The Temporary Betrothal. Lily George

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