The Temporary Betrothal (6 page)

It took a few moments for Charlie to gain composure. He simply
stared out the library window, avoiding Aunt Katherine’s gaze while he settled
his thoughts. What she said was true. He must get rid of all bitterness in his
heart. And yet, it was hard to let go of that anger. It had driven him and
fueled his existence for so long, he didn’t know how to relinquish it. It had
been hidden under a mask of good cheer, at least where the Brookes family was
concerned. But Aunt Katherine, with her uncanny powers of perception, had
discovered the truth.

When he was of a more reasonable frame of mind, he rose. It was
embarrassing to be so emotional. “Aunt Katherine, I must be going. But I do want
to thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your help. I appreciate all you
are trying to do for me.”

She extended her hand, jewels winking in the firelight. “Tut,
tut, my dear boy. I shall meddle with you tirelessly now that John is happily
wed.” She gave him a wheedling smile. “Your mother may be right, after all. And
remember that the Handley girls are made of stronger stuff than I think we often
give them credit for.”

Her words echoed in Charlie’s mind as he walked back to his
flat. Why had she added that last bit? Could it be that Sophie Handley was made
of stronger stuff than he imagined? Behind that pretty face, was she something
more? He let himself into the chilly flat. His housekeeper had the day off, and
he hated coming home when she hadn’t been working all day. His home seemed dour
and cheerless without at least a fire burning in the grate and the bustle of
work in the kitchen.

He kindled the fire himself and extended his hand to the blaze.
The warmth ran from the tips of his fingers to the pit of his heart. Perhaps he
had allowed bitterness to settle and become part of him for too long. Perhaps it
was time for spring—in more ways than one.

Chapter Six

“O
h, Sophie!” Amelia cried, flinging
herself through the door of Sophie’s sewing room. Sophie glanced up in surprise.
Shouldn’t Amelia be studying with Lucy in the schoolroom?

“Amelia? Whatever is the matter?” Sophie removed a pin from her
mouth and stabbed it through the dress form she was working with.

“Papa has agreed to have a dinner party a fortnight from now,
and I am to be the hostess. Imagine! My first entrée into Society. So I must
have a very pretty gown, you know.” Amelia danced around the room, her long
curls bobbing as she clapped her hands.

“That is excellent news, Amelia. What do you think of this blue
dress I am finishing? Surely it would fit the bill nicely.” Sophie stepped back
and surveyed her handiwork with a critical eye. A bit more pin tucking around
the bodice, and it would just suit her young muse. And perhaps a bit of lace, as
well?

“Yes, yes, it’s very pretty. But, Sophie, that was the gown I
am to wear later in the Season. I want something special for this occasion,
something entirely new. Perhaps—” she spun around the workroom, running her
hands over the bolts of fabric “—perhaps something in this yellow?” She held out
a yard of gauzy fabric, wrapping it around her middle.

A brief wriggle of unease made its way up Sophie’s spine as she
watched Amelia prance around the room. Here they were, surrounded by luxurious
fabrics of every conceivable color and finish. And here was her young charge,
dancing around in delighted anticipation of yet another new dress, made
expressly to her whims.

Sophie’s mind flashed back to the widows, old and young, whom
she had met at St. Swithins. Their clothes were so worn and patched, they were
almost threadbare. Why should one young girl have so much, while others had so
little? Sophie gave her head a defiant shake. It seemed rather unfair. To
distract these unpleasant thoughts, Sophie gave her full attention back to pin
tucking the bodice, stabbing the pins in place with shaking hands.

“Sophie, is anything the matter? Don’t you think the yellow
will suit me well?” Amelia dropped the fabric, a worried frown puzzling her
brow.

“Oh, no. So sorry, Amelia darling. Bit of a headache coming on,
that’s all.” Sophie managed a small smile for her charge. After all, it wasn’t
Amelia’s fault that she was born into great wealth while others were
wanting.

“I am sorry to hear that.” Lord Bradbury lounged against the
doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. Sophie jumped a little, startled at
the sound of his rich, sophisticated baritone. “I was depending upon you to help
prepare Amelia for her debut as hostess.”

Were none of the Bradburys where they were supposed to be at
the moment? Amelia was supposed to be studying. Lord Bradbury was supposed to be
wherever a wealthy lord spent most of his day. Honestly, having the peace of her
workroom completely interrupted by the family was disconcerting. Especially by
his lordship, who always managed to ruffle her emotions.

“How can I help, your lordship?” Sophie stuck the last pin into
the bodice and turned to face her employer.

“Well, Miss Handley, Amelia will need some assistance with the
finer points of being a gracious hostess. Since you were born into the Handley
family, I am sure you know how to manage such an affair.”

