The Temporary Betrothal (11 page)

Well, nearly a smile. Perhaps more like a slight smirk.

“Sophie is a lovely girl, Charles.” Mother settled against the
cushions with a satisfied smile.

“I agree, Mother. Tonight—she was incomparable.”

“You’ve chosen well.” Mother’s tone was more relaxed than it
had been in ages. Charlie smiled in the gathering darkness.

“Yes. Yes, I have.” If he closed his eyes for a moment, he
could just imagine that the courtship wasn’t false, and that Sophie Handley
really was his intended.

Chapter Eleven

S
ophie yawned openly. With only the last
few servants milling about, cleaning up the remainder of the dinner party mess,
it was a luxury she could at last give in to. Amelia had already retired
upstairs about half an hour before, to gossip with Louisa and Lucy. Sophie had
remained behind to help put the house back in order, but also to sort out her
jumbled emotions. Really, the entire evening had been one long turn on the
torture rack, as far as she was concerned.

She prided herself as a master of the art of flirtation. In
fact, there were few young women in Derbyshire as talented in that particular
form of expression as she. And something had transpired tonight. Rivalry had run
high between Charlie and Lord Bradbury throughout supper and afterward. And
Charlie had made a point to announce that he would call on her on Thursday. Loud
enough for his lordship to hear. Weren’t they supposed to keep their faux
courtship a secret? Only his mother was supposed to know. It was, after all, a
ruse to keep her happy during her trip to Bath, a ruse that would be dropped the
moment she left for Brightgate.

In proclaiming his intentions so loudly, Charlie ran the risk
of piquing his lordship’s attention. And if his lordship knew she was
engaged—even falsely—then he might dismiss her. Many young women lost their
posts the minute they announced an impending marriage. It wasn’t a pretty fact
of life, but it was a true one. And in mentioning his intentions, he ran the
risk of making a faux courtship seem like a real engagement, which could lead to
all sorts of problems and difficulties.

Charlie understood these things, surely. Didn’t he?

She bent to pick up a spent cigar butt that had missed its
target, the ash tray, by at least a few feet. My, how nice it would be to retire
upstairs, cozy in bed with a hot brick at her tired and throbbing feet.

“Miss Handley?” A cultured baritone voice boomed behind
her.

Startled, she dropped the butt on the Aubusson carpet and
turned to face her employer.

“Taking up a new habit?” he inquired, nodding at the remnants
of the cigar.

She chuckled appreciatively. “Oh, no, your lordship.” She
dusted her hands on her skirt. “Merely trying to clean up.”

“Leave that for the other servants,” he replied tersely. His
mouth was stretched into a taut line. “I should like to speak to you in my study
before you retire.”

Oh, goodness. Here it was. She was going to be sacked, just
because her faux courtship had been brought to his lordship’s attention. She
followed her employer down the interminable hallway, past all the doors painted
just alike, and into his study, where a fire crackled in the grate. He patted a
leather chair with his large hand, and took his seat behind the desk.

She sank into the chair as bidden, her heart in her throat. How
it would hurt to leave Louisa and Amelia and Lucy. They were all becoming
sisters to her. Replacing the void that Harriet had left when she married—not
that Hattie had intended to abandon her. That’s just the way marriage
worked.

His lordship stared at her, his dark eyes unfathomable. Really,
it was most unnerving. Despite her best efforts, she twitched in her chair.
Would this interview never begin?

“What, exactly, is your connection to young Lieutenant
Cantrill?” His lordship’s voice was smooth as silk.

“He is a good friend of my family, your lordship. His best
friend, Captain Brookes, is married to my sister Harriet.” Surely that would
stave off all further questions. It was rather like being in the Old Bailey,
only she wasn’t sure what crime she was accused of committing.

“Ah, yes. I know John Brookes. He’s a good man.” Lord Bradbury
turned his head, staring off into the fire. “Is there any other connection I
should know about?”

She swallowed. Would he simply come out with it and sack her?
Or must she hang by her fingertips a bit longer? She racked her brain for an
excuse that was both reasonable and true. “I am helping Lieutenant Cantrill with
his work with the veterans’ widows. My sister is funding quite a bit of their
welfare, and I am acting as her liaison while I am employed in Bath.”

