Lily George (25 page)
Authors: Healing the Soldier's Heart
James’s face lit up with a grin, and he picked her up off her feet, whirling her around. “Lucy, that is phenomenal. You are such an excellent t-tutor. I know you will do those children a p-power of g-good.”
She laughed breathlessly, her head spinning at the sight of the clouds and trees spiraling around them. “What do you know of my teaching skills?”
“I know this.” He set her back on her feet, holding her close as she dizzily tripped over his boots. “You t-taught me how to become the man I am. With infinite patience, you helped remove the c-cotton wool from my eyes.” He bent forward and captured her lips, increasing her dizziness until he pulled away. “If you can help a p-poor scrap of a human being like me, I cannot imagine what more you c-can d-do for others. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” She rested her head against his chest, savoring the feel of him—strong and solid—under her cheek. She stayed so as the world stopped spinning and her sense of balance was restored. “When shall we be married?”
“My sister is marrying Macready in February. She’s already asked if you would stand up at her wedding.” He chuckled softly, rubbing his chin on the top of her head. “My sister is rather intuitive. I wonder if she had this in mind?”
“A double wedding?” Lucy smiled. There was no better way to start her life as part of James’s family than sharing a wedding day with his sister. “Do you think she would like that?”
“I think she w-w-would be ecstatic. She adores you already. And it will help t-t-take some of the nervousness away for M-Macready and I if we c-can stand at the altar looking like l-lovestruck fools together. What d-do you think? W-would that m-make you happy?”
“It’s wonderful.” She sighed, a deep sense of peace washing over her. She was the luckiest woman in the world. How could a penniless governess receive so much from life?
“What of your r-r-ring? Would you l-like to have your emeralds and d-d-diamonds as well? I’ve k-kept them all this t-t-time just for you.”
“No, indeed. What you’ve given me is worth far more than emeralds or diamonds.” She held him tightly and gazed out over the moors, at the clouds gathering over the steeple of St. Mary’s, at the people who streamed out of the church, so far away they were mere blurs of color. James’s heart beat steadily against her back; his breath was warm on her ear.
She could ask no more from life than this.
Epilogue
Saint Swithin’s Church of England
February
1819
“O
h, Lucy, I am s-s-so nervous,” Mary
murmured, brushing out her white satin skirts. “I j-just know I will s-s-stammer
like a fool when I am up there. Thank g-g-goodness you’re with me. I wouldn’t
b-b-be able to g-g-go through this alone.”
“There’s no need to worry.” Lucy tucked a rosebud back into
place in Mary’s coiffure and stood back, admiring her handiwork. “All that
matters is one thing only. Today is the day you marry Macready. He’s the love of
your life. What does it matter if you stammer?”
“It’s just s-s-so inelegant. I wish I were as c-c-confident as
you.” Mary grasped her wedding bouquet from the bench nearby. “D-d-do I look all
right?”
“Pretty as a picture,” Lucy pronounced. “How about me? Do I
look presentable?”
“Oh, Lucy, you look lovely. J-James will not b-b-be able to
k-keep his eyes from you.”
Lucy surveyed her reflection in the looking glass. Sophie’s
skills with a needle were unparalleled. Her wedding gown was a triumph. Ecru
silk trimmed in lace and a little jacket to match. She took up her bouquet of
roses—pale pink, just blushing with color. Courtesy of his lordship’s hothouse.
Every detail, every little thing a bride’s heart could ask for, had been given
her by those she loved today.
Charlotte Rowland entered the little dressing room, gorgeously
arrayed in dark blue velvet. “They’re ready to begin. Oh, my darling girls,” she
sighed, pulling them close. “You both are the sweetest brides a mother could
hope for. I wish nothing but happiness for you both.”
Lucy blinked. She was still trying to adjust to Charlotte
Rowland’s kindness. ’Twas a new thing to her. And yet, the warm, caring look in
her future mother-in-law’s blue eyes was genuine. Despite her earlier
objections, Charlotte really had overcome her objections to Lucy. Someday, it
wouldn’t be as hard to fathom. Charlotte beckoned them out of the dressing room
and to the back of the church. The glorious notes from the organ swirled around
her, bathing her in the beauty of Bach. Snow swirled against the windowpanes,
blanketing the view of Bath in white. She smiled and linked arms with Mary, now
soon to be her sister in both name and nature.