Another mention of the Handleys. Why was he so fixated on her
family connections? Surely he knew that the Handley family never acknowledged or
spoke to Mama, Harriet or herself. Everyone, it seemed, knew of her family’s
downfall, the auctioned estate, the years of penury and debt. She slanted her
glance toward Amelia, who was bouncing up and down, waiting for her response
with heightened anticipation. How much of her sordid past did she dare reveal in
front of her young charge? And yet...Amelia looked so hopeful, her eyes wide and
pleading.

“Well, your lordship, I shall try. But I must admit that was a
long time ago, and I had little practice myself. My elder sister was the only
one out at that time. I was still in the schoolroom.” She managed a demure smile
for Amelia’s benefit.

“Nonsense. I can tell you were born to do it.” His lordship
flicked an appraising glance over her figure, making her cheeks burn. “Some
women have natural grace. Others cannot buy it with all the money in the
world.”

She acknowledged the compliment with a slight incline of her
head. “Thank you, Lord Bradbury. I am sure Miss Williams can also assist, if you
like.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps. But Miss Williams was not born into
quality, as you were.”

Sophie’s mouth dropped open in surprise. What an astonishing
thing to say. And rude. After all, Miss Williams was certainly good enough to be
entrusted with his daughters’ education. She shifted her gaze to Amelia, to
gauge her reaction. But if Amelia felt obliged to defend her teacher, she said
nothing. She just eyed Sophie expectantly, an excited smile quivering on her
dimpled cheeks.

She turned to face his lordship. He was gazing at her with an
inscrutable expression in his dark eyes, a look that made her breath catch in
her throat. Whatever did he want from her? It seemed like he always wanted
something, gauging her reaction or waiting for an opportunity to, well, pounce.
Like a barn cat. Or a tiger. She choked back a sudden nervous giggle. He smiled
as though she had finally satisfied his question.

“So? We are in agreement? You will coach Amelia on the finer
points of being a gracious hostess.” He stepped closer to Sophie, and the simple
movement sucked all the oxygen out of the workroom. She took an abrupt step
back, knocking against the dress form.

Lord Bradbury lifted one puzzled eyebrow. “Miss Handley?”

“My apologies, sir. As I said, I have a bit of headache coming
on.” She rubbed her elbow ruefully. “But of course I will be happy to help Miss
Amelia.”

“Oh, Sophie!” Amelia rushed headlong into Sophie, catching her
in an embrace that squeezed the breath out of her. “Thank you ever so much. I
shan’t feel half so awkward if you are there.”

Sophie returned the embrace, smoothing Amelia’s curls. “Well,
my dear Amelia, I shan’t really be present at the party. But I shall be guiding
you every step of the way until it begins.”

Amelia tilted her face up toward Sophie, trouble brewing in her
eyes. “But Sophie, I shall need you there to guide me. Papa, isn’t that so?
Shouldn’t Sophie be at the dinner party?”

Sophie shook her head. “Amelia, it wouldn’t be right. I am a
servant, after all.” She had learned her place well after her first few days of
missteps and blunders. And it was a good thing—something that made her proud, in
fact—that she was earning her place in the world. Even if it meant the social
niceties would often be closed to her for the rest of her days.

“On the contrary, Miss Handley. I think your presence would be
most welcome at our dinner party. Not only can you continue to assist my
daughter with her entrée into Society, you are rather—” he paused as though
searching for the right word “—decorative yourself.”

“I haven’t any gowns that are suitable.” She needed any excuse
to back out of this arrangement. Something wasn’t quite right. She couldn’t put
her finger on it, but it was rather akin to being tested. And really, one should
know all the rules of engagement before being put to the test.

His lordship waved his hand at the bolts of fabric littering
the room, his signet ring glinting in the pale sunlight that poured in through
the parted curtains. “Make anything you like, Miss Handley. Surely your talents
can extend to creations for yourself.”

Sophie froze. A new gown? A creation from new fabric, made
expressly for her? Such luxury. She had been cutting down Mama’s old court
dresses and making them over for an eternity. How would a new dress look and
feel? Her imagination surged, conjuring images of a pale lavender frock with a
modest neckline, some ruching at the bodice...

“Well, Miss Handley?” His lordship was staring at her, the same
inscrutable expression on his face that made her heart flutter. Surely there
could be no harm in helping her young charge make her debut in Society, could
there? And surely, after her years of sacrifice, she deserved one fine gown.

“Very well, my lord, I shall be happy to assist Amelia with her
debut, and I will be present at the dinner party, as well.” She tossed him a
warm smile of gratitude, which he returned with ease. He was handsomer when he
smiled. Much less...forbidding. He turned on his heel and vanished without
another word.

Sophie hastened her young charge back to her studies, her mind
full of plans. For the first time in ages, she would have a taste of real
Society. And, though she hated to admit it, it was a flavor she had sorely
missed.

