The Temporary Betrothal (8 page)

He cleared his throat to steady himself and buy a little time
to craft an articulate response. “I can’t judge them, you know. They feel I
should be more concerned about Society—that is all. Going to balls, having a
proper calling that supplies a reasonable income. Living in a poky flat in Bath,
preferring to live simply and to help poor veterans—well, that kind of lifestyle
is rather a slap in the face to their mode of living.”

“I see.” She finally dropped her hand from his elbow, but the
imprint of her touch still burned like a furnace. “So they feel you should be
doing things more in keeping with what other men in Society do. Drinking,
gambling, making piles of money in a position you don’t love....”

“Courting the ladies,” he added, then halted. Heat flooded his
face—why had he brought that up? It was beyond ridiculous to mention, especially
in light of his all too recent humiliation, courtesy of Beth Gaskell.

Sophie frowned, her dimples deepening. “And that is the reason
we must strike a compromise. Tell me—are you ready to hear my plan?”

“I suppose so.” He sighed. “But I won’t drink or play cards.
More’s the pity, they say.”

“Of course not. But you could court the ladies. More
specifically, me.”

Chapter Eight

A
t Cantrill’s shocked expression, Sophie
swallowed and rushed on. She glanced up at him, her face aglow with excitement.
“We could pretend to be courting, you and I. Only whilst your mother is here.
That should give her enough hope that you are done with your austere ways, and
perhaps she will leave you in peace a bit longer.”

That had been the plan all along—in the back of her mind. In
her most private dreams, perhaps. She longed to say it—but now, speaking the
words aloud gave her pause. It sounded like such a daft promise. Sophie could’ve
bitten her tongue out the moment the words slipped from her mouth. ’Twas certain
he would think her a runaway from Bedlam. But Charlie looked so downcast, and so
hunted by his own family, that she was determined to help him out. They were
friends, and friends helped one another through the darkest times.

“But...what happens after my mother leaves?” The lieutenant had
turned a bright shade of scarlet, and she detected a slight stammer in his voice
that hadn’t been there before.

“Well, then we stop pretending. You can tell your mother that I
cried off. After all, I already have that reputation, you know. Everyone knows
about my engagement to John Brookes.” The tone of her voice was more bitter than
she intended. She cleared her throat and attempted to lighten the mood. “We
don’t have to be officially engaged, so there will be no damage to anyone’s
reputation. You can just pretend to court me, and your mother will see that you
are fulfilling your part of the bargain. There will be no need for you to return
to Brightgate, and you can continue your life’s work with the poor.”

“That’s most generous of you, Miss Handley. I honestly don’t
know what to say.” The lieutenant was staring down at his boots, as if they were
the most fascinating shoes in the world.

“Say yes, and then start calling me Sophie. It would be silly
for you to call me Miss Handley if we were courting.” She turned him gently back
toward the steps of the courtyard, and gathered her skirts in one hand so she
could descend without tripping.

“But it feels like you are doing me a favor, without gaining
anything for yourself in return. Is there anything I can offer you, Miss Hand—I
mean, Sophie?” He guided her around a crumbling step, assisting her so she would
not stumble.

She glanced sideways at him, a smile hovering around her lips.
“Don’t fret about it, Lieutenant,” she rejoined. “I am happy to help a friend.
We are friends, aren’t we?”

“We are.” She watched, fascinated, as a dimple appeared in his
cheek. How handsome he was when he smiled. If only he would do so more often.
Perhaps, during these next few weeks, she could endeavor to bring him out of his
shell. In those few moments they spent together, she discerned that his dour
behavior was only a facade, a mask to cover the hurt that his former fiancée had
caused him. She didn’t know the lady in question, of course, but she would
gladly claw her eyes out for the pain she had caused Cantrill.

On the other hand, the lady’s defection had left the field
open—not, of course, that it mattered to her.

“Sophie!” Lucy’s voice rang out from the bottom of the steps.
The governess was standing beside Ensign Rowland, waving up at them.

“I must return to Lord Bradbury’s,” Sophie informed Charlie.
“When does your mother arrive?”

“In about a week.”

“Then we have time to formulate a plan and make sure we have
our stories correct,” she replied. “Perhaps we could talk about it when we meet
at the veterans’ club this coming week?”

“Mother may arrive that very day. She should be here by Friday,
but it may be as early as Thursday.” He stopped at the foot of the stairs and
turned toward her. “If this is too difficult a task, we need not go through with
it.”

