The Temporary Betrothal (20 page)

Charlie’s fingers curled into a fist around the leather pouch.
He swallowed several times before he could speak again. “Thank you for telling
me everything, Miss Williams. I am most indebted to you. And now I shall leave
you. I have business I must attend to without delay.”

“Of course.” She released his hand. “Where are you going?”

“I am going to track down that blackguard, of course.”

She grinned. “Godspeed, Lieutenant.”

Chapter Twenty

’T
was nearly time for luncheon, so that
surely meant Lord Bradbury would be at the club. Charlie elbowed his way through
the streets of Bath, the late August breeze ruffling the tails of his coat. His
darling Sophie, a mistress for Lord Bradbury? How insulting, how cowardly an
offer she had been made. And coming so close on the heels of his family’s
infamous behavior—no wonder she fled to the comfort of Tansley. He didn’t blame
her. Not one bit.

And of course, there was the little matter of the money she had
gifted to the widows of Waterloo. She had taken a gift meant to signify
something untoward, and was turning it into a gift of Christian love for others.
And at every turn, she had been insulted and accused. The question was no longer
whether or not he would go to see her in Tansley. The question was, would Sophie
deign to see him when he arrived?

He took the stairs up to his club two at a time and burst the
doors open, not waiting for the butler. He left his hat and glove on, for he had
no time to waste. There sat Bradbury, in the dining room, a dinner of cold
chicken on his plate. If he was melancholy over Sophie’s departure, it hadn’t
affected his appetite.

“Bradbury. A word, if you please.” Charlie took off his hat and
flung it into the empty chair beside Lord Bradbury.

“Of course. Sit down. You look fit to be tied.” Lord Bradbury’s
eyebrows were raised in mild surprise. “How might I assist you, Cantrill?”

“I suppose you know by now that Sophie is gone.” He bit out the
words, an angry flush making his cheeks grow hot.

“Yes. Gone to her family in Tansley. What of it?” Lord Bradbury
set down his fork and took a sip of wine.

“She left for one reason and one reason only. You made her an
improper offer. How dare you, sir?”

“Now, Cantrill. Before you begin sermonizing at me, do remember
that the offer I made Sophie was in good faith. I could not, in fine conscience,
make her an offer of marriage. She has not the background I desire in a second
wife.” Lord Bradbury took another sip of wine and set his glass aside. “And what
business is it of yours, pray tell? I thought you quit the field long ago.”

“We were engaged,” Charlie ground out through clenched
teeth.

“Were you? Sophie never said.” Lord Bradbury chuckled, the
sound raising Charlie’s hackles. How dare his lordship laugh at his most
private—and treasured—moments? “What happened, then? Why did you leave the field
to me and my improper advances?”

“Sophie broke it off. I know not why.”

“It probably had something to do with the young pup who was
questioning my staff on behalf of your brother, Robert. Ah, you see, Cantrill?
Your family is just as cautious as I am. Even though Sophie is the daughter of
Sir Hugh Handley, her mother’s side of the family gives one pause. So why are
you angry with me? It seems of the two of us, I was the most honest. I was very
clear on what I could and could not offer Sophie. And there was no sneaking
around on my part.”

It was unnerving to be thus spoken to by such a blackguard.
Surely Charlie was in the right. After all, he wanted to marry Sophie. What Lord
Bradbury proposed was shocking, abominable even.

“How do you know Sophie is in Tansley?” Better to direct Lord
Bradbury away from his diatribe about his honesty. And Charlie did have a
sneaking suspicion there was a smidgen of truth to what he was saying.

Lord Bradbury picked up his fork and began toying with the
haricots verts on his plate. “I came up to see Sophie one night, to get her
answer. She was not there. And Miss Williams—my daughters’ governess, a good
friend of Sophie’s—told me what had happened.” He sighed. “My daughters feel her
loss most keenly. They loved her so much. Sophie had the gift of making people
love her.”

Even sour, heartbroken and maimed
lieutenants.

“Are you going to go after her?” Lord Bradbury looked at
Charlie, the light of challenge sparking his glance. “If she said yes to you
once, there is every chance that she might say yes again.”

“Aren’t you going to seek her out?” It was best to know if one
was going to be paired in a duel, after all.

