The Temporary Betrothal (13 page)

Charlie strolled over to Sophie’s chair. They needed to
formulate a plan. “Would you like to take a walk in Aunt Katherine’s
garden?”

She looked up at him, an expression of gratitude in her
china-blue eyes. “Yes. I should like that very much.” She rose and tucked her
arm into the crook of his right arm.

“You two children run along,” Aunt Katherine warbled. “It is
too fine a day to spend indoors. Mrs. Cantrill and I shall have a nice chin-wag
while you enjoy the splendors of my garden.”

Mother smiled too brightly and shooed them toward the double
glass doors with a wave of her gloved hands.

Once out on the veranda, Charlie took a deep breath of the
balmy spring air. Gathering his courage, he turned to Sophie. “I’m sorry. My
mother is an incorrigible gossip. I should have known she would take our ruse
and run with it.”

Sophie patted his arm. “Honestly, Charlie. It’s all right. I am
not offended that anyone would think our courtship was real.”

His heart beat faster. Really? Was that so? Not that it
mattered, of course. She was merely being polite. Still, every sense he had
strained against reason, and he crushed a desire to gather her in his arms and
kiss her breathless.

Calm yourself, man.
He exhaled
slowly, and turned her down the garden path. He had not felt that way about a
woman for years. Not since his broken engagement to Beth Gaskell. He needed to
clear his mind and focus on the matter at hand.

“She’s told members of my family, and even a few friends. She’s
coming perilously close to calling it an engagement. 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 paused and 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 with her soft lips, leaving
a burning mark behind. “Oh, Charlie,” she whispered. “That means more to me than
all the diamond bracelets in the world.”

The kiss, hastily given, and her words, breathlessly uttered,
rendered him slightly dizzy. He closed his eyes, willing himself to stop being
such a fool. Sophie was merely being generous and sweet; it was beyond
ridiculous to infer that she offered more than friendship.

He strolled around the garden with Sophie on his arm until Aunt
Katherine shooed them back inside for tea. As he held the door open for Sophie,
he made a silent vow. She would never regret this decision to help him. He would
make sure that Sophie’s kindness would not go unrewarded or forgotten.

Some way, he would repay her.

Chapter Thirteen

D
id her feet ever touch the ground over the
next few days? It was hard to tell. Charlie’s good opinion of her mattered more
than she dared admit. Her hands flew through her daily tasks. She pin tucked,
she pleated, she embroidered as though every stitch would somehow solve all
their problems. Somehow, some way, it would all work out. Harriet had always
admonished her to put her faith in God, and she finally did so—wholeheartedly.
With His blessing, she was earning her own way in the world. She was earning the
esteem of good men. She no longer thought herself a flirt and a careless
coquette. She was becoming someone deeper and more profound with each passing
day.

Today was Thursday, and she dressed for her day off with
special care. She was off to the veterans’ meeting this morning, which, of
course, meant that she was to see Charlie. He would, in fact, be waiting for her
outside the kitchen door in a matter of moments.

Not that she was leaping at the chance to see him—no, she
wouldn’t go that far. But she did enjoy his company tremendously. She tied her
bonnet ribbons in a jaunty bow under her chin and hummed a snippet of her
favorite waltz. How wonderful everything was. How she loved everyone this
morning!

Her bedchamber door opened, and Lucy came into the room. “You
are disgustingly cheerful,” she announced, and flopped down on the bed.

“Why shouldn’t I be? It’s a beautiful day. And you? Why are you
so glum? After all, you will have a chance to see your ensign.” Sophie pinched
her cheeks, accentuating her already high color.

“Yes, I do get to see Rowland. But every moment with him is
agony. I want so much to tell him everything I am feeling—how much I adore him,
how I would do anything for him—and yet I cannot.” Lucy picked at the coverlet,
her face a mask of pain.

“Oh, Lucy.” Sophie swooped down and crushed her in a smothering
embrace. “If you are in love, everything works itself out.”

“Are you in love?” Lucy interrupted. “The way you’ve been
acting, I assume Cantrill proposed? Has he given you a ring? Are you planning
the banns?”

“Well, no.” And what was all her good cheer for, then? She
wasn’t in love with him. Surely she wasn’t.

Sophie shrugged. “We admire each other greatly. But our
courtship is not real. I’m just...enjoying matters while I can.”

“If you think that’s wise, then you are a fool.” Lucy sighed.
“Sophie, not everything is as wonderful or as set as you seem to feel at this
moment. For some of us, the path to true love is very rocky indeed.”

Sophie wrapped her arm around Lucy’s shoulders and held her
close. “Enjoy what time you have with the ensign, then,” she whispered. “Savor
the moment.”

“Very well.” Lucy rose. “Come, we will be late. I am sure the
lieutenant is waiting for us.”

