The Temporary Betrothal. Lily George

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