A muscle twitched in his lordship’s jawline. “I see.” Those
terse two words, ground out from clenched teeth, did not offer much comfort.

She sat quietly, hardly daring to draw breath. Her fate seemed
to hang in the balance. A wrong word here or there, and she might lose her
position. But his lordship said nothing—merely stared into the fire with a moody
expression on his face.

The tension was like a bow string stretched too tautly. Surely
she would snap if she had to stay here much longer. The best thing to do was to
assume control of the situation, and make a graceful exit. She rose, fumbling
with her bracelet.

“Thank you so much for the loan of this bracelet, your
lordship.” She extended the bauble toward him, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way
her hand shook. “It was the perfect match for this gown.”

He turned, staring at her with those same dark, unreadable
eyes. He waved one large hand idly in the air, as though swatting at a fly.
“Keep it. I purchased it expressly for you, Miss Handley.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t.” She still clutched the bracelet in
midair. “It’s far too expensive a gift to keep.”

The corner of his mouth quirked down, and a dangerous spark lit
his eyes. “I can afford it, I assure you.”

“I am not sure I can,” she whispered.

“What does that mean?” For once, she had his full attention. He
was poised, like a cat ready to jump on a plump and unsuspecting mouse.

“An expensive gift like this could carry a higher burden than I
am able to pay.” It was difficult to explain. Surely he took her meaning. It
could mean her position, her reputation, or even Charlie Cantrill. Not that she
was really engaged to him. But she could not have him thinking ill of her for
accepting such an expensive gift.

“You told Mrs. Cantrill it was a present from a friend. And it
is. I want you to keep it.” He pushed his chair away from his desk and rose.

Sophie’s mouth went dry. What was he about? She placed the
bracelet on his desk and took a step backward. “I couldn’t think of anything
else to say when she asked me about it. ’Twas the first explanation that came to
mind. I meant nothing by it.”

“Will you accept it as a gift if I tell you that I am indebted
to you? All of your efforts to help Amelia paid off handsomely tonight. She was
flawless, and the evening went off without a single problem. I must say, I was
more than impressed.” He came around the side of the desk, a changed expression
altering his face. For the first time ever he was open and friendly, without a
trace of his former feral grace, his eyes unclouded.

“Thank you.” She glanced away. His pure regard was almost as
troubling as his usual inscrutable expression. Could she leave now, without
seeming ungracious? Fatigue settled over her like a heavy cloak. Her eyes felt
as though sand had been blown into them.

“Miss Handley,” he replied, his voice free of its usual silky
tone. “I would take it very much as an honor if you would accept this little
gift. Seeing my Amelia so confident, so proud tonight—it was quite astonishing.
And I owe you something for your efforts.” He scooped it up and handed it to
her. “Accept this trinket as a token of my gratitude for all your hard
work.”

His tender affection for Amelia was genuine. Her mind flashed
back to the moments before the soiree, when he gifted Amelia with her mother’s
pearls. He truly adored his daughters and would likely be grateful to anyone who
helped them succeed in Society. With a nod, she took the diamond bracelet, which
was warm to the touch—even through her glove. Perhaps the interview was finally
over.

“Now, then. We understand each other.” He smiled as though
immensely satisfied. “Go on to bed, Miss Handley. You must be exhausted. When
you awaken tomorrow, I am sure Amelia will want to see you. She has much to plan
for the upcoming Season.”

“Of course.” She bobbed a curtsy. “Thank you so much, Lord
Bradbury.”

He waved a careless hand. “Think nothing of it. Off with you,
now.”

She couldn’t suppress the wide grin that broke across her face.
Why, it was as if she finally understood her employer, and he understood her.
The faint thread of darkness that always wove through their conversations had
vanished. It seemed she had a true ally and friend in his lordship.

She mounted the stairs, her legs heavy as lead. Perhaps she
could sneak past the girls’ rooms and retire without having to speak to anyone.
It would be so nice to sort through the evening’s images in her mind. Usually,
after an event like this, she loved to stay up and talk about it with Harriet.
But tonight she couldn’t wait to be on her own.

She changed into the nightgown that had been thoughtfully laid
out on her bed by one of the servants, and brushed her hair with long, steady
strokes. She tucked the diamond bracelet into a box on her dressing table. She
would never wear it in public, of course, but it was rather nice to know that
such a pretty object was hers.

