The Temporary Betrothal (18 page)

Chapter Eighteen

“S
o what of your lieutenant?” Lucy tossed
the book she had been reading aside and looked up at Sophie, who was
embroidering one of Amelia’s gowns as she sat tucked up on the settee. “You’ve
been home from Brightgate for nearly a week now, and I haven’t heard a word
about him.”

“Hush.” Sophie flicked a glance at the closed door of her
bedroom. “No one knows I journeyed there to meet his family.”

“Don’t be silly,” Lucy responded, propping herself up on her
elbows. “No one can hear us. So, how did the matter play out?”

Sophie sat for a moment, concentrating on a stitch. How much of
the entire sordid tale did she dare admit? The wound was too fresh, too raw to
gossip and pick over with Lucy. So she chose not to tell the whole story.
“Suffice it to say, I did my part. As far as Charlie’s family could discern, our
courtship was real. And we broke the matter off before the farce went too
far.”

“Ah, so if things went splendidly, why are you so pale and
miserable? And why are you losing weight? I saw you pinning up one of your
dresses the other day to disguise how thin you’ve gotten.”

“Now you are the one being silly.” Sophie tugged at the thread.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“You love Charlie Cantrill,” Lucy said. “So why not marry him?
Did you not find a way to entice him to make the faux courtship a real
engagement? I vow—my wonder at your powers of flirtation is woefully
deflated.”

“Stop.” Tears clouded her vision. She could no longer discern
the fine lawn she had been embroidering. She took a deep breath.

“Oh.” Lucy clasped her hands around her knees. “Something went
wrong.”

“I don’t wish to speak of it.” If she were to keep her
countenance, then she had to change the subject. There had to be a fresh topic
of conversation, something that would captivate Lucy and keep her from prattling
on about Charlie. “How is Ensign Rowland?”

Lucy’s eyes sparkled, and she smiled broadly. “Oh, Sophie. He
is the most amazing man. We’ve met each other every week while you were gone.
And did you know—” Lucy launched into a narrative centered around the ensign,
not stopping for breath as she cataloged his many finer points.

Thank goodness. That gave Sophie time to recover her
sensibilities. She took another fortifying breath and turned her thoughts back
to her stitching. There was no need to wonder about Charlie Cantrill. From what
she could gather from snippets of gossip from Lucy, he had returned to Bath and
to the veterans’ club shortly before she came home. He was working with his
usual fire and energy. But that’s all she really knew. Lucy paid heed only to
her beloved Rowland, and sketched just the briefest description for Sophie when
she came home on Thursdays.

And that was as it should be. Charlie Cantrill was none of her
business, after all.

A soft knock sounded on the door. “I’ll go,” Sophie declared,
giving the dress a shake. “It’s probably Amelia, come to see her gown before she
goes to bed.”

She opened the door, but it was not Amelia’s smiling face that
greeted her. Instead, Lord Bradbury stood before her, a drink in one hand.

Lucy scurried up from her position on the floor, and they both
bobbed him a curtsy. “Your lordship.”

“Miss Williams, I wish to see Miss Handley. Alone.” Lord
Bradbury strode into the room. Sophie had not seen him since her return from
Brightgate. He had been attending some business in London, and had only just
arrived that very day, according to the housekeeper.

“Yes, of course. Good night, Sophie.” Lucy scooted past them
both, cutting her eyes curiously at Sophie as she passed by. She closed the door
very softly behind her.

“Mind if I sit down?” Lord Bradbury indicated the settee with a
wave of his hand.

“Not at all, sir.” Sophie hastily removed her sewing basket and
pincushion from the seat. “I was merely working on a dress for Amelia. A little
embroidery to make it look very fine.”

He lowered himself onto the settee and took a long sip of amber
liquid. “You take good care of my daughter.”

“I love them both.” It was the simple truth. Coming back to
those girls had really been her saving grace. Why, when she was in their
company, the pain of losing Charlie numbed to a dull ache.

“And they love you.” He stared moodily down into his glass.

