The Temporary Betrothal (16 page)

“Aunt Katherine arranged it. Just as you said she would. I can
hardly believe I am here myself.” She trilled her fingertips over the keys.

“I haven’t been a very good friend to you.” Dash it all. What
was he trying to say? Why would the feeling not subside?

“Oh, Charlie.” She gave him a sweet smile as the song trailed
to an end. “I understand. Really I do. Families are very complicated. I love
Harriet, but we have had a mixed-up life together. And most of my family members
don’t even speak to us. So I do understand how you feel.”

“I don’t want to be alone.” The words fell from his lips before
he could stop them.

She merely turned and regarded him with those large, china-blue
eyes. She was waiting patiently for him to continue babbling.

“Sophie—” He broke off. The feeling of panic was overtaking him
completely. It was like fading in and out of consciousness on the battlefield as
his men carried him into the farmhouse at La Sainte Haye. He had control no
longer. “Thank you.”

Her eyes were fathomless pools of blue. “You are welcome,
Charlie.”

That wasn’t the conversation he meant to have. His feelings
about her were still so uncertain. And yet, away from all the false trappings of
Bath, he was seeing the real Sophie. He liked what he saw. No, that didn’t do
justice to how he felt. He loved her. And like a fool, burned too many times to
count, he was going to place his hand too close to a candle flame. His heart was
thumping so heavily against his rib cage, surely she could see it through the
fine lawn of his shirt.

“Sophie. I—I ask you this not because of any entailment from my
uncle, but from a deep and abiding feeling that will not be denied...” He
trailed off, taking her hands from the piano keys and clasping them in his good
hand. “If what you think of me is true...” Dash it all, he was babbling again
like an idiot. “Will you marry me?”

Was that a hesitation? Her eyes lowered for a moment, and he
was that she would refuse. Most kindly, of course.

He bowed his head, steeling himself for the inevitable
refusal.

But it never came. Instead, Sophie’s clear voice whispered,
“Yes, Charlie. I will.”

Chapter Sixteen

E
verything had changed, and yet on the
surface, nothing was different. Moriah Cantrill, Sophie’s future mother-in-law,
was effusive in her congratulations and reminded them all that she had predicted
that Sophie’s courtship would, in time, lead to a betrothal. Aunt Katherine had
beamed over the assembled company, warbling her best wishes and pressing
Sophie’s hand so hard, her rings left imprints on Sophie’s palm. And Robert had
kissed her cheek, his eyes flashing with something that wasn’t entirely
pleasant.

But after the congratulations and celebration of the engagement
were over, it was as if the faux part of the courtship simply never existed. As
far as Charlie’s relatives knew, their affection had always been genuine. And so
their engagement, sealed with a diamond ring that had belonged to Charlie’s
grandmother, seemed not entirely remarkable, but planned.

She had accepted him with such speed it left her dizzy. She
wanted, more than anything, to marry Charlie and spend the rest of her life with
him. Why? She loved him. He was as essential to her being as air and water. He
gave her a purpose beyond mere existence.

And now, as she strolled down the village streets on Charlie’s
good arm, she had been dropped into a world of plans and dreams for the future.
Aunt Katherine and Mrs. Cantrill waited for them back at the house, but Charlie
had insisted on going out for an airing with Sophie. What a relief to finally be
alone with him, after two days of endless wedding talk with family.

“Would you like to live in Brightgate?” Charlie asked her.
“Robert says there are a few lovely estates for rent out in the country.”

“What of your work with the veterans?” She paused, turning to
look at him. “Won’t we continue to work with the widows’ fund?”

“You would do that—with me?” His voice held an incredulous
tone. “I thought perhaps you would rather establish a home out in the country,
something more in keeping with your previous style of living.”

“My previous style of living was in a poky old cottage in
Tansley Village,” she reminded him with a laugh. “We had a chimney that smoked
and a garden that could only grow potatoes.”

He smiled. Charlie’s smiles were becoming more plentiful now
that they were engaged in truth, and it warmed her heart to see his sweet,
crooked grin. “I meant the style of life you were used to as Sir Hugh’s
daughter. Or even as Lord Bradbury’s seamstress.”

“Oh, Charlie.” She reached up and pecked him on the cheek.
“Those ways of life seem so distant now. Why, I can hardly remember life with
Papa. And though I will miss Amelia and Louisa, my tenure at Lord Bradbury’s has
not given me a taste for the finer things in life.”

“Then...you would be happy to settle in Bath?” He was blushing
a deep shade of red. It was entirely captivating.

“‘Whither thou goest, I will go,’” she whispered, tucking her
arm under his.

They rounded the bend of the road, and the Cantrill home, squat
and square and prosperous, loomed in the distance.

“There’s bound to be a fight about it, you know,” Charlie
muttered. “Mother and Robert have very little patience for my work in Bath.”

