Lily George (12 page)

His brow furrowed as though her words confused him. Oh, bother, what a hash she was making of his perfectly wonderful gesture. She caught his arm in her hands, willing him to understand. “I mean to say, I like you—oh, I mean, your way with words,” she hastily amended. Goodness, whatever would she say next? She was making an idiot of herself. She could only hope that James would take pity on her poor attempt at a compliment.

He lifted her gloved hands to his lips for a brief kiss. “Lucy, thank you for that.”

She spun around to face the dance floor as a ruse to hide the expression on her face from James. He was being eloquent. He was being polite. A gentleman, through and through. And here she was in rapt adoration when he was merely being kind. She had to gain control of herself. He didn’t really care for her—and she was here merely to serve as a duenna for her charge. There was no need to continue making a cake of herself.

She broke from his grasp. “I’d really better go. Amelia will be looking for me.” And without a backward glance, she lost herself in the fashionable throng, eager to become, once more, just a governess. ’Twas the only role at which she excelled.

Chapter Twelve

“Y
ou’re awfully cheerful this morning,” Macready grumbled as James entered the kitchen, ravenous for his breakfast. “I don’t think I’ve heard you whistle since the earliest days of the war. I’m happy for you and all that, old fellow, but could you tone it down a bit?”

“You n-need m-more t-tea,” James rejoined. “Something t-to waken you.” An inexplicable lightness soared through him this morn, as though he could spread his arms and float to the ceiling. Could one dance with Lucy cause all this transformation? She had such a profound effect on him. He sat at the table, eagerly grabbing the toast rack. Good grief, he was famished.

“Why all these good spirits?” Macready, his eyes half closed, sloshed more tea in his cup. Even when they were in the army together, Macready wasn’t precisely a morning person. Half the time James would have to give him a good stout kick to waken him, and even then the fellow was usually late to mess. Now, as he adjusted to civilian life, James noted that Macready was becoming even grumpier in the mornings. He grinned cheekily, just to annoy Macready further.

“None of your b-business. I’m off to church. C-coming?” James spooned another egg onto his toast and took a hearty bite.

“I’ll go to chapel this evening. I don’t think I can make it yet. Need another pot of tea and another full hour to really waken. It’s hard to get moving in the morning. My very bones seem to ache. My skin feels two sizes too small.”

James swallowed and glanced at Macready, whose scars were visible beneath his rolled-up shirtsleeves. A wave of guilt washed over him. He had no right to be so joyful this morning. Not when others had suffered much more than he had. He’d go to church and spend his time there praying for forgiveness. Praying to become a better man. He finished the rest of his breakfast in silence. Words eluded him whenever his cowardice was brought to mind. As often as he tried to forget, to tamp it down as though it could be hidden, it would spring up at any opportunity. There was nothing he could do but go to church and pray.

The walk to Saint Swithin’s did much to calm his spirits. The day was dawning quite fine. The gardens were now in full, lush bloom, boasting rosebushes so heavy with blossoms that they drooped toward the ground. He snapped off a vibrant blush pink bud as he walked by the public gardens. Its scent lifted his spirits, and its tint reminded him of Lucy’s rosy cheeks after she’d kissed him the night before.

Lucy deserved better. If he were to be worthy of her, he’d have to make amends for his past, and strike forth as a better man. One capable of earning his own way. And he was working on that part of things. Felton approved of his plans for Lord Bradbury’s library. He was becoming his own man, as long as he could find a way to release the ghosts of the past.

The bells of Saint Swithin’s pealed jubilant notes that reverberated on the morning breeze.
Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.
A fellow couldn’t help but feel transformed—transfigured, even—hearing those soaring notes. He paused at the foot of the stone steps that led up to the church, as the bells continued to ring out each note of the cantata. Passersby filed past him, calling out to one another, but their polite chatter did not deter him. He remained fixed in his place, staring up at the impressive stone façade of Saint Swithin’s until the last peal rang out, echoing over the rapidly emptying churchyard.

“Ensign Rowland? How do you do?”

James spun around and spotted Reverend Stephens as he came walking up the steps. “Reverend, how d-do you d-do? Aren’t you r-rather late for s-services?”

“Ah, yes.” The reverend nodded and shook hands with James, his kindly expression never wavering. “Well, there was some business with the veterans’ group—one of the men needing help with his family—and since Lieutenant Cantrill is still in Brightgate, I thought I should see to it.” He indicated the chapel with a sweep of his arm. “Shall we?”