Was she worthy of all of this? She started down the aisle with
Mary by her side. The last time she had spent any length of time in this chapel,
she was teaching the urchins of the veterans’ group to read and to write. And
she was certain, back then, that she would never marry. That James would never
be hers. That her school would limp along without much success.
How much had changed in the space of a few months.
As they marched up the aisle, she caught glimpses of friendly
and much-loved faces. The children she taught. Lord Bradbury. Amelia and Louisa.
Sophie and Lieutenant Cantrill. Henry Felton. Reverend Stephens. And there,
waiting for her at the altar, her own Ensign James Rowland. The sandy cowlick of
hair stood up on the crown of his head, and this time, she did not resist the
urge. She patted it into place with her gloved hand. He captured her hand and
tucked her close beside him.
She smiled. If only Mother and Father could have lived to see
this. How sweet it would be to have them here on this day. And yet, she was no
longer alone. These dear people, gathered together in the familiar chapel, had
become as much of a family to her as her own flesh and blood.
She repeated her wedding vows, smiling into James’s emerald
eyes. She would never be alone again. James talked a great deal about how she
had transformed him, but in truth, he had transformed her, as well. He taught
her to ask more of life. He tore away the curtain she left between herself and
the world. And because of him, she would never be lonely again. He’d made her a
family member—not just of his family, but of the greater community of people who
surrounded them and who loved her as much as she loved them.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from
The Baby
Bequest
by Lyn Cote.
Dear Reader,
This is the third—and last—book in the Brides of Waterloo trilogy. It makes me rather sad to bid these characters farewell. They have become like family to me over these past two years. It all started with an idea—“What if there were two poverty-stricken sisters?” and grew from there. Although I love to read about lords and ladies—that is, after all, what’s so fun about the Regency era—I wanted to write about the “little” people who would have been living and working, loving and growing, during that same era. And so writing about the Handleys and their dear friend Lucy has been a real labor of love—and a real eye opener about what life was like for regular people back then.
I am working on a new series now, but I would always like to hear from you. Do you want to hear more stories about people like the Handleys, or are you ready to hear about more lords and ladies? Drop me a line at
[email protected]
. I would love to hear your thoughts.
Blessings,
Lily George
Questions for Discussion
- Lucy Williams feels that, because she is an orphan and has to work for a
living, she has no time for love. Is that a common feeling nowadays? Do you
agree with the limits she places upon herself? - Ensign James Rowland is immediately
attracted to Lucy but feels he must overcome his cowardice and his stammer
before he can court any woman. Is he being too hard on himself? Or should he
work on himself before seeking love? - James seeks a position with a cabinet maker,
even though he is worried he cannot prove himself in his new position. Have
you ever been overwhelmed by a new job or career change? How did you deal
with it? - Lucy and James grow closer by working on the
library. They become friends first, and then fall in love. Is it better for
a couple to be friends before they cherish romantic feelings for each
other? - Lucy decides to start a school for the
children who attend the veterans’ group meetings. What kind of charitable
endeavor would you start if you could? - James Rowland prefers to make his own way in
the world rather than marry a woman for money. Was this the right
choice? - Lucy loves Louisa and Amelia Bradbury like
her own sisters. Have you ever been close enough to a friend that it was
like you were related by blood? - Lucy chooses not to accept James’s suit
because his mother persuades her not to. Was this the right thing to do?
What would you have done? - Lucy resigns herself to a life without love
once she refuses James. Was this the right choice? How would you have
handled James’s proposal? - James is determined to make his own way in
the world, even though his mother is originally against his choice of
lifestyle. Have you ever gone against someone’s expectations of you, even
though you knew it would be difficult to do so? - Louisa meddles in Lucy’s affairs constantly,
though she means the best for her governess. Have you ever had someone try
to change your life for the better? If so, did things work out all right in
the end? - Have you ever met anyone like Charlotte
Rowland, James’s mother, who is so devoted to her family name? How do you
feel about family background and wealth? - James gives Lucy two rings: one made of
emeralds and diamonds and one made of the wood from the willow tree in the
churchyard. Which would you prefer if given the choice? - Lord Bradbury gives Lucy the money to start
her school in Bath. Have you ever been the recipient of a large gift? If so,
how did it change your life? - Lucy and James have a double wedding with
Macready and Mary. Do you like the idea of a double wedding, or should the
bride have the day (and all the attention) for herself?
