Healing the Soldier's Heart. Lily George

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      Chapter One

      March 1818

      Bath, England

      Saint Swithin’s Church of England

      Lucy Williams rolled her eyes at her friend in playful disgust. Sophie Handley had no idea how to flirt. That much was certain. For all her airs and graces, for all her pretty face and lithe figure, her friend had no real idea how to capture a man’s attention.

      Why, they had come to Saint Swithin’s for Sunday services just so Sophie could meet up with a man she liked, and here he was—on the point of departure. And Sophie just fretted at Lucy’s side, murmuring how all was lost. Utterly ridiculous.

      It was time to take matters into one’s own hands. Lucy tugged on her reticule, unclasping it from her wrist. Then, as the parishioners began to file out of the church, she pushed through the crowd, keeping Sophie close by. The sea of humanity parted, and she could just glimpse Lieutenant Cantrill, her quarry. A young man stood beside the lieutenant, his angular face a mask of misery. Lucy stopped short. Why was he so sad? Her heart skipped a beat. Surely there was no reason in the world for such a handsome man to be so morose.

      Sophie made an impatient tsking sound, jolting Lucy back to her senses. ’Twas time to accomplish her mission. With a smart twist of her wrist, she sent the reticule flying. It landed with a satisfying smack right beside the lieutenant on the wooden floor. He bent at once to retrieve it, his interesting companion bending down to assist. The lieutenant picked up her reticule, his eyebrow quirked, and turned to look for the party responsible for launching such a cunning little missile.

      Time to spring into action.

      “Oh, sir!” Lucy sang out. “You found my reticule. How very good of you.” She hustled forward, tugging Sophie along behind her. “It was knocked clear of my hand by the bustle of this crowd.” She skidded to a halt before the lieutenant and his companion, giving both the confident smile that had won her a position as governess to Lord Bradbury’s daughters—no mean feat for a penniless orphan. Sophie stood beside her, pale and silent, her large blue eyes as round as saucers as she stared at Lieutenant Cantrill. Lucy jabbed Sophie in the ribs with her elbow, sending Sophie’s curls bouncing.

      Sophie winced and, rubbing her side, began the rounds of introductions. But it was clear from the way she stood ever so slightly closer to the lieutenant than propriety allowed that Sophie wanted a chance to be alone with the lieutenant. Very well, then. Lucy had her own task to follow.

      It seemed that the young man with the lieutenant was none other than Ensign Rowland—the soldier Sophie had mentioned to her a few days prior. According to Lieutenant Cantrill, Waterloo had left the poor man mute. He had, in fact, barely spoken a few words since his arrival in Bath. The lieutenant believed that listening to someone else read aloud might ease his condition and had asked Sophie to find someone to read to the ensign. Sophie had asked her to assume that duty.

      She turned to the tall man who stood beside the lieutenant. His wide green eyes regarded her solemnly, yet a spark flickered in their depths. His sandy blond hair waved over his forehead in a stubborn cowlick. She resisted the urge to reach up and pat it down with a tender gesture.

      “So this is Ensign Rowland? How do you do, sir?” Lucy took his hands in hers. They were warm and capable—as strong as a man in service might possess. Now, how could she broach her assignment without making it sound as though she pitied him or felt sorry for him? Perhaps if she made it sound as though he would be doing her a tremendous favor in helping her. Yes, that would work best.

      “Ensign, I was wondering if you could assist me with a problem. You see, I must instruct Lord Bradbury’s daughters in the finer points of elocution and pronunciation, and the best way to do so is by reading aloud.” She threaded her arm under his elbow and piloted him toward the door, letting Sophie and her lieutenant have their moment together. “But I am so rusty at reading aloud myself. Would you be my audience? I should so like to have your assistance.”

      The spark in his green eyes leaped. He understood what she had said, even if he didn’t speak. He inclined his head ever so slightly, a lock of sandy hair falling over his brow. Again, she resisted the urge to pat it back into place, contenting herself with the feel of his arm underneath her hand.

      He allowed her to guide him out of the side entrance of the vestry. He pushed open the rough wooden door, bathing their faces in pale, watery sunshine. Lucy blinked, tugging the brim of her bonnet down lower. Now she had him all to herself and no idea how to entertain him. Fine beads of sweat broke out under her brow. She would have to do all the talking and never pause for an answer. That was the only way to carry the conversation, without matters becoming awkward or embarrassing for the ensign.

      Or perhaps the best way was to begin by acknowledging his obvious affliction. That way, one needn’t feel quite so frantic about keeping up the conversational flow.

      As they strolled into the courtyard, Lucy pulled away from the ensign’s side. She turned to face him, her heart beginning to pound in her chest like a big bass drum. Why was she so nervous? She had faced scores of unsettling situations from losing her parents to leaving her only home, Cornhill and Lime Street Charity School, to strike out on her own. There was no need to panic just because she was facing a strikingly handsome young man.

      “Ensign Rowland,” she began, her words tumbling over each other in a rush, “I should let you know that I am well aware of your affliction. You cannot speak, can you?”

      He shrugged, his eyes clouding over. She was losing that spark, that gleam of interest he had shown her just moments before. A frantic feeling seized hold of her, and she hurried on, her face growing heated under his uncertain gaze.

      “It doesn’t matter to me, of course. I can talk enough for two people. Indeed, I have it on good authority that I can talk the legs off a chair.”

      A strange sound, rather like a rusty chuckle, emanated from the ensign. His lips were quirked downward—with mirth. Good heavens, she made the man laugh. That was a good sign, surely. She pressed on.

      “At any rate, do not feel you have to make a conversation with me. I really would like to have the opportunity to read to a captive audience. And if you don’t mind my chattering, then I should love to talk with you frequently.”

      He nodded, his features softening.

      “Very good then.” She took his arm once more, and he steered her toward the stone steps that led down to the street. She could just pick out Sophie’s voice behind them, but she wasn’t ready to let the ensign go. Not yet. Now that things were resolved between them, she could let herself enjoy the СКАЧАТЬ