“No.” Lord Bradbury set down his fork and pushed his chair away
from the table. “I know when to cut my losses. It’s what makes me such a
formidable faro player. There are plenty of delectable young things out there
who would be only too happy to become my mistress. That need shall be filled
with no trouble.” He paused and then smiled at Charlie, the corner of his mouth
twisting down. “But I must say, were I a younger man—one not so concerned with
Society—I would toss my cares aside and follow that gel. She is an Incomparable.
Truly lovely. Very much like my first wife.”

Charlie swallowed. He came here in anger, ready to challenge
Lord Bradbury to a duel. Ready to upbraid, to subdue, to shame. And now—he felt
no anger. Only shame; shame at himself for being so weak, shame at mankind for
being so concerned with the proprieties that Sophie’s spirit was crushed.

“If you wish to follow my advice, young man,” his lordship
continued, fitting his fingertips together, “you would go after pretty Sophie.
After all, what care do you have for Society? Aren’t you so immersed in your aid
to the veterans’ fund that you ignore every ball and soiree? What have you to go
home to every night? What will happen to you when you grow old? I have my
daughters to keep me busy and young at heart. Whom do you have to love?”

“It’s odious to be given advice from a blackguard like you,”
Charlie muttered. His lordship had struck a nerve, though Charlie hated to admit
it, even to himself.

Lord Bradbury threw his head back and barked with laughter. The
sunlight streaming in through the open windows caught the graying hair at his
temples, gilding them to silver. “You are fortunate I am so graceful in defeat,
Lieutenant.”

Charlie said nothing, but stared at his opponent, his spirit
decidedly vanquished. What his lordship said was true. And though he was still a
rogue for trying to coerce Sophie into becoming his mistress, at least he was
honest about his intentions. Honesty was as much of a virtue as austerity at
times.

“I have no idea how to proceed,” he finally admitted. “But I
agree with you that Sophie is worth following.” He rose, grabbing his hat from
the chair. “I bid you good day, your lordship.”

“I wish you luck, Lieutenant,” Lord Bradbury replied in a
cordial tone. “Though I hate to admit it, I am jealous of you.”

Charlie left the club and trudged down the steps, the very
steps he had taken two at a time just minutes ago. All the anger had flowed out
of him, leaving nothing but a tired sensation of confusion in its place. If he
went to Tansley, would Sophie even speak to him again? Likely Brookes would
plant him a facer. And Harriet—the look she would have in her large dark eyes.
He shut off his thoughts with a snap.

He retraced his steps to St. Swithins, as the chimes in the
belfry tolled the hour. He must make amends somehow. He entered the hushed
sanctuary and ran headlong into Reverend Stephens, colliding with him
violently.

“Lieutenant? Are you quite all right?”

“No, Reverend. My apologies. I am...very distracted today.”
Charlie put out his good hand to steady the older man, and attempted a twisted
smile. “I am wandering about in a daze, so it seems.”

“I noticed you were quite moved by something Miss Williams
spoke to you about,” the reverend replied, concern wrinkling his brow. “Would
you like to talk about it?”

Charlie shook his head. He couldn’t yet put into words all the
feelings that were roiling inside of him at the moment. He could only force out
three sensible words: “I am flawed.”

“We are all flawed, Lieutenant. It is what makes us human.”

“No, mine goes beyond a mere human flaw. I desire to be right
all the time. I hunger after righteousness the way a starving man craves bread.
I wear my austerity as a debutante flaunts a new gown. It’s a terrible weakness
in me, sir...I don’t deserve Sophie Handley.” The words rushed out of him like
water flowing down a swift-moving stream.

“I see.” The reverend fell silent, as though he were
considering Charlie’s predicament. The moment stretched on so long that
Charlie’s nerves, already frayed, snapped.

“Help me, Reverend, please.” He had never begged for anything.
Never demeaned himself before. Now he was pleading for the answers to save his
very life.

Reverend Stephens laid his hands on Charlie’s shoulders. At his
touch, a strange feeling of peace passed over Charlie. It was as though he were
listening to a beloved father. “My dear son, you must first be at peace with
yourself before you can love another. You must forgive yourself your failings.
Forgive others for failing you. We are none of us perfect. But we can strive to
become better people, as God wants us to be.”

“Thank you, Reverend.” Charlie drew a deep breath. “I
understand—or at least, I think I do.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Lieutenant. Remember, ‘be ye
kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for
Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.’” With a final pat on Charlie’s shoulders, the
reverend departed, exiting through the narthex.

Charlie stood in the stillness of the church, allowing peace to
flow through his body.