“Nonsense. Send round a letter and let me know what to expect.
If your mother is arriving Friday, then she will be here in time for Amelia’s
dinner party. I shall make sure she is added to the guest list. I can meet her
then.” Sophie patted his elbow with her fingertips and then withdrew from his
grasp.

“You will be present at the dinner party?” His voice betrayed
his amazement.

“His lordship has asked to me to take part in it, to help
smooth Amelia’s first experience as a hostess,” she replied nervously. It did
sound odd, since she was a servant. Yet that was the truth of it, no matter how
strange it might appear to others.

“I see.” He shifted his weight nervously, daring to look her in
the eyes for the first time since they agreed to participate in the charade. “So
I just need to send you a letter?”

“Yes, tell me everything I should know about our relationship,
in case your mother asks me any questions. Send it around as soon as you can, so
I can begin committing everything to memory. And don’t worry, Lieutenant.
Everything will be well, you’ll see. My mama was an actress, after all. As her
daughter, I can certainly assume this role with assurance.” She tossed him what
she hoped was a bright and careless grin, and then turned to go.

“Charlie,” he called after her, his voice echoing a little off
the stone steps.

“Beg pardon?” She paused and half turned in her flight.

“You asked me to call you Sophie. Don’t forget, you must call
me Charlie.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Charlie,” she said softly. It was
nice to call him by his Christian name. With a little wave, she turned back and
ran quickly to Lucy, who was nodding her goodbye to Ensign Rowland. The thin
young lad tipped his hat briefly at Sophie and then headed over to where Charlie
stood waiting.

“So?” Lucy was grinning, a wide smile that made Sophie laugh.
“Did you have a pleasant visit with your lieutenant?”

“His name is Charlie.” Sophie sighed, relishing the sound once
more.

Lucy stopped short. “Are we on first-name terms, then?”

“Only on a fraudulent basis,” Sophie replied. She then divulged
the plan, noting that Lucy’s eyes got rounder and rounder as she explained
it.

“Well, that’s daft,” Lucy responded when Sophie finished.

“Why? He’s a family friend, and I want to help him as he’s
helped me.”

“He’s a friend, but it sounds like you want to make him more.
Surely, Sophie, you are setting yourself up for heartbreak.” Lucy’s tone held a
polite note of warning.

“Not at all, I assure you. I esteem the lieutenant—”

“Charlie,” Lucy interrupted.

“Fine. I esteem Charlie greatly, but I don’t want to marry
anyone. Haven’t I told you that I declined two offers of marriage within one
year?” Really, sometimes Lucy’s high-handedness could get on one’s nerves.

“Hmm.” Lucy studied Sophie’s face like one would study a fine
work of art. “I think you haven’t married because you haven’t found the right
man. And yet, the way you blush at the mention of Charlie’s name, I would think
you are quite susceptible to matrimony, should he but offer.”

Sophie swallowed her annoyance and attempted to carry off the
moment with style. “Goodness, Lucy,” she replied with an airy wave of her hand.
“The way you talk. Charlie is nothing more than a good friend, and I am doing
him a favor. That’s what friends are for, after all.”

“We’ll see,” Lucy said, her voice betraying a smirk.

Honestly, she could be most insufferable at times.

* * *

Charlie crumpled up the foolscap and flung it into the
fire. He had tried to write down the instructions for Sophie three times
already, but kept running up against a brick wall. What was he supposed to say?
Everything sounded so bizarre when he put pen to paper. He tried jotting down
some ideas about how they met, but it sounded like something in a novel—a poorly
written, feverishly detailed novel. And then he tried writing down the number of
times they had met, but it sounded like a fantasy. He and Beth Gaskell had
really only ever met at assemblies and balls. Now that he eschewed most societal
functions, and now that Sophie was a servant, those soirees were out of the
question.

She was trying to help him, so the very least he could do was
follow her instructions. And yet, he had no idea what to say or do. His heart
surged with gratitude. Now he didn’t dread his mother’s visit—only the
aftermath, when the sham was over and he and Sophie must put aside their
fraudulent courtship. Because of Sophie, he would be able to stay in Bath and
take care of the veterans’ fund. Just as her sister’s money had made their
comfort possible, Sophie’s selflessness was making continuing his work a
reality.

Had he really just called Sophie selfless? As he’d known her
before, as the woman who spurned his best friend, he thought of her as heartless
and flippant. And yet, she was generous and lovely. Her few weeks in Bath had
worked wonders on her character. Both Handley women were astonishing, in
fact.