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Historical title.
You find illumination in days gone by.
Love Inspired Historical
stories lift the spirit as heroines tackle the challenges of life in another era with hope, faith and a focus on family.
Enjoy four new stories from Love Inspired Historical every month!
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Chapter One
Pepin, Wisconsin
August, 1870
C
lutching the railing of the riverboat,
Miss Ellen Thurston ached as if she’d been beaten. Now she truly understood the
word
heartbroken.
Images of her sister in her pale
blue wedding dress insistently flashed through her mind. As if she could wipe
them away, she passed a hand over her eyes. The trip north had been both brief
and endless.
She forced herself back to the present. She was here to start
her new life.
The sunlight glittering on the Mississippi River nearly blinded
her. The brim of her stylish hat fell short and she shaded her eyes, scanning
the jumble of dusty, rustic buildings, seeking her cousin, Ophelia, and
Ophelia’s husband. But only a few strangers had gathered to watch the boat dock.
Loneliness nearly choked her.
Ophelia, please be here. I
need you.
The riverboat men called to each other as the captain guided
the boat to the wharf. With a bump, the boat docked and the men began to wrestle
thick ropes to harness the boat to the pier.
As she watched the rough ropes being rasped back and forth, she
felt the same sensation as she relived her recent struggle. Leaving home had
been more difficult than she could have anticipated. But staying had been
impossible. Why had she gone against her better judgment and let her heart take
a chance?
The black porter who had assisted her during her trip appeared
beside her. “Miss, I will see to your trunk and boxes, never fear.”
She smiled at him and offered her hand. “You’ve been so kind.
Thank you.”
Looking surprised, he shook her hand. “It’s been my pleasure to
serve you, miss. Yes, indeed it has.”
His courtesy helped her take a deep breath. She merely had to
hold herself together till she was safely at Ophelia’s. There, with her
cousin—who was closer than her sister—she could mourn her loss privately,
inwardly.
Soon she was standing on dry land with her luggage piled around
her. She handed the porter a generous tip and he bowed his thanks and left her.
Ellen glanced around, looking for her cousin in vain. Could something have
happened to her? Even as this fear struck, she pushed it from her mind. Ophelia
was probably just a bit late. Still, standing here alone made her painfully
conspicuous.
A furtive movement across the way caught her attention. A thin,
blond lad who looked to be in his midteens was sneaking—yes, definitely
sneaking—around the back of a store. She wondered what he was up to. But she
didn’t know much about this town, and she shouldn’t poke her nose into someone
else’s business. Besides, what wrong could a lad that age be doing?
She turned her mind back to her own dilemma. Who could she go
to for assistance? Who would know the possible reason why Ophelia wasn’t here to
meet her? Searching her mind, she recalled someone she’d met on her one visit
here a year ago. She picked up her skirts and walked to Ashford’s General
Store.
The bell jingled as she entered, and two men turned to see who
had come in. One she recognized as the proprietor, Mr. Ashford, and one was a
stranger—a very handsome stranger—with wavy blond hair.
Holton had the same kind of hair. The likeness stabbed her.
Then she noticed a young girl about fourteen slipping down the
stairs at the rear of the store. She eased the back door open and through the
gap, Ellen glimpsed the young lad. Ah, calf love.
Ellen held her polite mask in place, turning her attention to
the older of the two men. “Good day, Mr. Ashford. I don’t know if you remember
me—”
“Miss Thurston!” the storekeeper exclaimed and hurried around
the counter. “We didn’t expect you for another few days.”
This brought her up sharply. “I wrote my cousin almost two
weeks ago that I’d be arriving today.”
The storekeeper frowned. “I thought Mrs. Steward said you’d be
arriving later this week.”
“Oh, dear.” Ellen voiced her sinking dismay as she turned
toward the windows facing the street. Her mound of boxes and valises sat
forlornly on her trunk at the head of the dock. How was she going to get to
Ophelia? Her grip on her polite facade was slipping. “I could walk to the
Steward’s but my things...”