Forgiveness. It was something he had never attempted. And yet,
it was essential—not just for his well-being, but as the only way he could win
his beloved.

His soldierly instincts returned, and purpose and determination
filled his being. He had a plan. Now he needed only to execute it.

* * *

The handsome stone facade of Brookes Park could barely
be picked out on the horizon. Sophie’s heart leaped with joy. Soon she would be
embracing her beloved sister. Soon she would be kissing her beloved housekeeper
Rose’s wrinkled old cheek. She hadn’t realized how much she missed her tiny
family while she was in Bath. She had been so consumed with fittings for Amelia
and the widows of Waterloo and later, of course, the myriad details of her
doomed love affairs, that she had forgotten how sweet her home life had been.
Though Harriet wrote regularly, it was not the same as being home.

The past few days had sped by in a whirlwind, on the road with
an elderly servant of Aunt Katherine’s. For Auntie had provided the Berlin and
wished her Godspeed, approving of Sophie’s plan to return to Tansley without
asking for more information about her hasty flight. Instead, she had merely
nodded her gray corkscrew curls under their little lace cap, and gave a ring of
her bell to summon Knowles. Auntie’s wise old eyes had seen all, discerned all,
without Sophie having to breathe a word.

God bless Aunt Katherine.

It seemed an eternity until they entered the half circle that
delineated the driveway at Brookes Park. No one was standing outside to meet
her. As she planned it. She wanted no one to be alerted to her travel, for she
didn’t want to have to explain, in a letter, why she was leaving Bath. That
conversation was best held face-to-face, with a bracing cup of tea, a soft
settee and a closed door.

As the carriage slowed to a halt, she nodded to the elderly
servant, Hannah, who had accompanied her on the journey, and let herself out.
She bounced down onto the gravel with a satisfying crunch. The footman scurried
around to help her, but she waved him away.

“I can manage on my own, thank you. You may put the horses away
in the stable, and be sure to come into the kitchen for some refreshments. Make
sure Hannah understands that she is to come along.”

“Very good, miss.” The footman bowed respectfully.

Sophie mounted the front steps with pride. She was going in the
front door, not slinking around the back. She hadn’t gone through a front door
since that awful day when Lord Bradbury took her to see her new townhome.

She pounded on the door. “Hattie? Brookes? Anyone home?” she
called.

The door jerked open, showing Stoames’s kindly, wrinkled face.
“Miss Sophie?” the batman asked, his grizzled brows drawing together in
surprised confusion. “Is it really you? Bless my boots, it does me good to see
you.”

“Stoames!” She enfolded him in a hug. “I am so glad to see you.
Where is my sister?”

“She and the captain are working in the library,” Stoames
replied, patting her shoulder. “I’ll go and tell them you are here.”

“No, don’t tell them, Stoames. I want to surprise them.” She
shrugged out of her pelisse and untied her bonnet, then shook out her
skirts.

“That you will. We had no idea you were coming. Mrs. Brookes
will be so happy to see you. She’s missed you something dreadful.” He took her
pelisse and bonnet in his weathered hands and waved her down the hall.

She turned to go, but had one more question. “And Rose? How is
Rose doing?”

Stoames’s weather-beaten face turned a dark shade of red. How
extraordinary—who knew an old soldier could still blush? “Mrs. Rose fares well.
We—uh—she and I are thinking of getting married.”

“How marvelous!” Sophie rushed forward and hugged Stoames once
more, knocking him back a pace. “Darling Stoames, was it the scones that did it?
Rose is an incomparable cook.”

He rubbed his grizzled head with his hand, and shrugged his
shoulders playfully. “That was my main consideration, Miss Sophie.”

She laughed. How good it was to be home. Funny to think of
Brookes Park as home. It had been many things to her over the years—a
possibility, a prize to be won, a lost cause—but now it was really and truly a
home. Hattie must have worked her magic. Wherever her sister went, comfort and
serenity took hold.

She walked down the hallway to the door of the library, which
was half-open. She pressed the door slightly to widen it without alerting the
occupants to her presence. Ah yes, there was Brookes, his handsome head bent
over a ledger, his quill scratching along the page. Harriet sat across from him,
in a smaller, more ladylike desk, scribbling something on a sheet of foolscap.
Sophie’s heart lurched, and she pressed her quivering lips together. She had a
sudden and foolish desire to cry, and it would never do to burst into tears just
now.