He was. There was something very sweet and poignant about the
way he stood patiently beside the kitchen door, toeing at a rock with his boot.
Sophie’s heart gave a lurch when he spied them and straightened. She gave him
her most alluring smile, and was rewarded with his heightened color and
stammered greeting. What was happening between them? Giddiness seized hold and
she paused for a few moments before taking his hand. This wasn’t love. Was
it?

They set off down the street, passing the garden that had burst
into bloom, Lucy on his right arm and Sophie gently holding his mutilated left
elbow. It felt good to be gripping him so close to where he was injured—as
though her very touch could heal years of suffering. “How does your mother
fare?” she asked in an undertone meant only for his ears.

“Very well, thank you. She elected not to accompany us this
morning. She is staying in at the Pooles’.” His clipped response signaled
something. Likely they had argued that morning. Mrs. Cantrill was not fond of
Charlie’s work with the veterans’ fund. Sophie squeezed his elbow, communicating
that she understood.

Lucy jumped into the conversation, asking Charlie more about
Ensign Rowland’s injury and his experience during the war. Sophie tuned out
their voices, happy to simply walk beside Charlie on this fine spring day. As
they neared the church, she said a silent prayer of thanks. What a marvelous
Season this was turning out to be.

As they entered the narthex, Lucy went off in search of Ensign
Rowland, her novel tucked under one arm. Charlie and Sophie paused, alone for
the first time since their moment in the garden a few days before. She breathed
deeply. He smelled of fresh linen and saddle leather—clean scents that reminded
her of happier times on the estate, before it was taken away.

“What shall I do today?” She turned her face up to his.

He leaned closer, and the heat from his body began to make her
feel dizzy. Goodness, how attractive he was. Would he kiss her? She pursed her
lips and closed her eyes in anticipation.

“Would you—would you talk to Widow Adams today and see how she
fares? I am worried about her. I’ve heard rumors that she cannot afford to feed
herself or her grandchild,” Charlie whispered.

Sophie opened her eyes slowly. Charlie had taken a step
backward, and was looking over the gathering crowd with a businesslike air. The
moment was gone. It was time to get to work. Well, of course—she was acting like
a perfect goose. Their courtship wasn’t even real, after all.

“Yes, of course.” She untied her bonnet strings. “Anything
else?”

“Try to engage Mrs. Baker in conversation. See if she has need
of anything. She is so quiet that I worry about her. Her husband was with me at
the farmhouse during the battle. A good fellow, and a brave one.” With that,
Charlie turned on his heel and joined the mass of men who gathered near the
altar.

She cast her bonnet and shawl aside and looked around. Lucy was
sitting in a side pew, reading to Ensign Rowland. The young lad was listening
with such an intent expression on his face. Was it adoration? Or merely
gratitude? ’Twas hard to tell. She gathered her wits and drifted toward a group
of widows who had congregated at the back of the church. Some were sewing,
others knitted. It was such a cozy, domestic scene that her heart warmed at the
sight of them.

They looked up at her and smiled as she drew close. She
returned their greetings heartily and hugged a few ragamuffin children. Her
heart surged with love. If only she could spend her life working to help these
women, right beside Charlie. What they needed was so simple: food, shelter and
clothing. Her mind flashed back to Lord Bradbury’s house. The rolls upon rolls
of fabric in her workroom. The breakfast table laden with sausages and eggs
every morning, regardless of the number of people who came to dine. The diamond
bracelet he gifted so carelessly.

The diamond bracelet. She sank onto a pew. Surely that one
bauble, as she had thought before, could feed many of these women for a good
year. Harriet need not be the only woman gifting money to the veterans’ fund.
The bracelet was hers, wasn’t it? She could do with it as she saw fit.

* * *

He was in grave danger of falling head over heels in
love with Sophie Handley if he wasn’t careful.

Charlie rubbed the stubble of his cheek with his hand. The spot
where she had kissed him still burned, the imprint of her lips tingling as
though it had just happened. The looks she had cast his way, the heavenly blue
of her eyes, the dimpled sweetness of her smile—honestly, she was enough to make
a man dizzy. And yet, it was all a ruse. An act, merely for his benefit. She
was, after all, the daughter of an actress. She was playing her part to
perfection, simply to help him out.

If only he could break through to the real Sophie. That moment
in the garden, when she had kissed him because he told her she wasn’t a flighty
miss—surely that girl was the real Sophie Handley. If only she would stay around
forever. He liked that young lady immensely. Why, he could even dream of sharing
his home and his life’s work with that young lady. If only there were a way to
strip all the layers aside and meet each other on the same level, they could at
last finish this strange dance they’d begun upon her arrival in Bath.

He turned and spoke to the reverend, and grew comfortably
engaged in his work. The morning passed swiftly, and before he knew it, everyone
was gathering their things to return home. It was time to escort Lucy and Sophie
back to Lord Bradbury’s home. He scanned the crowd, but could not spot either
young lady. Ensign Rowland exited out the side door, and Lucy was nowhere near
him. So where could they be?

