Healing the Soldier's Heart. Lily George

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СКАЧАТЬ to overwhelm her. There were her two young charges to speak to, of course, but it was quite another matter to have a friend. It was nice to chatter on with the ensign; even if there was no possibility he would respond.

      “You know, I work for Lord Bradbury. He has two daughters, and I am their governess. Sophie—” she nodded in Sophie’s general direction “—works as their personal seamstress. Before Sophie came to Bath a few months ago, I had no one with whom I could speak freely. But now she is here, and I’ve met you. What a delight to have two young people I can chat with.”

      She slanted her gaze up at him. A delightful smile crept over his face, as though he too had discovered a treasure. A warm glow lit Lucy’s heart. He was a gentle soul. That much was certain. And had probably suffered a great deal. It would be a joy to talk with him and to bring that smile back to his face.

      From some distance away, a clock began tolling the hour. Botheration. She should be returning to Lord Bradbury’s house soon. She needed to supervise her charges’ luncheon; for if she were not present, the girls were likely to fire dinner rolls at each other like cricket balls.

      “I must go.” It was difficult to let him go. But perhaps she could see him again soon. “Will you be at the next veterans’ group meeting? I don’t know when they meet, but I can find out from Sophie.”

      He nodded, smiling once more.

      “Sophie,” she called up the steps. Sophie broke away from the lieutenant’s side and began her descent. Lucy turned to the ensign. “Ensign Rowland, it’s been a pleasure to meet you. And I look forward to tormenting you with the classics soon. I have a great fancy for Greek epic works, so beware.”

      His polite smile grew into a devastating grin, and her heart flip-flopped in her chest once more. She withdrew her hand from his sleeve slowly, savoring the moment. It would be nice to see him again.

      Sophie danced up beside them, her eyes bright with merriment. They made their goodbyes, the ensign tipping his hat with a practiced, genteel gesture as he took his leave. Sophie linked her arm with Lucy’s as they began strolling toward the Crescent, the balmy spring breeze rustling their skirts. And while Sophie babbled on about the lieutenant and her harebrained scheme to save him from his meddling mama, Lucy’s mind drifted.

      Though she made her usual barbed responses to Sophie’s nonsense, Lucy was far from her friend’s side. Instead, she wandered down the steps once more with the ensign, remembering his somber green eyes and his crooked, heartbreaking grin. The veterans’ meeting, which she hardly knew about before this day, was now the most important event on her horizon.

      As they approached his lordship’s home, she looked up at the second-story window that housed the schoolroom. Of course, nothing could really come of her interaction with the ensign other than friendship. She was nothing but a poor governess, and she had to earn her own way in the world. Any girlish dreams of romance had to remain just that—dreams and nothing more. She had no time for love. And she had a duty to her charges.

      And, after all, she had been asked to help the ensign not for her beauty or eligibility but because she was a governess. And a governess she would remain for the rest of her days. She dearly hoped that she and the ensign would become good friends. But friends were all they could ever be.

      * * *

      Ensign James Rowland smiled as he watched Miss Lucy Williams walk off arm in arm with the pretty blonde Miss Handley who had captured Cantrill’s interest. Lucy didn’t mind that he could not speak, which had made him quite comfortable in her company. In fact, he was more at ease with her than he had been with anyone outside his tight circle of fellow soldiers.

      It helped, of course, that she was quite attractive herself, but in a more unique way than her blonde friend. She had glossy black hair piled high on her head, wide brown eyes and a fascinating sprinkle of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Most women, out of coquetry or sense of fashion, would use some type of artificial means to hide or remove those supposed imperfections. But not Lucy. They added spice to her person, like a sprinkle of cinnamon across a particularly tasty dish.

      For the first time since his return from Waterloo, he was intrigued by someone else. Everything looked gray and sounded like it was wrapped in cotton wool since that horrible day he lay bleeding and silent in the rye at La Sainte Haye. But in Lucy’s warm brown eyes, he captured a glimpse of life. And that brief spark glowed in his heart as Lieutenant Cantrill joined him on the street below Saint Swithin’s.

      “Come, Rowland, let us return home.” Cantrill sighed. “I have much preying upon my mind this afternoon, and I need to think matters over.”

      Whatever Cantrill and Miss Handley had spoken of apparently drove the lieutenant to distraction. He spoke hardly a word on the fifteen-minute walk back to Beau Street to the modest flats that several soldiers had called home since their return from the peninsula. Of course, it didn’t matter that the lieutenant didn’t speak. In fact, Rowland couldn’t expect anyone to make conversation with a man who only uttered a word now and again.

      He nodded his goodbye to Cantrill, who lived on the ground floor flat, and took the steps two at a time to reach the flat he shared with Lieutenant Sean Macready, a fellow officer of the 2nd Battalion 69th.

      As he entered their humble flat, the delectable aroma of beef stew greeted him, causing his mouth to water. The housekeeper must be here. Thank heavens. They shared servants with Lieutenant Cantrill; this kept Mrs. Pierce bustling up and down stairs all day long, though she insisted she did not mind. And her stew, heated and reheated, formed their sustenance for many days, growing richer and mellower with each passing day.

      “What ho, man?” Macready beckoned him into the kitchen, where he sat at the rickety oak table, a steaming bowl before him. “Mrs. Pierce just left to take the lieutenant his lunch. Try the bread first with a dab of butter. It’s a poem.”

      With a grateful grunt, James grabbed a plain white china bowl from the cupboard and filled it to the brim with stew. Then he hacked off the end of the loaf of bread—so warm that it singed his fingers a bit—and sat across from Macready at the table.

      “Good gracious, man. I haven’t seen you eat so heartily since before the war.” Macready leaned forward, eyeing James suspiciously. “What has gotten into you?”

      James shrugged, keeping his eyes cast down. Nothing extraordinary had happened, had it? He was just hungry was all.

      He split the bread open, patting butter on the inside and then closed it so the middle of the bread would become more moist as the butter melted. His favorite childhood treat, much more coveted than a cookie or a slice of cake.

      Macready took another bite of stew. Then, assuming an elaborately casual air, he asked, “How was Sunday service?”

      James bit into the crusty loaf, closing his eyes in delight for a moment as he savored it. Then he uttered his customary one-word response, “Fine.”

      “Hmm. Are you sure, Rowland? There’s an air about you, as though something extraordinary happened to you. You even look different. There’s more color in your person, as though you are warmer from the inside.” Macready broke off another piece of bread, peering at James as he did so.

      Blast Macready and his Irish gift of gab. He would never let up—not until James had told him about his entire morning. True, his meeting with Lucy Williams had given him hope—hope that he could move on from the past. She was the first person he’d met in Bath who wasn’t a veteran of the war. And she was the only person to offer her friendship. СКАЧАТЬ