“We’ll get some boys to bring them here—”
The stranger in the store interrupted, clearing his throat, and
bowed. “Mr. Ashford, please to introduce me. I may help, perhaps?” The man spoke
with a thick German accent.
The man also unfortunately had blue eyes. Again, his likeness
to Holton, who had misled her, churned within. She wanted to turn her back to
him.
Mr. Ashford hesitated, then nodded. “A good idea.” He turned to
Ellen. “Miss Ellen Thurston, may I introduce you to another newcomer in our
little town, Mr. Kurt Lang, a Dutchman?”
Ellen recognized that Mr. Ashford was using the ethnic slur,
“Dutch,” a corruption of
Deutsche,
the correct term
for German immigrants. Hiding her acute discomfort with the insult, Ellen
extended her gloved hand and curtsied as politeness demanded.
Mr. Lang approached swiftly and bowed over her hand, murmuring
something that sounded more like French than German.
Ellen withdrew her hand and tried not to look the man full in
the face, but she failed. She found that not only did he have blond hair with a
natural wave and blue eyes that reminded her of Holton, but his face was
altogether too handsome. And the worst was that his smile was too kind. Her
facade began slipping even more as tears hovered just behind her eyes.
“I live near the Stewards, Miss Thurston,” the stranger said,
sounding polite but stiff. “I drive you.”
Ellen looked to Mr. Ashford a bit desperately. Young ladies of
quality observed a strict code of conduct, especially those who became
schoolteachers. Should she ride alone with this man?
Mr. Ashford also seemed a bit uncomfortable. “Mr. Lang has been
living here for over six months and is a respectable person. Very respectable.”
The man lowered his voice and added, “Even if he is a foreigner.”
Ellen stiffened at this second slur from Mr. Ashford.
Mr. Lang himself looked mortified but said nothing in
return.
With effort, Ellen swallowed her discomfort. The man couldn’t
help reminding her of someone she didn’t want to be reminded of. More important,
she would not let him think that she embraced the popular prejudice against
anyone not born in America.
“We are a nation of immigrants, Mr. Ashford,” she said with a
smile to lighten the scold. She turned to Mr. Lang. “Thank you, Mr. Lang, I am
ready whenever you are.”
Mr. Lang’s gaze met hers in sudden connection. He bowed again.
“I finish and take you.”
She heard in these words a hidden thank-you for her
comment.
A few moments later, she stood on the shady porch of the store,
watching the man load her trunk, two boxes of books and her valises onto the
back of his wagon along with his goods. She noticed it was easy for him—he was
quite strong. She also noticed he made no effort to gain her attention or show
off. He just did what he’d said he’d do. That definitely differed from Holton,
the consummate actor.
This man’s neat appearance reminded her that she must look
somewhat disheveled from her trip, increasing her feelings of awkwardness at
being alone with the stranger. She’d often felt that same way with Holton, too.
His Eastern polish should have warned her away—if her own instincts hadn’t.
At his curt nod, she met Mr. Lang at the wagon side and he
helped her up the steps. His touch warmed her skin, catching her off guard.
Rattled, she sat rigidly straight on the high bench, warning him away.
Just then, the storekeeper’s wife hurried out the door. “Miss
Thurston! Ned just called upstairs that you’d arrived.” The flustered woman
hurried over and reached up to shake hands with Ellen. “We didn’t expect you so
soon.”
“Yes, Mr. Ashford said as much. I’d told my cousin when I was
arriving, but perhaps she didn’t receive my letter.”
“The school isn’t quite ready, you know.” Mrs. Ashford looked
down and obviously realized that she’d rushed outside without taking off her
smeared kitchen apron. She snatched it off.
“That’s fine. My cousin wanted me to come for a visit, anyway.”
Ophelia’s invitation to visit before the teaching job began had come months
before. Ellen suffered a twinge, hoping this was all just a minor
misunderstanding. Then she thought of Ophelia’s little boy. Little ones were so
at risk for illness. Perhaps something had happened?
She scolded herself for jumping to conclusions. After a few
more parting remarks were exchanged, Mr. Lang slapped the reins, and the team
started down the dusty road toward the track that Ellen recognized from her
earlier visit to Pepin.
