The Temporary Betrothal. Lily George

to Mother, then in no time at all, he would be forced to return to Brightgate. He couldn’t give in to one family member without giving in to them all.

      The clock on the rough wooden mantelpiece chimed the hour. Blast, he would be late for St. Swithins unless he made haste. He rose, tugging on his greatcoat. Perhaps working with his fellow men, helping others with their problems, would help him, too. It gave him great satisfaction to answer the needs of his fellow men. Their wants were so few and so simple—food, clothing and shelter. Not a man jack of them cared about their position in Society. None would be cowed by Moriah Cantrill, that much was certain. A morning spent in service would clear his mind and help him come up with a solution to his problem—which was nothing at all compared to what these men faced.

      Once at St. Swithins, he dove into his work, rolling up his sleeves and toiling away on securing the most basic foundations for the men who served with him in battle. There were fewer men here on Saturday, as most elected to come on Thursdays. But the few who gathered had such gaunt, haunted looks on their faces that he was determined to help them, no matter the cost. A few women huddled in the back, but dared not step forward. If only Sophie Handley were there to talk with them, but of course, one day a week would be the most she could manage with her duties to Lord Bradbury and his family. He would have to set some time and energy aside for the widows when he was done with the men.

      “Lieutenant Cantrill! I was hoping to find you here this morning,” a musical voice trilled in his ear. He spun around, trying to will away the flush creeping over his face. Sophie Handley. It could be no one but her. Several of the men stepped back in deference, their admiration of Sophie’s beauty written plainly across their faces. Funny how a pretty creature could make these men instantly lose sight of their troubles.

      “Miss Handley,” he replied with a bow. “Are you here to assist? I was not aware that you knew I helped some of the veterans on Saturdays.”

      “One of the widows informed me of it at our last meeting,” she admitted, a sweet smile curving her lips. “I cannot stay long, but I wanted to stop by this morning and assist as much as I can. And you will be proud of me, Lieutenant. I found my own way here.”

      He chuckled. Her chin was tilted at a proud angle, and her eyes danced with merriment. “Even though you are well acquainted with the twists and turns of Bath, I would be delighted to walk you back home.”

      One of the veterans guffawed, but then tried to disguise it as a sudden cough. Charlie looked with daggers at the man, willing him to stay quiet. So he wasn’t well schooled in the art of flirtation. What did that matter? He was just...answering her in like tone. That was all.

      Sophie’s eyelids fluttered down over her brilliant blue eyes, and a slight flush stained her cheeks. “That would be lovely.” She dipped a slight curtsy. “I’ll go see what the widows might require.”

      He worked the rest of the morning with a curious lightness in his heart. As before, when he made Sophie’s acquaintance, all his problems seemed insignificant. He practiced how he would tell her about his latest missive from Mother, how he would reenact her stern warnings, her dire predictions. And she would laugh that silvery laugh—it reminded one of bells tinkling. And he wouldn’t feel so blasted alone any longer. So while he helped each man who turned to him, finding sources for clothing, or offering food, or locating shelter, his mind remained firmly fixed on Sophie Handley as she toiled away in the back of the church.

      It may have been a kind of sin, but he couldn’t shake his mind free.

      As they left, she took his arm. “What a pleasant morning, Lieutenant. You know, I think what the women need most is clothing. Not just for themselves, but for their children. I wonder if we could have some sort of sewing bee, where we all join together and sew as a group. Wouldn’t that be a practical solution?”

      His mind was drifting again, fixating on her pretty profile rather than her sensible words. He forced himself to pay attention. “Yes, of course.”

      “You seem distracted again,” she chided in a cheerful tone. “Pray, what has claimed your interest this morning?”

      Ah, now was his chance. “Another letter from home. My mother intends to come to Bath in a fortnight and bring me to heel,” he began, aping an aggrieved tone of voice, but was cut short by Sophie’s stifled gasp.

      “Your family! Oh, Lieutenant, I beg your forgiveness. I promised to come up with a solution to your problem, but I got so engrossed in Amelia’s debut that I forgot.” She darted her glance up to his, and he forced himself to allow his breathing to remain steady. Having her so close and so engaged in conversation was a heady experience. But then, of course, he would feel that way around any pretty gel. It was just that he had set himself apart from women for so long after his broken engagement to Beth Gaskell.

      “Don’t trouble yourself.” He cleared his throat, forcing the words through his lips. Why was it so hard to even speak when she looked at him that way?

      “Nay, I shall trouble myself. If your mother is coming, then the problem is reaching a crisis stage, I daresay.” She steered him back down the sidewalk, and they ambled past the shops, which buzzed with activity. “I’ve given it some thought. I believe that if you at least give the appearance of going along with their wishes, your mother will leave you in peace. In other words, we must strike a compromise. Do you agree?”

      That sounded sensible enough. He nodded. “Yes, but what would the compromise be?”

      She patted him with her gloved fingertips, and he steeled himself so he wouldn’t feel a tingle racing up his biceps, as he always did when she touched him. “Leave that to me, Lieutenant. Tomorrow I promise to have a solution to your problem. Once and for all.”

      They strolled the rest of the way to Lord Bradbury’s in a state of friendly companionship. He meant it all as a joke, of course. Sophie Handley didn’t have to come to his rescue. He didn’t really need her help handling Mother. But there was tremendous gratification in knowing that, for the next several hours, he would be topmost in her mind.

      Why that was so gratifying, he dared not examine. But it most assuredly was.

      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