The Temporary Betrothal Read online

  It was now or never. If he didn’t say it now, the moment would vanish in a trace. “There’s another reason for our invite.”

  “Yes?” Mother took a careful sip of her tea.

  “I should like you to meet the young lady I am...courting.” There. It was out. And it even sounded reasonably natural.

  “You are courting someone?” Mother eyed him with suspicion over the rim of her cup. “Whom are you courting, pray tell? Surely not one of the veterans’ widows you are so fond of helping.”

  Hot anger bubbled to the surface, but Charlie steeled himself. “Of course not, Mother. The young lady is Sophia Handley, Sir Hugh Handley’s daughter. She is working as a private seamstress to Miss Amelia, and will be present at the gathering tonight.”

  Mother cocked her head to one side. “Sir Hugh Handley? Isn’t the family completely destitute?”

  “Yes, Mother. But Miss Handley comes of impeccable breeding, I can assure you.” Surely that would quell any further questions.

  “Well, yes. That goes without saying.” Mother waved one hand listlessly. “It’s just very odd, Charles, that she has chosen to go into service. Most young women would not choose such a path. She’s not a bluestocking, is she? Or one of these free love advocates, like Mrs. Wollenstonecraft?”

  Charlie threw back his head and laughed. ’Twas the first really amusing thing Mother had said. Sophie, a bluestocking? “No, not at all. You’ll see for yourself when you meet her tonight. She is accomplished and lovely, and has an amazing talent for needlework. That is why she works for the Bradbury family. She loves to sew, and can indulge her artistry in this manner.”

  “Yes, well, we shall see, Charles.” Mother’s expression hardened into one of suspicion and doubt. “I shall reserve judgment on the young lady until I meet her tonight. But tell me truthfully—are you considering marrying the gel?”

  “We’ve only begun courting.” He pronounced the words with a snap. “I haven’t decided for certain.”

  “If she is of good breeding, and as lovely and charming as you say, then I shall be happy to see you wed. You both could come home to Brightgate and set up housekeeping there. Robert has a position for you, taking over the mills. In no time, you could have a beautiful home and family, Charles.”

  A beautiful home and family. Sophie would make some man a perfect wife. She would make a home anywhere she went, simply by living in it. But he loved his work. Home and family meant nothing to him. Only helping others. That’s why he agreed to this farce—to keep living the life he had chosen.

  But telling anyone in his family about any of this was out of the question. No one would ever understand his feelings on the matter. So he merely nodded. “You’ll see for yourself, Mother.”

  * * *

  Sophie wove another ribbon rose into Amelia’s dark, curly hair. They had settled on a graceful, Grecian style of hair dress, not too elaborate but still quite elegant. Amelia had shooed her own maid away for the occasion, trusting only Sophie to make the necessary preparations. Nothing could possibly go wrong on this night. And since this was her first time wearing her hair up, as well as the first time to act as hostess in her father’s home, Sophie was determined to make Amelia look her loveliest.

  Sophie glanced at her muse in the mirror, selecting another hairpin from the box on the dressing table. “I think a few more roses at the crown of your head, and then we should be done.”

  Amelia blinked. “I dare not nod for fear of undoing all your handiwork. But yes, I agree.”

  Sophie smiled. “You may relax, my dear. You’re likely to give yourself a headache by holding so rigidly still. I assure you, I am using so many hairpins, a windstorm could blow through here and not muss a single strand.”

  Lucy and Louisa were watching, curled up together on Amelia’s bed. “Oh, Miss Williams, can’t we watch from the top of the stairs? It would be such fun.”

  “No, I’m afraid not.” Lucy smoothed her charge’s hair with a gentle hand. “But I have asked Cook to send some of the dinner up to us, and you may stay up an extra hour reading in bed if you like.”

  “Well, that’s something,” Louisa grumbled, burying her face on Lucy’s shoulder. “But I still think it’s awfully mean that I won’t even be able to see Amelia’s debut.”

  “You’ll hear all about it when I come up to bed tonight,” Amelia murmured through clenched teeth. She was still as a statue, hardly batting an eyelash. “And you shall have your own debut in a couple of years.”

  “Ah, the wisdom of the elder sister,” Sophie replied with a laugh. “How often did I hear such advice from Harriet. ‘It will be your turn soon enough.’ Cheer up, sweet Louisa. You and Lucy will both have a lovely time tonight. I’ll sneak up an extra bit of cake for your bedtime snack.”