“Don’t bother your head with what they think,” Sophie
admonished him. “After all, your work benefits many people. Surely that must
mean something to them.”

“It does not.” He sounded so defeated. Tired, almost.

“Well, I should like to talk to you about the fund,” Sophie
replied. Perhaps her plan to clothe the widows in Bath would make him brighten
up. After all, she had never told him about selling the bracelet. “I have a few
ideas about the widows that I have been mulling over for some time.”

“Can we talk about it this evening, after supper?” Charlie
replied distantly. “We’re almost there, and I have to get into the proper frame
of mind to see my family. It requires work, you know, to remain pleasant around
them when they are so against everything I say and do.”

“Of course, darling,” Sophie murmured. It felt wonderful to
call him darling. Her reward was the deep shade of red that flushed across his
handsome face.

As they entered the house together, the sound of Aunt
Katherine’s warble and Moriah Cantrill’s quavering soprano practically
reverberated off the walls. “Oh, dear, more wedding plans,” Sophie sighed. “And
I haven’t even written to Hattie yet.”

Charlie shrugged out of his cloak and removed his hat, dropping
both on the hall tree.

“Is that you, Charlie? You must come and give your opinion on
this estate at once,” his mother commanded shrilly. “Robert has found a
perfectly lovely place in Derbyshire for you, and yet Mrs. Crossley says you
must stay in Bath.”

With a roll of his eyes and a sigh, Charlie walked down the
hallway to the parlor.

Sophie removed her bonnet, taking her own time about it. There
was certainly no rush to enter the fray and have to choose sides in the great
Bath versus Derbyshire debate.

“Sophie, if you don’t mind, I wish a word with you in my
study.”

Sophie jumped at the sound of Robert’s oily tones, and then
pretended a laugh. “Oh, dear, you caught me off guard.”

“Beg pardon,” he replied smoothly. “But I have a need to speak
with you privately.”

“I—uh—” Surely there was some escape. She didn’t exactly relish
the thought of being alone with Robert, and she missed the warmth and security
of Charlie’s presence. “I believe I am wanted in the parlor. Wedding plans, you
know.”

“Oh, but this will only take a moment.” Robert linked his arm
through hers, propelling her into the book-lined room. He pushed the door closed
but didn’t latch it, then indicated a chair by his desk. “Come, sit.”

“Was there something you needed from me, Robert?” Perhaps they
could hurry things up a bit. And then she could seek the safety of Charlie’s
protection in the parlor.

He leaned back in his chair, surveying her as he would a fleck
of dust on the carpet. “Your position in the Viscount Bradbury’s household is
rather...unique, is it not?”

This line of questioning, so abrupt, was rather unsettling. “I
don’t think it’s very strange. His lordship wants the very best for his
daughters, including a personal seamstress at their beck and call.”

“But his lordship gifted you with a very expensive bracelet. Is
that true?”

“Yes.” She fought the bile rising in her throat. How did he
know this about her? And why did it seem so distasteful when he said it
aloud?

“But according to the investigator I hired to look into your
past, you sold the bracelet at a pawnshop in Bath. Why not keep it? Such a
bauble from his lordship is quite a feather in your cap.” He shrugged and looked
at his fingernails, picking at one cuticle. “Have you any vices you must
maintain that require a good deal of money? Perhaps, like your mother, you are
addicted to laudanum.”

She shoved her chair back and rose. “It’s not like that. I
assure you, Robert.”

“Miss Handley, you must understand my position as head of this
family and as the manager of my family’s estate. My brother has been most
unlucky in his choice of young women. The first woman he chose threw him over
the moment he returned from the war. And since then, his ascetic lifestyle has
made most decent women turn away from him.”

“What has that to do with me?” Her voice was trembling
violently, and she cleared her throat to steady it. “Why I sold the bracelet is
no concern of yours. But I don’t like your insinuations. I am your brother’s
betrothed, after all.”

“I am only protecting my brother’s interests. He’s soft-headed
when it comes to women, especially pretty ones. Our family is wealthy beyond
measure. I can’t simply allow Charlie to marry anyone he chooses. Besides, his
marriage was a condition of my mother’s, and not of mine. I’d rather he come
home and get to work than marry anyone, especially anyone with such a troubling
past.” Robert’s tone remained even and reasonable, his face impassive.

Red spots appeared before Sophie’s eyes. She was trembling so,
she had to grasp the back of a chair to keep from falling over. “You think so
little of your brother, to say nothing of me.”

“I have more experience of the world.” Robert shrugged. “I am
more jaded. As soon as I set eyes on you—beautiful, charming, graceful—I had to
hire a thief-taker to find out more about you. So, unless you break off the
engagement, I will cut my brother off entirely. He won’t have a farthing left.
And I will make sure Uncle Arthur knows about this, as well. I’ll tell my mother
about my findings also. Some of them—particularly about your family
background—are really rather colorful.”

