Читать книгу The Temporary Betrothal - Lily George - Страница 15

Chapter Seven

Sunday—a day of rest.

Sophie stretched her hands up to the ceiling. Time to find that solution she’d promised Lieutenant Cantrill. She was mortified that she had neglected his problem since her promise to assist Amelia two days before. Her life had been all a-swither, planning gowns and helping to select the menu and the guest list. He hadn’t been far from her thoughts, though. When combing through the guest list, one name had particularly caught her eye: Lieutenant Charles Cantrill. When she mentioned his name to Lord Bradbury, certain there must be a mistake, his lordship laughed. “Don’t let his austere existence fool you, Miss Handley. He’s the second son of one of the wealthiest merchants in England. He’s a member of my club, and a most welcome guest.”

That added a whole new patina to Charlie Cantrill’s allure. So he came from wealth but adopted a poor lifestyle to help others. He was wounded in service yet refused to rest on his laurels. And he had been most mysteriously jilted by his former fiancée. The lieutenant grew more interesting by the moment. So in helping him find a solution to his familial drama, she would be able to inch that much closer to him. Not that she really liked him all that much. But goodness, it would be lovely to have a gentleman friend of sorts again, one to squire her home and hold the umbrella for her. When he allowed himself to joke, his eyes lit up with a mischievous twinkle, and she caught a glimpse of the Charlie Cantrill John Brookes had talked about before the war.

No use lolling about in bed. She could be at church and by his side in a matter of minutes if she hurried. Sophie bolted out of bed, landing with more of a thud than she meant to. She had only three quarters of an hour to ready herself and hasten to St. Swithins. There would be no time for breakfast, surely. She flung open her wardrobe and rummaged among her plain, serviceable gowns for something fetching enough to catch the lieutenant’s eye.

Her lavender gown was still in pieces, ready to be stitched together for the dinner party a week hence. She eyed her wardrobe with mounting frustration. Oh, to have unlimited funds like Amelia Bradbury. In a range of frothy confections, she would certainly catch the lieutenant’s eye.

Botheration. The dark blue damask with the pleated bodice would have to do—it was the most attractive one she owned, for it darkened her eyes to a sapphire shade.

She scurried about the room, pulling on her stockings, tossing on her gown and pulling on her black kid slippers. Her hair—oh, dear, her hair. She had no time for a complicated style. A simple ribbon would have to do. There. She looked presentable, if not exactly alluring. She wrenched open the door—and tripped headlong over Lucy, who was strolling down the hall.

“Wherever are you off to in such haste?” Lucy propped Sophie up by the shoulders, saving her from tumbling onto the floor.

“St. Swithins. I am attending Sunday services.” Sophie righted herself and checked to make sure her hair hadn’t come loose.

Lucy’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “You never mentioned going to services before.”

“Um...” Sophie unsuccessfully fended off a blush. Her cheeks were scorching hot. “I only just remembered it.”

“Hmm.” Lucy stepped backward, planting her fists on her hips. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Lieutenant Cantrill, would it?”

Botheration. It was best to go ahead and admit defeat. The blush told all. She nodded, smiling at her friend. “He’s a friend of my family, after all. Would you like to accompany me?”

Lucy gave her head a decisive nod. “Of course. Let me just get my wrap.”

Bath was now her adopted hometown, its streets and alleyways becoming more familiar with each passing day. She struck out for St. Swithins with confidence. Sophie and Lucy skirted the Circus, glancing at the enclosed garden that would surely begin budding soon with warmer weather, and continued up Bennett Street, past the gracious, aloof Assembly Rooms. A month or so from now, Amelia would begin attending functions at these rooms with her father, and perhaps with Lucy as her chaperone.

It was beginning to smell like spring, the scent of moist earth and leaves filling the air. For some reason, it smelled of home—like working in the miniscule garden with Harriet at Tansley Cottage. Sophie blinked back sudden homesick tears. Yes, Bath was becoming more familiar, but Tansley would always be home.

When they arrived at the church, it was already crowded with a mixture of Bath Society and the lowlier masses, all milling about the narthex, greeting each other with nods and smiles. What a relief Lucy had come, for otherwise, she might feel quite lost in this crush of people. The lieutenant was nowhere in sight. Sophie fought to keep the disappointment from showing on her face as they chose seats in the pews near the rear of the church.