Читать книгу The Temporary Betrothal - Lily George - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Thursday 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.

She exhaled sharply, blowing out a puff of air as they left the church, turning her head up to the sky.

“Are you tired? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you alone for so long,” he apologized.

“Not at all. I think I got on very well with many of the women. And the children were darlings,” she replied, grasping the crook of his elbow more firmly as he led her down the steps. “I think the women need money,” she added in an undertone. “Many have no means of income, and several have children to care for. Without a steady flow of money, some of them have been reduced—or nearly so—to rather desperate circumstances.”

Just as he suspected. He stopped, turning to face her. “You will help me, then? These women, they respond to you. Together, we can help keep them from turning to occupations that are beneath them.”

She gazed deeply into his eyes. “Of course I will help you, Lieutenant. Did I not already promise to?”

“Yes, you did. I just wondered if, once you saw how things were—”

“That I would gather up my skirts and flee in horror?” She gave a modest chuckle. “Surely I am better than that.”

He couldn’t bear the challenge in those blue eyes any longer. He directed their steps back toward the street. “I do need your help with one other matter. There’s a young ensign, named Rowland, who is mute. I think conversation—even just listening to someone read aloud from a book—could help him. Do you think you can help me find someone willing to take that on?”

Sophie smiled, her dimples deepening. “I know just the perfect person, Lieutenant.”