They sat together as Lord Bradbury drank, silence settling over
them. Why had Lord Bradbury come up at this time of night? He had found out
about her engagement in Brightgate. He knew she’d lied. Was he going to sack
her, after all? She snuck a glance at him from under her lashes. If he was
angry, he was hiding it well. He merely looked deep in thought.

“You are probably wondering why I am here,” he finally
responded, as though reading her thoughts. “You should know that I have heard
what happened in Brightgate. I was not entirely pleased that you went to see the
Cantrill family. As you know, I cannot keep a married servant around. It was
rather duplicitous of you, Sophie.”

She swallowed. He knew the truth. And moreover, he had never
called her by her first name before. It sounded very strange coming from
him.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. Her imminent departure was
certain.

“Everything is fine now.” He looked into his empty glass. “You
aren’t marrying him.”

“No.” The word fell heavily from her lips. “How did you come to
know?” She could have bitten her tongue out the moment she said it. It was
really none of her business to question his lordship. And as long as she was
keeping her job, what did it matter?

As long as she
was
keeping
it...

“Someone hired by the Cantrills was poking around the household
staff, asking questions about you,” he replied. “So I hired him to do a little
counter-espionage, as you might say. I know everything that happened in
Brightgate.”

“I see.” Of course. That made complete sense.

“So now I must ask—what do you want, Sophie?” He placed the
glass on her side table and leaned forward. “Your engagement is broken. Surely
you don’t want to spend the rest of your days sewing for my two girls. A bright
young thing like you? You must have some ambition.”

“Well...” He hadn’t fired her yet. Perhaps, if she played along
with his game as politely as possible, he would forget how she lied so she could
go to Brightgate and help Charlie. “I love sewing for Amelia and Louisa and
would gladly do so for the rest of my days. They are such sweet darlings.”

“Go on,” he responded, examining her with a grave air.

“But if the day comes when they no longer need my services
exclusively, I should like to become a professional modiste. I would love to
have my own shop.”

“Here in Bath?”

“Yes, Bath is lovely. There’s a bustle of activity, but it’s
still delightful and quaint. I fear I would become lost in London.”

“My thoughts, too. That’s why I stayed here after my wife died.
A good place to make a home for my daughters.”

She gave him what she hoped was a warm smile, though her nerves
were still a jumble. “You are a good father.”

“Yes, well.” He became brusque and businesslike, rubbing his
hands together. “I need your assistance tomorrow, Miss Handley. If you will
accompany me, there are a few things I should like to show you in Bath. Be ready
at half-past noon.”

“Of course.” Her eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Is it
something for the girls?”

“No.” He rose from the settee. “Something for myself. As I have
said, I have excellent taste in all things, but I will defer to your
judgment.”

* * *

The next day, Sophie was ready at the precisely
appointed time. She selected a simple afternoon dress of fawn silk and a spencer
jacket. Lord Bradbury had not said where they were going, so she needed to be
practically dressed for anything while still looking presentable.

“Ah, yes,” his lordship called as he entered the vestibule.
“You look quite nice. A trifle plain, perhaps.”

“I wasn’t sure—” she began, flustered. She should have chosen
something more elaborate, more in keeping with being in the company of a
viscount.

“Not at all, my dear.” He withdrew a strand of pearls from his
pocket. “I was merely commenting that your gown will make a fitting frame for
these.”

Sophie sucked in her breath. They were absolutely incredible.
“Oh, no.” She backed up a pace. “The bracelet was enough.”

“And yet you sold it, you minx,” he replied with a laugh.
“Come, don’t dissemble. Let me see how my taste in pearls has held out over the
years.”

She could not refuse without making a scene, or offending him.
And her position in the household was still rather tenuous after he found out
the truth about Brightgate. It would do no good to offend his lordship. So she
submitted as he clasped the smooth baubles around her neck. She managed a tight
smile as he raked his eyes over her form.

“Perfect,” he muttered. “As though you were made for them. Now
promise me you won’t sell these, no matter how much blunt you need. If you ever
want for anything, you have only to ask me.”

