The Temporary Betrothal. Lily George

Sharing the trials of family life with Sophie warmed his heart—he did not feel so utterly alone anymore. He glanced up at her once more. The droplets of rain had dried on her curls, but she still had that air of starriness about her. Some women just had that gift of grace, and Sophie was one of the lucky few.

      She returned his frank regard, tilting her head to one side. “So, Lieutenant, if we are sharing confidences, you might tell me what your mother wrote that has so plagued you. Perhaps, as a fellow sufferer, I can think of a way to help.”

      He hesitated. He had never spoken to anyone about his mother and brother’s demands before. Not even his best friend, John Brookes, knew how much animosity existed between himself and his family members. But why not confide in Sophie? He really had no idea what to do with his mother and brother, and Sophie might be able to advise him, especially as one far removed from the family and its dynamics.

      He withdrew the letter from his greatcoat pocket and held it, running his thumb over the broken wax seal. “As you might know, I work a great deal with the veterans in Bath. This has been my life’s work since I returned from Waterloo. But my mother and brother both detest the way I live. My mother wants me to marry and have a family. Robert wants me to return to Brightgate and help him with managing all my family’s business affairs.” He sighed, picking at the wax with his thumbnail. “I have no desire to do either. My work is very important to me. I wish they would understand.”

      Sophie nodded, her ringlets bouncing. “Yes, I know just how you feel. When I chose to come to Bath and work as a seamstress for Lord Bradbury, Harriet and John were very uncertain of the wisdom of my choice. Fortunately, I was able to convince them both that living at home would in no way make me a more independent person. After Mama died, I wanted to be more than another girl on the marriage mart, looking for a husband. It’s all I was groomed for, but when my family’s fortunes collapsed and Papa and Mama died, I decided I needed to strike out on my own. And so I have.”

      The carriage slowed as they turned onto the Crescent. He could just glimpse the well-matched and imposing facades of the most expensive townhomes in Bath—very different from his own two-room flat on Beau Street. Sophie sensed the carriage’s impending halt, and began to gather her things.

      “I shall think of a solution to your problem, Lieutenant,” she informed him in a confident tone. “Just allow me to think on it overnight. I am sure there is a way you can respond to her letter without relinquishing your work with the veterans, or leaving Bath.”

      The carriage door opened, and the driver helped Sophie alight. Charlie flung the letter onto the seat and followed, opening his umbrella over her head just as the rain pelted them once again. “I shall return in a moment,” he called to the driver as he followed Sophie up the path toward the house.

      Sophie turned and headed for the front door. Was she given special privileges as a seamstress? Most servants and maids entered through the back door. As they neared the front portico, he grabbed her elbow. “Miss Handley? Shouldn’t we go around to the back?”

      She stopped short, and the package she held toppled to the ground. He bent and retrieved it before the rain and mud could do much damage. “Here,” he murmured, extending it to her with his wooden hand.

      She shook her head as though clearing cobwebs from her mind. “I haven’t left the house much, so I forget. Thank you for reminding me.” She held her head high and accepted the package, tucking it under one arm. Then she took his elbow once more, saying nothing as he led her back down the path and around the large stone mansion.

      Even from the exterior, everything about Lord Bradbury’s home spoke of wealth and privilege. Priceless lace curtains graced every window, and he could just pick out a glorious chandelier sparkling in one of the rooms as they passed by. It was no wonder that his lordship could afford to hire a seamstress to work as a personal modiste for his two young daughters. Why, Charlie was no member of the haute monde, but even he knew that Bradbury spoiled his daughters shamelessly, doting on each one after their mother’s passing just a few years before.

      They rounded the corner and went through the back gate. The garden was budding out in lilies and irises, flowers that nodded heavily in the pouring rain. He helped Sophie up the back steps and took down his umbrella momentarily, as the porch roof offered ample shelter.

      He prepared to touch his hat and take his leave, but Sophie halted his progress. “You rescued me twice today,” she teased in that same lilting voice that enchanted him before. “You saved me from the wind and the rain, and then you saved me from blundering my way in the front door. There must be some way I can repay the favor. I will give your situation careful thought, and come up with a solution.” She withdrew from his side and smiled up at him. “Do you meet with the veterans again soon?”

      He blinked rapidly, clearing his mind from the webs of coquetry she spun around his senses. “Yes. I planned to go Thursday morning, after I have attended to a few matters at home.”

      “Perfect. Then I shall come with you. I can get started on my work with the widows, and tell you of my solution to your problem. How does that sound?”

      He bowed. “It sounds fine to me, but won’t your employer take exception to your absence?”

      Sophie smiled and patted his shoulder. A tingle shot through him at her touch, and he moved a fraction of an inch closer, wanting more of her magic, more of her charm. “Thursday is my day off, Lieutenant. I am at my leisure all day. I shall look forward to spending it with you, if you don’t mind me tagging along as you work with the veterans.”

      “Not at all. Shall I call for you around ten o’clock? We can walk together, and that way you won’t get lost.” He didn’t mean for the last bit of what he said to sound quite so teasing, but Sophie grinned and chuckled.

      “I shan’t get lost so easily once I learn the buildings and my routes,” she replied in a saucy tone. “I shall expect you Thursday at ten, Lieutenant.”

      He bowed and held the door open for Sophie as she disappeared into Lord Bradbury’s rambling townhome. Then he put up his umbrella and strolled out to the hackney carriage, waiting patiently on the curb.

      Funny how one chance meeting with Sophie Handley had changed his whole afternoon. What had felt tragic and utterly insurmountable this morning now seemed a mere trifle. A joke. Something the two of them could chuckle over. His steps, so leaden earlier in the day, now had a definite spring to them. He leaped back into the carriage bound for Beau Street. As they rolled toward home, he tucked his mother’s letter in his greatcoat pocket and gave it a satisfied pat.

      It was good—very good—to have an ally in the war against his family.

      Chapter Two

      Mrs. Wiggs was in the kitchen as Sophie entered. Judging from the delicious smells emanating from the oven, she was baking bread. Sophie set her parcel down on the long oak table that the other servants dined at every night, and stretched her hands to the hearth’s blaze. She was soaking wet through and chilled to the bone, but a glow warmed her heart. She could not stop smiling, even as miserable as the cold and damp should make her feel.

      “Bless my soul, don’t you look a sight? Nancy, run upstairs and fetch something warm and dry for Miss Sophie—there’s a good gel.” The housekeeper dried her hands on her apron and shooed one of the kitchen maids upstairs. “Whatever happened to you?”

      “I got lost on the way to the haberdashers, and it began pouring,” Sophie replied with a chuckle. “Of course, in my haste to get the buttons and return home, I neglected to bring a parasol.”

      The housekeeper made a tsking sound under her breath, and stirred up the fire. “I best make you some tea, or you’re likely to catch your death.”

      A commotion sounded in the hallway, and two young ladies burst through the door, giggling and talking breathlessly over one another. “Sophie, you’re back. Did you find some buttons for me?” Amelia, the elder of the two Bradbury daughters, danced over to the table, seizing the parcel and clasping it to her bosom.

      “Amelia,