Healing the Soldier's Heart. Lily George

and some whole, talked in small groups, while women, old and young alike, stood slightly apart. Children darted in and out of the pews, playing hide-and-seek. But nowhere in this throng did she spy the man she sought. She stood on tiptoe, straining her gaze past a cluster of men who were talking in measured tones amongst themselves. But nowhere was a lanky young man—easily a foot taller than these others. Not that she noticed his great height. Well, not especially.

      “Looking for someone?” A pleasant voice rumbled behind her. Lucy started and turned around, heat rushing to her cheeks at being caught gawping. How embarrassing.

      “Lieutenant Cantrill.” She bobbed a quick curtsy. “I was...looking for the ensign. Our reading lesson, you know.” She wasn’t ready to admit to Cantrill that she was trying to help cure Rowland. Or that there might be anything more to their meetings than what he’d asked—which was just companionship for the ensign. Nothing more.

      “I’m afraid he won’t be here, not for the foreseeable future.” The lieutenant gave her a rueful grin. “He got a position here in Bath with Henry Felton, the carpenter. So this new job in woodworking is occupying most of Rowland’s time.”

      For a moment, her tongue was tied. Rowland had an occupation? That was excellent news of course. But—did that mean he didn’t want her to read to him anymore? Her heart dropped like a stone in her chest. “Is he ever coming back to the veterans’ group?”

      “Well, I gather he must make a good impression his first few weeks of working. And that must mean sticking to the schedule Felton gives him. In time, perhaps, he can join our meetings again if Felton can spare him on Thursday mornings.” Cantrill checked his pocket watch. “I should start the meeting soon, Miss Williams. It’s getting rather late in the morning.”

      “Yes, of course.” Lucy gave a quick nod. She shouldn’t detain him. There really was nothing more to say. Rowland had a new position, so he was doing quite well. And Cantrill didn’t seem to think she needed to continue working with Rowland—or if he did, he didn’t say so. But, even so, she couldn’t hold her tongue. “Do you think the ensign will continue to need me to read to him? To help with his speech problems?”

      Cantrill hesitated a moment, a kindly light kindling in his brown eyes. “I think that friendship is still important to Rowland, job or no job,” he responded in a heartfelt tone. “But since his time is rather occupied at the moment, perhaps you should talk to him about the matter yourself. As I said, he’s at Felton’s shop, near the Assembly Rooms.” He bowed. “I must start the meeting, Miss Williams, but thank you again for helping young Rowland.”

      Lucy nodded, and Cantrill worked his way through the throng of veterans and families who filed after him, filling up row upon row of pews. Thus left alone in the aisle, Lucy must present quite an odd picture to the assembled group. Neither wife nor sister, she had no reason to be included in this mass of people seeking comfort and aid. Her face heated to the roots of her hairline. She hated being conspicuous.

      She quit the vestibule, her slippered feet making nary a sound as she creaked open the door and stepped outside. A feeling of loss, almost of homesickness, washed over her. Rowland would not seek her out, at least for the foreseeable future. What could she do? And, well, it hurt a bit that he hadn’t sent ’round a message. Anything to let her know that he wouldn’t be at the meetings anymore. Or even just a note to share his triumphant news. For it was quite extraordinary that he had landed a job. Why, within just a week or so, he had come so far. She was proud of him. Too bad she could not convey this feeling of pride to him in some way.

      She scuffed at a pebble with her toe and started down the steps. Now she had an entire day off and nothing to do. Sophie was off doing something and would be coming to the veterans’ group later in the morning. Her charges had happily planned a day out with their papa, now that Amelia’s debut had gone successfully and Louisa was quite well. No one had any need of her today. And that made one feel quite lonely and insignificant. As though she didn’t really matter in this world.

      At the bottom of the steps, she paused. She could run by Felton’s shop and just congratulate the ensign. After all, it would be the friendly thing to do. And, while she was in that part of town, she could stop by the bookseller and find a few new books for the schoolroom. That would be a pleasant diversion, and though the weather was rather peevish, it would be a shame to head back straight to Lord Bradbury’s on her day off.

      As she strolled toward the Assembly Rooms, she racked her brain for a way to approach the ensign. She’d have to tamp down her injured feelings, that was for sure. If she showed him how very hurt she was that he didn’t tell her of his good fortune, he might think her quite silly. Or suspect that she had some reason for caring about him beyond the constraints of friendship. Which of course wasn’t true. In fact, she wasn’t even sure why she felt so hurt. It was none of her affair, after all.

      She hastened her steps, as though by quickening her pace, she could run away from her thoughts. ’Twas worth a try. How wonderful it would be to run and run and run until her heart beat wildly against her breast and be far, far away from her troubling thoughts.

      She was a governess, after all. She had no family. She had to make her own way in the world. She had no time whatsoever for any silliness about caring about a young man. In even thinking about it, she was making herself ridiculous.

      By the time she reached Felton’s shop, she was out of breath. Again. It was her lot in life to always arrive breathless before any meeting with the ensign. She would never present a picture of composure to him. Never.

      She tried the door latch, her hand shaking a bit. Inside, the shop smelled pleasantly of sawdust and lemon oil. Her slippers scrunched across the floor, but as she peered around, she could discern no one. Perhaps Rowland wasn’t here after all.

      Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. Holding her head up high, as though she were quite used to mucking around carpentry shops, she wound along behind a large table. An older man, with graying hair and spectacles, glanced up sharply, as though astonished by her presence.

      “May I help you, Miss?” His voice was pleasant enough.

      “Yes. Are you Mr. Felton?” She gave him a nervous smile. Somehow, it was easier to say his name than the one of the man she truly sought.

      “I am.” He rose, dusting his hands on his rough work apron. “Are you in need of some carpentry work, Miss?”

      “No, sir.” She coughed. The sawdust was choking her. Surely ’twas that and not the embarrassment of having to utter the real purpose for her call. “I’ve come to speak to Ensign Rowland. I understand he’s working with you.”

      A sudden grin broke across his face, like the sun peeking through storm clouds. “He is. Just follow me.” He beckoned her over his shoulder.

      A torrent of words poured out of her as she followed him toward the back of the workshop. “I work with the veterans’ group, you see. And Lieutenant Cantrill told me I might find him here. So I came to see him about—” She broke off, colliding with Felton as he paused in a doorway.

      “You’ve got a visitor,” Felton announced. “You may take a bit of a respite, if you like, Rowland. You’ve been working hard all morning.” Turning, Felton gave Lucy a rather cheeky wink. “Miss.” Then he wound his way back through the shop, leaving Lucy standing on the threshold like some ridiculous and lovelorn statue.

      * * *

      Rowland’s heart pounded in his chest. She was here. Lucy was here. What was she doing here? How did she know he was working for Felton? She stood, still and silent, with dust motes and bits of sawdust falling around her like snow. He stood, schooling his expression to remain pleasant and neutral. He had no right to show his wonderment at her presence.

      She stepped into his workroom, her honest, forthright gazing boring into him. “I understand congratulations are in order, Ensign,” she began in that quiet, musical voice of hers. “I went to the veterans’ group for our meeting, and Cantrill said you wouldn’t be going to the meetings for quite some time.”

      The