“Yes, of c-course.” James followed the reverend as he began ascending the stone steps.

“Come to think of it, I haven’t seen you at the veterans’ group of late,” Reverend Stephens continued jovially. “We do miss you, Ensign. All of the veterans are so closely knit.”

“I’ve b-been b-busy,” James stammered. “W-w-working for F-F-Felton’s shop.” He hated to miss out on the veterans’ group, but it was a matter of business after all. And those fellows deserved the help more than he did. Most of them had wives and children, whereas he merely needed to support himself. Now that he was earning a good wage, he’d been able to send some home to Mother and Mary. Supplementing the tiny income that was left from Father’s estate could make all the difference in the world to his family. And that gesture made him feel like a bit more of his own man.

“A new position? Excellent news. Felton’s always been looking for someone within the veterans’ group, but he needed a fellow with a genteel background.” Reverend Stephens beamed as he continued up the steps. “Woodworking is considered a gentleman’s art after all. And since you’d be working quite a bit with the gentry, well—he needed someone like you, with a bit of polish.” Reverend Stephens clapped James on the back. “Well done, Ensign.”

They approached the side door that led into the narthex. The choir had already begun the opening hymn, their blended voices spilling out onto the stone walkway that led around the building. A feeling of panic seized hold of James. What if he could never be forgiven his cowardice? His fellow men had forgiven him, but what of his Maker?

He seized hold of the reverend’s flowing sleeve and gave it an urgent tug. “Reverend, I must ask you something. It’s preying upon my mind. I cannot move forward until I have an answer.” The words poured out of him, tumbling over each other in his haste.

“Of course.” Reverend turned to James, his brows drawn together with concern. “What is troubling you, Ensign?”

“I know you must get on to services—” James waved toward the door, where the choir’s chorus still echoed.

The reverend patted James’s shoulder. “They can start without me. As long as I am there for the sermon.”

“The battle at Waterloo was dreadful, chaotic—as tumultuous as you can imagine.” Better to dive in to the middle of the tale before he lost courage and started stammering like an idiot again. “My group broke formation, scattered. The cavalry rode us down, chasing us into a rye field. Many men around me were hit. I was hit too, but it was just a scratch. The force of it stunned me, though. And I laid down as though dead. I—I remained there, pretending to be dead until night fell.”

The reverend merely nodded, his expression open, his eyes still warm. At least he was not disgusted yet.

“I stayed there while the men around me called out for help. And I could not call out. I could not speak. I j-j-just laid there.” His power of speech was failing; the emotions so long bottled were forcing their way up his very throat. Surely the reverend would cut him off with a mere look or a curt comment. He could never be forgiven this transgression.

Never.

The reverend nodded once more, his countenance unchanged. “I believe that has happened to others, countless others, in the heat of battle.” He patted James’s shoulder. “Not all wounds are physical in nature. What you suffered was as much of a torment as a cut from a saber blade. And you bear the scars to this day.”

“M-my friends have forgiven me.” He pushed the words out. “B-but can God?”

“My son, He already has.” The reverend shook his head ruefully, giving James a gentle smile. “You veterans are so hard on yourselves. So quick to condemn your own actions, your own imperfections. Need I remind you that though we are made in His image, only He is perfect?”

James nodded, looking down at the ground. There was so much faith in the reverend. So much goodness.

“You may bear the scars of your ordeal for the rest of your life, simply because scars take a long time to heal,” the reverend continued. “But you should not wear them as a hair shirt. You are forgiven. And the way you choose to live your life now should reflect His glory.”

James glanced up. The reverend’s words were, in a way, quite similar to what Macready had said. The past was over. And he should wallow in shame and cowardice no longer.

“Come back to the veterans’ group when you can, Ensign. I think it would do you a great deal of good. Now, I must go—they’ll need me soon—but I want you to think on this and to allow yourself the grace to grow from this experience.” He shook James’s hand warmly. “Good day, Ensign.”

The reverend disappeared through the heavy wooden door, leaving James alone in the courtyard. Distracted, he wandered over to a shady spot and sat, breathing deeply of the scents of earth and grass. This was the tree he’d sat under with Lucy when she read to him so long ago.

He was still holding the rose he’d picked on the walk to church. Now he twisted and twirled it in his fingers as he allowed the reverend’s words to sink into his very being. A life of grace, a life free of cowardice. What if he were to throw off the last bits of cotton wool that dulled his senses? What if he were to go free of the lingering shame of the battlefield?

