The Temporary Betrothal (4 page)

“Miss Handley is a fine young woman, and you have nothing to
fear from your daughters associating with her,” he responded, willing the flush
that was rising up his neck to stay hidden under his cravat.

Bradbury turned back, a gleam in his eye. “Oh, I am not worried
about my daughters associating with her. I am more worried about myself.” With
that, Bradbury quit the room.

Chapter Four

T
hursday morning dawned crisp and cool, but
at least the rain had stopped. There was even a bit of watery sunshine peeping
through the clouds. And since today was her day off Sophie could do exactly as
she pleased in Bath. Not that she minded her work, of course. But there were
some days when a girl just wanted to lounge in bed, even if she had the most
wonderful job imaginable. Of course, her eagerness to enjoy the day had nothing
whatsoever to do with meeting Charlie Cantrill. No. It was just a remarkably
fine day. That was all.

Sophie turned on her side and stared out the window. One of the
kitchen servants would be in soon with her morning cocoa. She stretched lazily
toward the ceiling. And soon after, she would dress and ready herself for her
morning meeting with the lieutenant. She could wear anything she wanted on this
day—no more dark grays and plain bodices. And yet, perhaps one shouldn’t dress
up too fine for visiting wounded veterans. Her lavender gown with the long
sleeves would do the trick nicely.

A knock on the door snapped her out of her reverie.
“Enter.”

Lucy poked her head around the door frame. “Shall I accompany
you this morning?”

Sophie motioned her in, and Lucy shut the door softly. She was
becomingly attired in an ink-blue frock that darkened the color of her eyes.
Sophie patted the mattress, and Lucy sat. “Pretty dress, Lucy.”

The governess smiled. “Thank you. I don’t have your skill with
a needle, but I do all right by myself.”

Sophie rolled her head back on the pillow. “I think I am being
too missish if I bring you along as a chaperone,” she replied. “Surely Charlie
can be trusted. He is a friend of my family, after all.”

Lucy grinned, her eyes sparkling. “And it wouldn’t be because
you want the young man all to yourself?”

Sophie chucked her pillow at Lucy, who laughed and ducked in
the nick of time. “I am merely doing my duty by my sister,” Sophie said, pursing
her lips in a spinsterly manner. “And I want to help the lieutenant as he has
helped me. Besides, as a young lady who works, I have little time for
romance.”

“That’s rich.” Lucy leaned against the footboard, tucking her
legs up underneath her. “From what I understand, his lordship finds you a most
admirable young lady.”

Sophie pulled her coverlet up so high, the quilt nearly touched
her chin. “Whatever is that supposed to mean?”

Lucy shrugged. “Just that. Servants’ gossip, you know. But
apparently Lord Bradbury thinks terribly highly of you.”

Sophie frowned. “How did this rumor start?”

“How does any rumor start? Perhaps he mentioned something to
his valet, and from there the story spread like ink running out of an overturned
well.” Lucy plucked at the quilt. “Why are you so upset by this rumor? If Lord
Bradbury is fond of you, it could bode well for your future.”

Sophie gave her curls a negative shake. “That doesn’t sound
very nice at all. I feel much safer working for Lord Bradbury and helping the
lieutenant. And that’s all.”

“Ah, well, then.” Lucy rose from the bed with a smile. “Then by
all means keep your appointment with Lieutenant Cantrill. I shall spend my
morning reading Byron. When you return, shall we meet for tea? Perhaps at one of
the shops?”

“Yes. I shall meet you at Molland’s in Milsom Street around
three, if you please.” Sophie threw back the covers, preparing to get out of
bed.

Lucy departed with a cheerful wave. “I cannot wait to hear
about your morning adventure. Adieu, dear Sophie.”

By the time Lieutenant Cantrill knocked on the kitchen door,
Sophie was ready and waiting. She had dressed in her lavender gown and tucked up
her curls, then added a deeper purple spencer to keep out the spring chill. She
had even taken her breakfast at the birch wood table with several other
servants, so as not to miss his arrival.

She stepped out onto the back porch and smiled. “What a lovely
morning to walk together, Lieutenant. I cannot wait.”