* * *

Charlie sat before his hearth, Mother’s latest missive
in his hands. She was coming to Bath. No longer content with issuing orders from
afar, Moriah Cantrill would descend on him in a matter of a fortnight. No letter
would dissuade her. She was intent on bending her son to her will. And if he
capitulated to Mother, then in no time at all, he would be forced to return to
Brightgate. He couldn’t give in to one family member without giving in to them
all.

The clock on the rough wooden mantelpiece chimed the hour.
Blast, he would be late for St. Swithins unless he made haste. He rose, tugging
on his greatcoat. Perhaps working with his fellow men, helping others with their
problems, would help him, too. It gave him great satisfaction to answer the
needs of his fellow men. Their wants were so few and so simple—food, clothing
and shelter. Not a man jack of them cared about their position in Society. None
would be cowed by Moriah Cantrill, that much was certain. A morning spent in
service would clear his mind and help him come up with a solution to his
problem—which was nothing at all compared to what these men faced.

Once at St. Swithins, he dove into his work, rolling up his
sleeves and toiling away on securing the most basic foundations for the men who
served with him in battle. There were fewer men here on Saturday, as most
elected to come on Thursdays. But the few who gathered had such gaunt, haunted
looks on their faces that he was determined to help them, no matter the cost. A
few women huddled in the back, but dared not step forward. If only Sophie
Handley were there to talk with them, but of course, one day a week would be the
most she could manage with her duties to Lord Bradbury and his family. He would
have to set some time and energy aside for the widows when he was done with the
men.

“Lieutenant Cantrill! I was hoping to find you here this
morning,” a musical voice trilled in his ear. He spun around, trying to will
away the flush creeping over his face. Sophie Handley. It could be no one but
her. Several of the men stepped back in deference, their admiration of Sophie’s
beauty written plainly across their faces. Funny how a pretty creature could
make these men instantly lose sight of their troubles.

“Miss Handley,” he replied with a bow. “Are you here to assist?
I was not aware that you knew I helped some of the veterans on Saturdays.”

“One of the widows informed me of it at our last meeting,” she
admitted, a sweet smile curving her lips. “I cannot stay long, but I wanted to
stop by this morning and assist as much as I can. And you will be proud of me,
Lieutenant. I found my own way here.”

He chuckled. Her chin was tilted at a proud angle, and her eyes
danced with merriment. “Even though you are well acquainted with the twists and
turns of Bath, I would be delighted to walk you back home.”

One of the veterans guffawed, but then tried to disguise it as
a sudden cough. Charlie looked with daggers at the man, willing him to stay
quiet. So he wasn’t well schooled in the art of flirtation. What did that
matter? He was just...answering her in like tone. That was all.

Sophie’s eyelids fluttered down over her brilliant blue eyes,
and a slight flush stained her cheeks. “That would be lovely.” She dipped a
slight curtsy. “I’ll go see what the widows might require.”

He worked the rest of the morning with a curious lightness in
his heart. As before, when he made Sophie’s acquaintance, all his problems
seemed insignificant. He practiced how he would tell her about his latest
missive from Mother, how he would reenact her stern warnings, her dire
predictions. And she would laugh that silvery laugh—it reminded one of bells
tinkling. And he wouldn’t feel so blasted alone any longer. So while he helped
each man who turned to him, finding sources for clothing, or offering food, or
locating shelter, his mind remained firmly fixed on Sophie Handley as she toiled
away in the back of the church.

It may have been a kind of sin, but he couldn’t shake his mind
free.

As they left, she took his arm. “What a pleasant morning,
Lieutenant. You know, I think what the women need most is clothing. Not just for
themselves, but for their children. I wonder if we could have some sort of
sewing bee, where we all join together and sew as a group. Wouldn’t that be a
practical solution?”

His mind was drifting again, fixating on her pretty profile
rather than her sensible words. He forced himself to pay attention. “Yes, of
course.”

“You seem distracted again,” she chided in a cheerful tone.
“Pray, what has claimed your interest this morning?”

Ah, now was his chance. “Another letter from home. My mother
intends to come to Bath in a fortnight and bring me to heel,” he began, aping an
aggrieved tone of voice, but was cut short by Sophie’s stifled gasp.

“Your family! Oh, Lieutenant, I beg your forgiveness. I
promised to come up with a solution to your problem, but I got so engrossed in
Amelia’s debut that I forgot.” She darted her glance up to his, and he forced
himself to allow his breathing to remain steady. Having her so close and so
engaged in conversation was a heady experience. But then, of course, he would
feel that way around any pretty gel. It was just that he had set himself apart
from women for so long after his broken engagement to Beth Gaskell.