Lucy began to remove those defenses, bit by bit, as they sat reading together under this tree. Time and time again, she’d responded to his temper with grace. She’d tried to help him. She’d given him such a sweet compliment last night. She was the first person who didn’t look upon his speech defect as an impediment. And last night, she’d even kissed him. He’d be a fool to let her go. He’d be a coward if he continued to drive her away.

He stared up at the church, a prayer of thanksgiving flowing through him. He was starting afresh as of this moment. He would live a life of grace—with Lucy by his side. If she would have him. Despite his many, many flaws.

He said a little extra prayer at that thought.

* * *

Lucy turned to smile at Louisa as Reverend Stephens said the benediction. It was nice to have her there after all. With Sophie away—and probably engaged by now—Lucy’s life was growing lonelier. And Louisa was, despite her girlish meddling, quite a good companion. ’Twould be hard indeed to lose her to the social obligations of her debut, but then that was the way of things.

“Can we go home and have tea? I’m famished,” Louisa whispered as the last notes of the final hymn rolled out over the congregation.

“You shouldn’t be thinking of your stomach at a time like this,” Lucy replied with a stern glare. Then she softened. “But—yes.”

“Oh, good.” Louisa gave a happy sigh as the congregation began breaking up. She scooped up their wraps and turned to Lucy. “If we go out the side, we’ll get through the crush more quickly.”

Lucy scanned the crowd. Louisa was right. The aisles were jammed with parishioners; it would take forever to get through the front doors. “Come, follow me,” she murmured, taking Louisa’s hand.

She navigated through the throng with expert precision, winding through the pews and aisles as though maneuvering the steps of the country dance once more. The country dance...dancing with James...she clamped down tight on her memories and shook her head. It would never do to continue mooning over one silly dance. It meant nothing, after all. He was an extraordinarily polite gentleman who had come to her rescue just when she was feeling low. That was all it was and nothing more.

Louisa let out a giggle as they neared the wooden side door that led out into the courtyard. “I say, that was well done. You are as nimble as a cat, Lucy,” she exclaimed, admiration evident in her tone. “Come, let’s hurry. I bet Cook has scones almost ready right now.”

Lucy pushed open the door, and they stepped out into the dazzling sunlight. The sun had a way of reflecting off the native tan stone that most buildings in Bath were made of, gilding them in a way that was almost hypnotic. She paused for a moment, shielding her eyes beneath her bonnet with the palm of her hand. “It certainly is bright today,” she murmured.

She sought something cool and dark to rest her eyes, settling on a patch of green next to the courtyard. A figure that had been sitting beneath the willow tree stood. Her heart lurched. She’d know that tall, slightly stooped frame anywhere.

James.

He started toward them both, his hand extended in greeting.

Louisa elbowed Lucy sharply in the ribs. Lucy shot a quelling look at her young charge. “That’s quite enough,” she hissed. She had enough trouble keeping her emotions in check around James without Louisa adding fuel to the fire.

“Miss L-Lucy, Miss L-Louisa,” he stammered, bowing before them both. “I’m g-g-glad to s-see you b-both.”

Lucy murmured politely in return, but her heart refused to resume its normal beat. Something about James had changed. His eyes, normally a hazel shade of green, were darker now—almost emerald. And he seemed more assertive, more emphatic. Of course, he’d always had a soldier’s bearing, but now he seemed—well, he seemed in command. These changes were quite compelling. Attractive, even, if one allowed herself to succumb. Not that she would, or even could.

Louisa spoke, too. “Ensign Rowland, I am so glad to see you. We were about to go home for tea. Would you like to join us?”

He shook his head. “N-no thank you, Miss L-Louisa. It’s a k-kind offer. B-but I have some m-matters I m-must attend to this afternoon.” He looked over at Lucy, his dark eyes holding her captive, as though there were a secret between the two of them. “I’ll s-see you b-both t-tomorrow.”

She was staring at him, as silly and enthralled as a schoolgirl. She snapped back to attention. It would never do to allow herself to fall all over a handsome man—in front of her charge, no less. “Of course, Ensign.” She would maintain formalities in front of Louisa. No given names would cross her lips. “I look forward to seeing you and to seeing your progress.”

He smiled then. How rare his smiles were. And how they transformed him. He was no longer a careworn soldier when he grinned but a playful, mischievous young man. Really, she must be careful. She must guard her heart. It would be all too easy to become enchanted with James, as charming as he could be.

He gave a tip of his hat to both of them and then strolled off with that new assured gait that was so striking. As they both watched his retreating back, Louisa burst into a vale of giggles.