Satisfied, she looked in the mirror. She would have to pay Aunt
Katherine a call soon. The older lady wanted to know all about Amelia’s debut,
and had made Sophie promise to spill the details as soon as she could. Perhaps
she could call on Auntie tomorrow, after her tasks were done. A good “chin-wag,”
as the old lady termed it, would be just the thing.

* * *

Mother sailed into the sitting room the next day, barely
acknowledging Mrs. Pierce, who answered her authoritative knock as quickly as
her arthritic knees would allow.

“Charles, my son! Guess what I’ve done. I’ve written your uncle
Arthur and told him all about you and Sophie. You always were his favorite, you
know.”

Charlie dropped his Bible, his morning’s meditation shattered.
Warning bells clanged in his mind. “What did you tell him, Mother?”

“Merely that you’ve found a nice young gel and will probably
wed her soon.” She swatted him on the shoulder in a rare, playful gesture.
“Uncle Arthur is a veteran, too. I knew my brother would be pleased to hear
about how far you’ve come since returning from Waterloo.”

“Mother, there is no guarantee we will get married.” His heart
thumped painfully against his ribs. “We’ve only been...courting.”

“Well, I am sure that an engagement isn’t far off. I saw the
way she looked at you.” Mother removed her gloves and untied her bonnet. “I am
sure that by the time the letter reaches your uncle in Italy, you will be
betrothed and ready to set about reading the banns.”

Mother’s brother was a shadowy figure from his past, someone
she spoke of often, but whom Charlie had only met once. Perhaps it would be
possible to remedy her mistake without too much trouble.

“Mother, have you told anyone else?”

“Well, I told the Pooles about Sophie, of course. They were
very put out to not be invited to the viscount’s, you know.”

Charlie groaned. “Why did you do that? The Pooles? You might
have well announced it in the middle of the Circus.”

“They are my hosts, Charles,” she reminded him severely.
“Anything of import, I should share with them. And my son finding a suitable
young lady is decidedly important.”

Charlie rumpled his hair with his one good hand. “Mother,” he
replied in a serious tone of voice, “we’ve only been seeing each other for a few
weeks. If anyone gets the wrong impression, then the social consequences could
be dire.”

“I’ll say it again, my son—you will be engaged to Sophie
Handley in a matter of weeks. Now, what really remains is the question of your
future. Obviously you will not continue to live...here...” Mother waved her hand
around his small sitting room. “This is no place to bring a bride and no place
to raise a family. We shall write to your brother directly, and he will help you
secure a home in Brightgate—”

Charlie shoved his chair away from the table, counting to ten
as he had taught himself to school his sudden and fearsome temper. Sophie had
suggested the false courtship as a way to help him out—as a way, in fact, to
keep him in Bath. And here Mother was, running with it, putting Sophie in
potentially dire social consequences. Whatever could he do to save the young
lady who had, in her turn, tried to save him?

He turned on his heel, ignoring his mother’s questions and
exclamations, and rushed up the stairs to his bedroom, where he slammed the
door. At last, peace and privacy. He needed time to think. He had always let his
family order him about. The only way he had found any freedom was in joining the
military—nearly being killed at Waterloo. Then refusing to return home and
electing to stay on in Bath. It was only in putting real physical distance
between himself and his family members that he was able to enjoy freedom.

Now what could he do? He needed to find a way to control the
situation without flames running rampant. If only someone could help him. He
couldn’t confide in anyone, for Mother would be furious if she knew the
courtship wasn’t true. And Brookes and Harriet were too far away to help.
Besides, they would likely shy away from the notion of a false engagement, no
matter how noble the intention was. In fact, Brookes would likely plant him a
facer if he knew what Charlie was about.

No—he needed to speak with Sophie. Together, they would find a
way to get out of this situation without causing the social downfall of every
person involved. He checked his pocket watch. He could take Mother to tea at
Aunt Katherine’s to stall her. In fact, Aunt Katherine might be able to help, as
well. She was kind and empathetic and knew the histories of everyone involved.
Plus, she loved meddling in other people’s affairs. He could harness her love of
sticking her nose into other people’s business and use it to his own
advantage—and Sophie’s, of course.