He combed through the narthex, but they weren’t there. Had they
left without him? Surely not.

As he rounded the corner of the vestibule, hushed female voices
caught his ear. Lucy and Sophie were engaged in some private conversation, but
he couldn’t discern the words. As he neared the two girls, huddled over each
other, whispering in rapid undertones, a chill ran down his spine. Were they
speaking of him? Perhaps he had tipped his hand, and Sophie guessed that he was
becoming too fond of her. He’d feel like a proper fool then.

He coughed and cleared his throat, and the whispering in the
corridor stopped. “Miss Handley? Miss Williams?” he called. “It is time to
return to Lord Bradbury’s house.”

“Here we are,” Sophie announced, coming round the corridor.
“Lucy and I were just having a chat about the ensign before we left.”

“Were you?” A muscle twitched in his jaw. Well, perhaps that
was true—maybe Miss Williams was informing Sophie of his progress, and they had
stopped to whisper together so as not to hurt the lad’s feelings. But if that
was so, then why was Sophie’s face so flushed with rosy color? Lucy looked as
troubled as she had sounded, her face dark with worry. He patted her arm. “Never
mind, Miss Williams,” he said in a hearty tone. “The ensign appreciates your
help and has shown marked improvement. And I appreciate all you are doing, too.”
A distinct prickle of unease worked its way down his spine. They weren’t telling
him the whole truth of their conversation, but there was no way to demand candor
and honesty without sounding like a wounded bull or a candidate for Bedlam. So
he merely offered each woman an elbow, and walked them back to Lord Bradbury’s
house.

At the back porch, Miss Williams dipped a curtsy and let
herself inside, leaving Sophie and Charlie alone. She smiled up at him, flashing
those dimples that made his breath catch a little in his throat. “Well,
Lieutenant, I had a lovely morning. Thank you for taking us. Lucy and I have
made great plans.”

“Plans?” Perhaps they had some idea of what they wanted to do
for young Rowland. But still—the whispered conversation in the corridor, Lucy’s
troubled gaze—none of it made sense. He was a trained tactician, and earned his
bread by gauging unfamiliar situations and making the right call for attack. But
put him next to a pretty woman, and he had no idea what he was about.

“Yes. I can’t tell you yet, as I am still working on the
details.” Sophie bounced on her heels, her eyes dancing. “But I think you will
approve.”

He bowed, raising an eyebrow. “If you say so.” He hated to
sound so unsure. After all, he was a man. No—he was a soldier. He straightened.
“I had better be going.”

“Of course.” Sophie’s glee dimmed, and she gave him her hand
with an uncertain air. “Shall I see you soon?”

“I am certain we will meet soon.” He clasped her hand briefly,
then released it. “Good day.”

“Good day.” With one last quizzical look over her shoulder,
Sophie went inside Lord Bradbury’s grand townhome.

Charlie heaved a huge sigh and quit the kitchen garden,
rounding the side of the house. As luck would have it, his lordship was
alighting from a carriage as he passed.

“What ho, Cantrill?” he called. “What are you about, poking
around the back of my house?”

“Merely returning Miss Handley to you safe and sound,” he
replied tersely. He was in no mood for polite banter.

“Ah, I thank you for that. She is a rare jewel.” Bradbury
looked at him sharply. “May I ask why you borrow her quite as often as you do?
You made a show of announcing your intention to call at dinner the other
night.”

“We are merely family friends.” Charlie shrugged. “I am keeping
an eye on her while she is in Bath.”

“Are you really?” Lord Bradbury smiled, a stealthy grin that
raised Charlie’s hackles. “I just came from the club. Had a nice long chat with
Bradford Poole. He seems to think there is far more to your relationship than
friendly feelings. Is that so?”

What could he say? If he told Bradbury of their false
courtship, Sophie could lose her position. Bradbury had said as much. Yet he ran
the risk of calling Bradford Poole a liar, after his own mother had informed
Poole of the courtship.

What a mess. Like sinking into the mire at Waterloo, more or
less.

“Not at all, I assure your lordship. If we become engaged at
any point I shall be sure to inform you.”

“Excellent. See that you do.” Lord Bradbury cocked his head to
one side. “I have designs on the young lady myself. Gave her a nice little
bracelet to pique her interest. Not anything too elaborate, but a pretty girl
deserves a few pretty baubles. So—if you are leaving the field, bear in mind
that I might take your place. I bid you good day.”

With that, Lord Bradbury entered his house and shut the door
with a decisive click, leaving Charlie on the lawn—impotent and enraged. So Lord
Bradbury had given Sophie the bracelet? And Sophie had lied about it, to both
himself and to his mother.

He stalked through the streets of Bath toward Beau Street,
wishing for an umbrella so he could stab at bits of garbage that whirled about
and collected in the gutter. Anything to relieve his rage. Was he livid with
Lord Bradbury and his sly grin and worldly ways? Or was he furious with Sophie
for lying?