The Temporary Betrothal. Lily George

lieutenant finding a wife, perhaps he could pretend to be looking for one.” Lucy rose and walked over to the door. “I had better go find my charges. I would wager my last pound they aren’t in the schoolroom doing their Latin lessons.” She paused in the doorway. “Oh, and Lord Bradbury has arrived, and would like to meet with you this morning. If you would go down to his study in fifteen minutes or so, he will be expecting you. He likes to meet all the servants in person and will probably plan out Amelia’s Season with you. So be prepared.”

      “Of course.” All thoughts of helping the lieutenant fled. Now she must prove her worth to her employer. Sophie rose, gathering a stack of fashion plates to show his lordship. “I shall go down at once, Lucy. Thank you for your help.”

      Lucy winked. “Think nothing of it.”

      * * *

      Though Sophie had been downstairs a few times since her arrival, the labyrinthine corridors were confusing. And why were all the doors painted the same color? Goodness, it was difficult to know where one was going. The clock in the hallway tolled the hour. She was going to be late to her first meeting with Lord Bradbury. That did not bode well for her continued employment, did it?

      In exasperation, she grasped the last latch on the right and rushed headlong into the room. An older man with a handsome and serious face rose in surprise from a massively carved desk. “Miss Handley, I presume?”

      Sophie bobbed a quick curtsy, spilling her stack of fashion plates and foolscap on the floor. “Yes. Oh, bother.”

      He came around the side of the desk and helped her scoop the papers into a pile. “There you are, Miss Handley. Pray be seated.” He motioned her to a coffee-colored leather chair poised in front of the desk.

      His manners were so smooth, so urbane. Droplets of perspiration began to bead Sophie’s brow. She furtively wiped them away as he took his place behind the desk. Then he smiled at her and clasped his hands over his ink blotter.

      “You are younger than I expected, Miss Handley.” His hazel eyes raked over her figure as if trying to determine the exact day and hour of her birth. “My daughters already seem to adore you.”

      “Um, yes.” Sophie cast about for something intelligent to say. Anything that wouldn’t get her sacked. “Well, you see, I am young but I have been sewing for most of my life. I feel I am very talented despite my youth, Lord Bradbury. And I do think I can make some wondrous creations for your daughters.”

      “Please don’t feel you need to defend yourself, Miss Handley.” He gave her an easy smile that sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Why was she reacting so? He was much older than most of the men she knew—too old for her by half. “I was merely commenting on the obvious.”

      She nodded uncertainly. He would have to take the lead from now on. She was in uncharted waters.

      “My daughters lost their mother a few years ago, and I am being very frank when I say that I am making up for their loss with material pleasures.” He ran a hand through his thick black hair, ruffling it a bit. “No girls should have to grow up without a mother. It preys upon my mind.”

      Sophie tilted her head to one side. Had she come to Bath merely to solve every man’s marital woes? “Perhaps you should remarry, your lordship.”

      He leveled a piercing gaze at her that made her catch her breath. “I may do so someday. However, my first wife was nothing short of remarkable. I don’t think I could find the likes of her again....” His voice trailed off.

      Sophie nodded and fell silent. Nothing she said seemed to be the right thing to say, so ’twas better to be quiet.

      He turned toward the window, looking out on the sleet as it ran in rivulets down the pane. “You are Sir Hugh Handley’s daughter, are you not?”

      “Yes, your lordship.” Any mention of her family connections made Sophie uneasy.

      “What makes you take a position in service?” He flicked a glance her way.

      She hated having to defend her choices. If her family approved, why should Lord Bradbury care? “I desire to make my own way in the world, doing what I love best,” she replied, raising her chin with defiance.

      He turned to face her again, an inscrutable look crossing his face. “I see,” he replied. “Well, Miss Handley, I give you free rein with my daughters. All of my funds are at your command. Doll them up in any way you see fit.”

      She leaned forward, grabbing the pile of papers from his desk. “Do you wish to see my ideas, my lord?”

      He waved his hand in a listless fashion. “No, I trust your judgment. Nothing too immodest, I assume?”

      Heat flooded Sophie’s cheeks. “Certainly not.”

      He stood, signaling the end of the interview. “Very well, then. I hope you enjoy your work. Do not hesitate to come to me if you need bigger lines of credit at the shops.”

      She grasped her papers in one hand and rose, bobbing a shaky curtsy. “Thank you, Lord Bradbury. I shall endeavor not to disappoint.”

      * * *

      Charlie Cantrill opened the door to his club with a sigh. As the son of a wealthy merchant, there were certain things you could give up, though the other fellows might sneer about it. Liquor and light skirts, for example. He had been living as simply as could be following Waterloo and Beth’s rejection. And yet, one thing remained eternal and unchanged. Devotion to one’s club remained constant, no matter how one might cut corners in other aspects of life.

      He nodded as a valet scurried forward to take his coat and hat. Then, scanning the open hallway, he spied one group of gentlemen playing a game of whist in the next room. He made his way to the lounge, where Lord Bradbury lay before the fire, deep into a glass of Scotch.

      “Cantrill! What ho, man. It’s good to see you.” Rising, Bradbury extended his hand toward Cantrill.

      “Bradbury, good to see you back in town.” Cantrill shook hands and then sank into the opposite chair. “Tea, if you please.” He smiled briefly at the hovering butler.

      Bradbury took up his Scotch with a laugh. “Never could understand how you make do without spirits, Cantrill. They’ve kept me sane these years since Emma died.”

      “I find myself saner without them.” Time for a change of subject. He never enjoyed talking about his abstinence with anyone who wasn’t a close friend. Just as he kept his faith close to the vest, he kept other parts of his life from public scrutiny. It was a private matter, after all. “I understand that a friend of mine is recently in your employ.”

      “Really?” Bradbury leaned forward, cradling the glass in both hands. “Whom are you speaking of?”

      “Miss Handley.” He found it difficult to speak the words. Why was it so hard to say her name?

      “Ah, yes.” Bradbury sat back, a satisfied smile crossing his face. “I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Handley today. What a lovely creature. I was quite surprised to find she was seeking employment—because she is a Handley, and because she’s so beautiful.”

      “I believe she wants to establish some measure of independence,” Cantrill remarked. He didn’t like the light that was kindled in Bradbury’s eyes. The man looked too satisfied and pleased with himself.

      “Oh, I am sure she would be happy to give up that much-vaunted independence when the right offer comes along,” Bradbury said with a laugh. “Pretty young ladies like that needn’t stay employed for very long.”

      The tea arrived, giving Cantrill the distraction he needed to calm down from Bradbury’s comment. After all, wouldn’t marriage be an excellent thing for Sophie Handley? She was a lovely girl, and would likely get an offer of marriage from someone soon. He flicked a glance over Bradbury. The man was older than him by a decade, and yet retained a distinguished and sportive air. His name had been linked to at least one high-born widow in the past year. Might he