Her face heated, and drops of perspiration broke out on her
forehead. “How did you know I sold the bracelet?” Was he furious with her? His
face wore the same impassive and urbane expression as always.

“The same detective who was vetting you out for the Cantrills,
of course,” he replied. He took her by the arm and steered her toward the
waiting carriage outside. “I bought it back, by the way.”

He boosted her inside the carriage and rapped on the
window.

“Where are we going?” The pearls hung around her neck like a
noose. And she didn’t like his bantering tone. She preferred matters to be
completely neutral between them, except when he spoke of his daughters. That he
did with such warmth, it did her heart good. But when he started flirting with
her—well, she had no idea how to react.

“I want to show you a nice little property I am thinking of
purchasing,” he responded in an easy tone. “We’ll drive by, as it is currently
occupied. You may see it from the outside. And then there’s another place I
should like for you to see when we are done there.”

He was bringing her along for advice on properties? How
strange. She sat against the seat, trying to stay calm and collected. After all,
Lord Bradbury wasn’t acting in a menacing way. Overly familiar, perhaps, but not
menacing.

The carriage paused before a little, blond stone building near
High Street. It had lovely, large windows that faced the front squarely.
Shoppers bustled in and out of its two French doors.

“Now what do you think of that?” He pointed out the building
with a flick of his head. “It’s a millinery shop now, but I think it would work
well for a modiste. Those windows would allow for ample display of gowns.”

“It’s—very nice.” She lifted her brows and turned toward his
lordship. “Are you buying it?”

“I own the building already,” he responded. “But I can find a
new place for the tenant if you like it. Personally, I feel it is exactly the
right location for a modiste. Lots of foot traffic, you know. Even on a weekday
like this, it’s a-buzz with activity.”

“I can see what you are saying. But—I am not sure I understand
why you need my opinion.”

“For your shop, Sophie, my dear. Let me be perfectly plain. I
shall set you up as a modiste in this very location, if that’s what you wish.”
He rapped on the window, and the carriage turned away from the curbstone,
plunging back into the midday traffic.

“But Amelia and Louisa will need me for a long time yet.” Her
brow furrowed in confusion. Was he simply buying her off with the pearls and the
modiste shop because he was going to sack her? A way of pensioning her?

“My daughters will continue to be dressed by you,” he stated
flatly. “They love you too much for me to let you go completely. But on the
other hand, you can share your talents with all of Bath this way—gain a
respectable following, fame and status. It is my way of saying thank you.”

“Oh.” That knocked the wind out of her sails. She had no idea
what to say. “Thank you, my lord.” Her life-long dream was finally coming
true—what meant everything to her was accomplished with such ease by him.

The carriage drew to a stop before a large, imposing townhome
on a tony side street. “Come, take a look inside.”

He clasped her hand firmly in his, leading her up the front
staircase. She was so used to going in back entrances, it felt uncomfortable to
walk up to the front door. His lordship fumbled with some keys and finally swung
the door open, revealing a lovely vestibule with a curving mahogany
staircase.

Two rooms branched off on either side of the staircase, each
fitted with moldings as far as the eye could see. But everywhere she looked, the
townhome was empty. Not a stick of furniture or scrap of carpet marred the
varnished surfaces.

“Are you thinking of leaving the Crescent?” She could hide her
confusion no longer.

He threw his head back and closed the door behind them. “Little
Sophie, you are a delight. No, of course not. The girls and I will remain at our
townhome. This is for you—if you want it. If it’s not what you desire, I have a
few others in mind. I liked this one for its location. Close by your shop, and
close enough to the Crescent that I shan’t take long to reach here.”

She sank onto the staircase, eyeing him warily, her breath
coming faster. “I don’t understand you, Lord Bradbury. Why are you giving me
this house?”

“Sweetheart.” He sank down beside her and took her hands in
his. They were large and warm and trapped her completely. She could not tug
away. “You must know by now that I care deeply for you. I adore you. I can think
of nothing else but you. And so, now that your ridiculous courtship with
Cantrill has ended, I am making my intentions known.”