  Louisa rolled back on the pillow, a mollified expression crossing her face. “Thank you, Miss Handley.”

  Sophie stuck the last two roses in place, pinning them down securely with a maze of hairpins that she hid under Amelia’s mass of curls. The effect was enchanting, as though some fairy had sprinkled rosebuds over Amelia’s hair and they had stayed put. She stepped back, allowing Amelia the chance to see herself in the mirror. “You look beautiful, dear Amelia.”

  “You do, too!” Amelia turned gingerly from the mirror, gazing at Sophie with shining eyes. “That dress suits you perfectly.”

  “Thank you.” The dress did look rather wonderful. And that was part of her plan. If Mrs. Cantrill really did arrive tonight, then it would help Charlie immensely if she looked her best.

  “I agree. You are both as pretty as a picture.” A suave baritone voice sounded from the doorway. Lucy scrambled off the bed, shaking out her skirts hastily. Louisa continued to lounge on the bed. “Papa,” she called out in a mock-angry tone, “this room is off-limits to you. Only females are allowed.”

  Lord Bradbury drew back, a hurt expression crossing his face as he placed his hand over his heart. “What? Even if I come bearing gifts?”

  “Do you have anything for me? Or only for Amelia?” Louisa demanded, getting into the spirit of their game.

  “I would be a horrible papa indeed if I only brought gifts for one daughter,” he responded in a wounded tone. “Of course, if I am not allowed—” He took an exaggerated step toward the door.

  “No! Let me see!” Louisa scrambled off the bed and flung herself at her father, grasping his elegant evening coat in both hands. “What did you bring us?”

  Lord Bradbury withdrew two leather boxes from his pocket. “For you,” he replied, handing one to Louisa. With a delighted squeal, she flung it open.

  “A gold locket, how lovely! Thank you, Papa.” She handed the box to Lucy, who withdrew the treasure and clasped it around Louisa’s neck.

  “And for my darling Amelia, already a young woman.” He walked over to the dressing table and held out a box to his daughter. “This belonged to your mother. I think you should have it now.”

  Amelia opened the box and gasped. Sophie’s mouth dropped open. It was a string of the most perfect pearls she had ever seen. Lord Bradbury removed the strand from the case and clasped it around Amelia’s neck.

  “You are as lovely as she was,” he said huskily, a slight catch in his voice. “Take care of them, my girl.”

  “I will, Papa,” she replied, embracing her father tightly despite her ribbon of roses and masses of carefully arranged curls.

  Watching them together, Sophie blinked back sudden tears. She was never particularly close to her papa. Harriet, with her love of books and natural intelligence, was his decided favorite. Sophie had been taken under Mama’s wing and groomed from birth for one thing and one thing only—marriage. Watching the viscount and Amelia together, a sudden pang of longing tore through her heart. If only she could have enjoyed the closeness of Papa’s company. But it was as if he and Mama had split the sisters between them in terms of childrearing and care.

  Lucy tapped Louisa on the shoulder, breaking through the heavy rush of
emotions that flooded the room. “Come, Louisa, we should go to the schoolroom and await our dinner. Lord Bradbury,” she said, bobbing a curtsy. “Amelia, I know you shall do splendidly tonight.”

  Amelia waved a queenly hand at audience. “Thank you. I shall tell you both about it later tonight.”

  Sophie hesitated. Should she leave, too, and give Lord Bradbury a few moments’ privacy with his daughter? Or should she guide Amelia down to the drawing room? She set the hairbrush she had been clutching on the dressing table and gathered her skirts to go.

  “Amelia, I would like a moment with Miss Handley.” Lord Bradbury’s voice held no trace of its former huskiness. “We shall meet you in the drawing room directly.”

  Sophie swallowed nervously. Perhaps she had done such a good job that her presence was no longer necessary tonight. If that were true, then ’twould be a bit of a relief. She was terribly nervous about the evening herself. It would be much nicer to be gossiping in the schoolroom with Lucy and Louisa, though she would still need to meet Mrs. Cantrill eventually.

  Amelia nodded at her father and threw a grateful smile at Sophie. When she left her bedroom, Lord Bradbury closed the door behind her. Sophie fought a rising tide of panic. Whatever was his lordship about, that they needed such seclusion?