The two of them sat in a polite silence. As they left the town
behind them, Ellen tried to accustom herself to the forest that crowded in on
them like a brooding presence. The atmosphere did not raise her spirits. And it
was taking every ounce of composure she had left to sit beside this
stranger.
Then, when the silence had become unbearable, Mr. Lang asked
gruffly, “You come far?”
“Just from Galena.” Then she realized a newcomer might not know
where Galena was. “It’s south of here in Illinois, about a five-day trip. You
may have heard of it. President Grant’s home is there.”
“Your president, he comes from your town?”
She nodded and didn’t add that her hometown had a bad case of
self-importance over this. They’d all forgotten how many of them had previously
scorned Ulysses S. Grant. “Before the war, he and his father owned a leather
shop.” She hadn’t meant to say this, but speaking her mind to someone at last on
the topic presented an opportunity too attractive to be missed. She found
President Grant’s story extraordinary, though not everyone did.
“A leather shop?” The man sounded disbelieving.
“Yes.” She stopped herself from saying more in case Mr. Lang
thought that she was disparaging their president. The wagon rocked over a ridge
in the road. Why couldn’t it move more quickly?
“This land is different. In Germany, no tradesman would be
general or president.”
Ellen couldn’t miss the deep emotion with which Mr. Lang spoke
these few words. She tilted her face so she could see him around the brim of her
hat, then regretted it. The man had expressive eyebrows and thick brown lashes,
another resemblance to Holton. Unhappy thoughts of home bombarded her.
As another conversational lull blossomed, crows filled the
silence, squawking as if irritated by the human intrusion. She felt the same
discontent. She wanted only to be with dear Ophelia, and she wasn’t sure she
could stand much more time alone with this disturbing stranger.
She sought another way to put distance between them. “I am
going to be the schoolteacher here. Do you have children?” Ellen hoped he’d say
that he and his wife had none, and hence she would not come in contact with this
man much in the future.
“I am not married. But I have two...students.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Ellen said, clutching the side
of the wagon as they drove over another rough patch, her stomach lurching.
“My brother, Gunther, and my nephew, Johann. They will come to
school.”
This man had responsibilities she hadn’t guessed. Yet his tone
had been grim, as if his charges were a sore subject.
“How old are they?”
Do they speak
English?
she wanted to ask. She sincerely hoped so.
“Gunther is sixteen and Johann is seven.” Then he answered her
unspoken question. “We speak English some at home. But is hard for them.”
She nodded out of politeness but she couldn’t help voicing an
immediate concern. “Isn’t your brother a bit old to attend school? Most students
only go to the eighth grade—I mean, until about thirteen years old.”
“Gunther needs to learn much about this country. He will go to
school.”
The man’s tone brooked no dispute. So she offered none,
straightening her back and wishing the horse would go faster.
Yes, your brother will attend, but will he
try to learn
?
And in consequence, will he make
my job harder?
The oppressive silence surged back again and Ellen began to
imagine all sorts of dreadful reasons for her cousin not meeting her on the
appointed day. Ellen searched her mind for some topic of conversation. She did
not want to dwell on her own worry and misery. “Are you homesteading?”
“
Ja.
Yes. I claim land.” His voice
changed then, his harsh tone disappearing. “Only in America is land free. Land
just...free.”
In spite of herself, the wonder in his voice made her proud to
be an American. “Well, we have a lot of land and not many people,” she said
after a pause. If she felt more comfortable at being alone with him, she would
have asked him to tell her about Europe, a place she wished to see but probably
never would.
“Still, government could make money from selling land,
yes?”
She took a deep, steadying breath. “It’s better not to look a
gift horse in the mouth.”
More unwelcome silence. She stole another glance at him. The
man appeared in deep thought.
“Oh,” he said, his face lifting. “Not look gift horse...to see
if healthy.”
“Exactly,” she said. She hadn’t thought about the phrase as
being an idiom. How difficult it must be to live away from home, where you don’t
even know the everyday expressions. Homesickness stabbed her suddenly. Her heart
clenched. Perhaps they did have something in common. “It must have been hard to
leave home and travel so far.”
He seemed to close in on himself. Then he shrugged slightly.
“War will come soon to Germany. I need to keep safe, to raise Johann.”
“You might have been drafted?” she asked more sharply than
she’d planned. During the Civil War, many men had bought their way out of the
draft. Not something she approved of.