If she broke things off with Charlie, he would be spared. He
could not hope to do the work he started in Bath without his family backing him.
Why, that was the whole reason for this farce to begin with. “I just want him to
be happy. I believe in his work, even if others don’t.”

Robert shook his head. “If you believe in him so much, then you
will let him go. The whole marriage rubbish was my mother’s idea. But I am the
head of this family. And I work very hard to maintain our fortunes, and have
spent years trying to make my brother realize his responsibilities. If he
marries you, I will make sure he stays in Brightgate, and his deplorable work
for those miscreants will cease.”

Sophie grew cold all over, and suppressed a shudder that ran
through her body. So that was it, then. Their engagement was over. Charlie could
not continue his life’s purpose unless she broke their betrothal. And she could
not help him unless she let him go.

Tears stung the back of her eyes, but she lifted her chin and
looked directly at Robert. “Very well. I will break our engagement. I—I can’t
now. Give me some time. I need to...” Her lips trembled violently, and she bit
them to keep from bursting into tears. “I need to compose myself.”

“I’d rather the thing was done quickly,” he responded with a
listless wave of his hand. “As soon as possible.”

“May I go now?” If she was going to break down and cry, she
needed to do so in the privacy of her own room.

“Fine, yes, do run along. But you must break things off soon. I
prefer by tomorrow.” He turned his chair toward the window, completely oblivious
to her inner turmoil.

She turned and ran blindly from the room and out of the house,
tears streaming down her face. It was but a few short streets over to the inn,
and she could bury her face in her pillow and weep until she had no more tears.
It was the right decision, for both of them.

But oh, how it hurt.

* * *

Something was amiss. Robert appeared in the parlor, his
sharpest elder-brother-knows-best look in his eyes, to inform them that Sophie
had a headache and had returned to the inn to rest. Aunt Katherine rose at once,
demanding to go back to the inn, as well. “Tut, tut, my poor Sophie,” she
clucked. “I must go to her and see that she has a handkerchief wrung in cologne
for her forehead. The best thing for a headache, my dears. I shall see you
tomorrow. Adieu.”

After Aunt Katherine left, a strange hush fell over the parlor,
broken only by the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. Robert paced the
floor as Mother sat, looking at fashion plates with an absorbed yet contented
look on her face. Something had happened to Sophie. Her sudden disappearance was
too odd. But what had transpired?

Charlie could stand the tension no longer. “Out with it, man,”
he snapped at Robert.

Robert gave him a smug grin and halted his pacing. “Right away,
sir.”

“What, might I ask, is wrong with you? You’ve been looking like
a cat that’s got in the cream ever since you entered the room.” Charlie eyed
him, irritation mounting in his chest.

“Boys—temper,” Mother admonished absently, staring at one
fashion plate through her lorgnette.

Robert shook his head, the smug grin still crooking the corner
of his mouth. “I should have known, Charlie. Your taste in women is as bad as
ever. In fact, beauty blinds you in a way that I find fascinating. Fortunately,
I came to your rescue before you made yourself a fool again.”

Mother dropped her lorgnette. “Whatever do you mean,
Robert?”

Charlie’s heart pounded in his ears so loudly he could barely
discern Mother’s response. “What game are you playing at, Robert?”

“Spot the fortune hunter, little brother,” Robert replied.
“Miss Sophie Handley is the daughter of an actress, one Cecile Varnay—”

“But her father was Sir Hugh Handley,” Mother broke in. “Surely
that connection is worth preserving.”

“Sir Hugh died penniless, and the girls were thrown out of the
ancestral home. None of the Handleys will speak to them,” Robert informed her.
“I hired a thief-taker to find out everything about Sophie Handley’s past. It’s
all rather extraordinary.”

“Everyone knows about the Handleys,” Charlie responded,
tightening his mouth grimly. “She has sought a position in service. Doesn’t that
make it obvious that her family connections no longer serve her well?”

“Ah, yes, her position in service. Rather unusual, that. Does
no one else find it odd that Lord Bradbury has employed such a pretty seamstress
to live in his household and obey his every whim?”

Charlie curled his hand into a fist. “What are you
insinuating?”

Mother rose from the settee, her face an ashen shade of gray.
“Yes, Robert, I must protest. You are making some rather bold insinuations.
After all, it is well-known that Lord Bradbury spoils his daughters dreadfully.
It is not unusual that he would employ someone to cater to their needs.”

“Oh, Lord Bradbury spoils everyone. Including his servants. He
bestowed a rather valuable diamond bracelet on Sophie, Mother—which she kept and
then later pawned in Bath.” Robert rolled his eyes. “Once again, Charlie has
picked a woman who is destined to make him a laughingstock. First Beth Gaskell.
Now Sophie Handley.”