That brought him up short. What if Harriet and Brookes found
out? Even if they knew that Sophie was doing him a favor, they might decide that
the matter was simply too fantastic to countenance. And of course, knowing
Mother’s love of gossip, word would spread to Tansley from Brightgate like
wildfire. Was it better to go ahead and inform them of the plan in advance, or
merely hope against hope that they would never hear about it?

He turned back briskly to the matter at hand. What should he
say to Sophie about their charade? Any time he tried to write it as an epistle,
he hated what he wrote. Falling back on his soldierly training, he jotted down
instructions as he might lay out orders for his underlings.

We know each other because your sister
married my best friend.

We became close in Bath through our work
with the veterans’ fund.

We are not engaged, but have been courting
for a few weeks.

We have no fixed plans for the
future.

All of it was true, and yet, spelled out bluntly with pen and
ink, it seemed awfully threadbare. But there was nothing more to say. He had
tried to dress it up several times and the result was merely ridiculous.

Whatever you do, don’t tell Mother we’re
formally engaged. We will never hear the end of it.

He crossed it out as soon as he wrote it. Sophie was nobody’s
fool, and a broken engagement would cause more harm to her reputation than to
his. And since she was seeking to stay in service to Lord Bradbury, it was in
her best interest to stay as free from scandal as possible. His reputation was
hardier, since he had already endured one broken engagement and didn’t really
care about Society, anyway. And coming from the wealthy Cantrills, he could
always call on his brother in a pinch. Not that he ever would.

That was all he could think of to say. Anything else was too
much. He folded up the missive and sealed it. Then he placed it on the small
mahogany table in the hall, where his housekeeper, Mrs. Pierce, would be sure to
see it. She would either deliver it herself or post it in the morning, as she
did with all his outgoing letters.

There was nothing to do now but wait for Mother to arrive. She
would be here within days, and he had no idea what to say to her. At least the
matter of his personal life was somewhat settled for the time being. She would
still likely decry his frugal way of living, and urge him to move to a more
fashionable address. She would probably laugh about his work with the fund, and
try to entice him back to Brightgate with the promise of a position in his
brother’s firm. In fact, the only thing she would probably approve of was
Sophie.

Her dancing eyes and careless smile flashed across his mind.
Her sweetness of temper and her willingness to help him out of an unlivable
situation were definitely the marks of a true friend and desirable woman.

Desirable for some other man, he hastened to add. Not, of
course, desirable to a crippled old bachelor.

Yes, Sophie would definitely meet with Mother’s approval.

* * *

After receiving Charlie’s curt missive, Sophie had
nothing more to do or say about their charade. She had hoped for an elaborate
letter, explaining everything in detail. And yet, he simply stated what was
already true.

Sophie threw herself into preparations for Amelia’s dinner
party, and the rest of the week sped by in a flurry of etiquette lessons, final
menu preparations and practice sessions. The town house, already cleaned and
polished, was cleaned and polished once more. Masses of flowers graced nearly
every available surface in every available room. During the rush of planning,
Sophie saw her employer hardly at all—only once did he nod in passing while she
and Amelia worked in the dining room.

Exhausted after her last day of preparations, Sophie collapsed
in a heap upon her bed. There was nothing more to be done. Everything was ready.
Amelia had been drilled endlessly on grace, poise and proper manners. She was
turning into quite the little heiress before Sophie’s eyes. The house was
stunning and gracious. The gowns were pressed and ready. Tomorrow was Friday,
when the real test would begin.

A knock sounded on her door. “Enter.”

Lucy ducked in and came to sit beside her on the bed. “Are you
too worn out to talk?”

Sophie rolled over, cradling her head in her pillow. “You must
know I am never too exhausted for gossip.”

“This isn’t really gossip.” Lucy plucked at the coverlet, her
eyes downcast. “It’s something...more personal.”

This was intriguing. Usually Lucy was positively bubbly. Now
she looked pensive and a bit sad. Sophie sat up. “Yes?”

“Well, you know how you weren’t able to go to the Widows’ Fund
this week?”

“Yes, I was too busy with Amelia. Go on.”

“Well—” Lucy kept her eyes downcast. “I read aloud to Ensign
Rowland. And spent many hours in his company. Oh, Sophie!” Tears began rolling
down Lucy’s pinkened cheeks. “I want to help him. I want to make him well.” She
flung herself down on the quilt, sobbing in earnest.