He cordially offered his good arm, and she accepted it happily.
As they strolled together, she cudgeled her brain for a way to bring up the
topic of his rescue. She stole little sideways glances up at his handsome
features, taking in his fine, straight nose and his firm chin. She breathed
deeply to compose herself, but was only aware of Charlie’s scent—a scent of
tweed and oiled leather. A distinctly masculine smell that could, if one were
susceptible, make one giddy. Not that she was, of course. She had to stop
thinking about him, so she spoke to break the spell.

“What made you decide to involve yourself with veterans?”

“Well, Miss Handley, I am one, you know.” He looked down at her
with a quizzical air.

“Yes, of course.” How stupid of her. “But many young men are
veterans. Not all choose to help others.”

“Well.” He paused a moment, as if pondering what to say, or
even how much to tell her. “I lost my arm at Waterloo and it changed my life. I
felt a sense of purpose. Some might even say a mission.”

“A mission?” She glanced back up at him, thoroughly confused.
“Please explain, Lieutenant.”

“I felt that, because I did not die on the battlefield, God
must have another purpose for me in life. That there must be some reason I was
spared. And so, from that terrible day on, I became a changed man. I decided to
devote my life to helping others.”

She nodded slowly. “I never thought about life in that manner.
That God may have a purpose for each and every one of us.”

He looked down at her intently. “I believe it to be so.”

Sophie turned away from his gaze, her brows knitted together. A
purpose in life? She had never considered such a prospect before. In fact, to be
perfectly honest, she hadn’t considered anything the Lord might have to say
before. She had lived life the way a leaf tossed in a stream might live,
buffeted along by the current, catching on pebbles, tossed along without any
hope or thought of changing direction.

First there was Lucy’s comment about Lord Bradbury. And now
Charlie’s talk about faith. She opened her eyes wider. She was certainly
learning much about life this morning. And she wasn’t sure she really understood
any of it.

* * *

As they neared St. Swithins, Charlie felt his hand
perspiring. How would Sophie react? Would the other veterans and their wives
take to her? Or would it just be an awkward, interminable morning? Hopefully
not. Visiting the veterans was the highlight of his week, and ’twould be a pity
indeed if Sophie spoiled everything for him.

“It’s...in a church?” Sophie asked, her steps slowing.

“Yes.” He gave a curt nod. “Reverend Stephens has been a
tremendous help to my cause. He opened the sanctuary to the veterans of
Waterloo, and it is there that I meet with them and ascertain what their needs
might be.”

Sophie tilted her head back, holding on to her bonnet with one
hand. “It’s beautiful. I haven’t been in a church since Harriet’s wedding, and
very seldom before that. How magnificent the steeple looks!”

The church did look rather magnificent under the streaks of icy
sunlight that cut through the clouds. Like most of the buildings in Bath, it was
made of stone and tan in color. Its majestic steeple pierced the sky, a beacon
that called everyone, saint and sinner alike, home for worship.

He glanced at Sophie’s pure profile, tilted back as she drank
in the splendors of the view. “You did not go to church often?”

“Hardly at all,” she admitted with the frankness he was coming
to admire. “Crich is a four-mile journey there and four miles back. ’Twas too
far to travel with Mama. And before that, well, church in Matlock Bath was more
of a social affair for our family.”

He nodded and opened the massive oaken door. Her experience
with faith was not much different from his. After all, his conversion happened
on the battlefield, not because of any experience he had growing up in his
family’s parish. “I come here for worship every Sunday. If you like, you may
join me. Reverend Stephens is a gifted speaker. I daresay there are few who can
phrase the Bible in such clear and understandable terms.”

She smiled politely. “Thank you.”

That brief response, and the brief, circumspect smile that came
with it, gave one the feeling of being rebuffed. Or at least brushed off. He set
his jaw. They were here on a mere business arrangement, nothing more.

As they entered the narthex, the cacophony of male and female
voices, both young and old, bounced off the walls and the high-pitched ceiling.
He spied Reverend Stephens with the veterans, gathered near the altar, while the
women and children sat farther back in the pews. “Come, I’ll introduce you,” he
said, hurrying her up the aisle toward the altar.

“Reverend,” he called as they drew near. “Gentlemen, I have a
new representative here with me.”

Reverend Stephens motioned for silence and gave a friendly
smile to Sophie. “So I see,” he responded gently. “Welcome, my child.”

