed up at him as if—well, as if he was a man
and she a woman.
He spied her through the window of the shop as she made her few
purchases. Even in a sodden calico dress, she was more graceful and attractive
than most of the women plodding along the streets of Bath. He shook his head and
turned away from the window. Pretty women had always been his downfall. He
should have learned his lesson by now.
Mother’s letter rustled in his greatcoat pocket. Ah, a reminder
of his familial duties: to find a young girl, marry, have children and give up
that ridiculous charitable fund for soldiers. Well, Mother might want him to
marry someone like Sophie. But he preferred his life of simplicity and
generosity.
And ’twas better to set some distance between him and Sophie
Handley, unless he wanted to be made a fool of once more. Since Sophie was his
best friend’s sister-in-law, ’twould be disastrous indeed to find himself being
led a merry dance by her.
The door of the haberdashery opened, and Sophie stepped out.
“Thank you for waiting.” Her voice was lovely. Perhaps she could sing—that would
explain her musical tones.
Careful, man. You have your marching
orders. Do not become yet another fool.
He offered his elbow once more. “Did you find what you
need?”
“Yes.” She waved the parcel triumphantly, heedless of rain.
“Perfect buttons, so cunningly made of horn. They will set off the riding habit
just so.” She sighed and snuggled against his side as they strolled along. He
stiffened and moved a fraction of an inch away from her—not so much as to be
discourteous—but they did need boundaries, after all. If Sophie noticed, she
said nothing.
He piloted her down Grand Parade Street. Lord Bradbury lived in
the Crescent, he was sure, with the rest of the haute monde of Bath. So they had
a good quarter of an hour before they reached his door. Charlie sighed inwardly.
He didn’t mind the walk so much, but dash it all, it was pouring by now.
Sophie glanced up at the sky and then turned to him. “The
heavens have opened.”
He nodded, tightening his lips into a grim line. “So it
appears.”