Sophie curtsied. “Thank you, Reverend.”

Charlie grasped her shoulders and turned her slightly so she
was facing the group of veterans. A larger group than usual today—nearly fifteen
men. The good weather must have made it possible for more to come.

“Gentlemen, ladies, Reverend Stephens,” he called, making sure
his voice carried to the back of the church. “With me today is Miss Sophie
Handley, newly arrived in Bath. Miss Handley is the younger sister of Mrs.
Harriet Brookes, whose book about Waterloo is making a sensation across
England.”

The crowd applauded politely, and several women leaned forward
as if to hear him better.

“As you may know, Mrs. Brookes has donated the proceeds of the
sale of her book to our group.”

Many people gasped, turning awe-stricken faces to his. Well,
this was the first time he’d made the announcement publicly. And it was a very
generous thing Harriet had done. The looks on their faces made him break into a
grin. How they would put that money to good use.

“Miss Handley is working for Lord Bradbury in town, but has
agreed to be her sister’s representative here in Bath. Anything that we want to
do as a group, Miss Handley will work to make sure it can happen. Please think
of her as you do me—as a friend, a confidante and a colleague.” He turned his
grin to Sophie, who was looking up at him with wide blue eyes. “I trust her. And
I know that, together, our veterans’ group can make a real difference in
everyone’s lives.”

The group erupted in applause, several of the men whistling and
stamping their feet. Sophie blushed prettily and bobbed a little curtsy before
the crowd. He nodded at her, as if to say, “Go on, say something,” but her rosy
color deepened and she shook her curls quickly.

He shrugged. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want
to,” he replied in an undertone. “But I must get started working with the men.
Do you want to talk to the women and children?”

“Yes, of course.” She moved to the back of the sanctuary, and
disappeared as the veterans began to swarm around Charlie, talking about
Harriet’s generous donation and how they should use the funds.

He spoke with the men for a good hour without taking a break.
There was a private who had a wife and a small baby, but he had been blinded and
couldn’t earn an income. How were they to survive? And then a smaller group of
veterans with missing limbs, who complained that the colder-than-average spring
was making it difficult to move about. For the blind veteran, Charlie withdrew a
stipend of fifty pounds, all he could afford until Harriet’s money began
trickling in. And for the others, they came up with a schedule of therapy
involving taking the waters on a twice-weekly basis.

He spent most of his time with a young ensign, the former scion
of a wealthy family, who had braved the battlefield at a very early age, and
become mute from the experience. The lad could write down a few words, and
Charlie could scratch out words on foolscap, though it was hard to hold down the
page with his prosthesis so he could write fluently with his right hand. From
their exchange, he was able to ascertain that the lad needed help—regular
conversation, even if he just listened as someone else spoke. But whom, and
when? Ah, that was the problem. He would find some way to help Rowland, but it
might take time.

When he finally had a moment’s pause, he looked anxiously down
the pews to see how Sophie was faring. He hadn’t meant to leave her alone for so
long. Was she beside herself with nervousness and anxiety? No, quite the
contrary. She was sitting in the back of the sanctuary on the floor, with two
children in her lap. A group of widows were gathered around her, talking
quietly. Sophie was listening intently, replying with a soft word here or a nod
there. Her spencer was long gone, as was her bonnet, both strewn across a pew
with abandon. As he watched the tableau, a child reached up and touched one of
her bobbing curls, which made her laugh.

His heart pounded gratefully. She seemed to be coming along
very well. In fact, she seemed to have already won the trust of those
widows—women who’d barely spoken two words to him before, who kept their eyes
cast down and their lips compressed in thin lines when he asked how he could
help them. She was going to be an extraordinary asset.

As the church bell tolled the lunch hour, the group began to
drift apart. After shaking hands with a few of the departing veterans, and after
expressing his thanks to the reverend, Charlie started up the aisle to retrieve
Sophie.

She smiled as he helped her back into her spencer, and bent to
kiss one of the little girls on the cheek as she left. Then she tied on her
bonnet and took his arm decisively. He sucked in his breath a little at the
feeling of Sophie next to him. She had such vibrancy, such life about her. His
existence, so gray and dull until he met her, now pulsed with color. She would
assuredly make a man very happy someday.