  “Miss Handley, there is no need to look so alarmed, I assure you.” He smiled casually. “I just wanted to thank you for all you have done for Amelia this week. She has really come into her own. She is, in fact, a young lady. And I know this transformation can only be credited to your handiwork.”

  Sophie took a step backward. They needed more distance between them. Whenever his lordship came into a room, he seemed to fill it up, or lay claim to all of the air. She schooled herself, forcing silent, deep breaths. ’Twould be beyond silly to faint just now. “You’re most welcome, sir. Though I must disagree. It is not by my work alone. Lucy Williams has been a good governess, as well. And we were given quite wonderful raw material to work with, you know.”

  A smile hovered around his firm lips. “Thank you for the compliment to my daughter. I do think highly of both of my girls.”

  Were they done? Could she finally leave, and breathe normally once more? No, Lord Bradbury was speaking again.

  “This is yours.” He held out another box, a long rectangular one.

  “Oh, no, sir.” Sophie waved the box away. Why, even the case looked expensive and fine. Surely his lordship had spent a fortune on this evening already.

  “I must insist,” he replied, snapping the box open. Sophie gasped as the candlelight refracted off the diamond bracelet inside, casting prisms of rainbows around the room. “Your wrist, if you please.”

  Sophie’s mouth went dry, and she gingerly extended her right arm. With a businesslike air, he clasped the bracelet around her gloved wrist, holding it up to the candlelight. “Very pretty,” he murmured. Then he shot a piercing glance at Sophie from under his brows. “I have excellent taste in all things, you know.”

  Sophie nodded. She could barely swallow, her emotions too jumbled to allow her to utter a single sound.

  “Shall we go?” The viscount tucked the box back into his evening-coat pocket, and offered Sophie his elbow.

  “Y-yes.” Sophie placed her fingers into the crook of his arm and gathered her skirts. As they left the room and descended the stairs, it was as though he was leading her into another world—an entirely foreign place where she didn’t quite understand the language.

  She was not at all sure she liked it.

  Chapter Ten

  Amelia was waiting for them in the drawing room, her eyes wide and her cheeks drained of all color. Sophie released Lord Bradbury’s arm and hurried over to her, enveloping her in a warm embrace. “Darling, don’t worry! Everything will be perfect. You’ll see.”

  “I’m just so terribly nervous. Papa, what time is it?” Amelia fidgeted with her skirts, shaking them out to make them appear fuller.

  “We have a few moments until the guests will begin to arrive,” his lordship replied, flicking a glance over at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece. “Compose yourself, my dear. You are your mother’s daughter, and she instinctively knew how to manage any sort of party.” He gave his daughter a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

  Lord Bradbury’s attention and care to his daughter was really quite nice to see. Whereas many fathers would simply ignore their daughters’ nervousness, he was good enough to stop and offer the kind of heartening advice that was so crucial to one’s confidence. Sophie raised her hand to her hair, carefully smoothing it down, catching a glimpse of the diamond bracelet as it sparkled boldly on her wrist. And yet, he was so overbearing in other respects. Truly, it was difficult to read the man at all.

  A loud knock sounded on the door, and Amelia hastened to her place in the entrance of the drawing room. Lord Bradbury confidently strode over beside her. Where should she stand? As both a servant and Amelia’s right hand for the evening, surely she should not stand in the receiving line. Both Amelia and Lord Bradbury seemed to have forgotten her altogether, in fact. They were both paying rapt attention to the cacophony of voices in the hallway as guests were divested of cloaks, overcoats and hats.

  Sophie took a few steps backward. Perhaps now was the best time to hurry to the kitchen and make sure everything was running smoothly for supper. Yes, that was the best thing to do. That way Amelia could receive her guests and Sophie could make a subdued appearance later in the evening. She turned and headed toward the door opposite the drawing room.

  “Miss Handley? Where are you going?” Lord Bradbury barked. Honestly, the man must have eyes in the back of his head.

  “I was going to check on the supper,” she replied, her voice shakier than she intended.

  “You will stay here with us to receive the guests,” he ordered, his voice as sharp as a flint.

  “Of course, your lordship.” Sophie bobbed a brief curtsy at his back. He hadn’t even deigned to turn around when issuing his orders.

  She crossed the room and stood between his lordship and Amelia, who linked her arm tightly with Sophie’s. Now there was no escape. And goodness, how closely Lord Bradbury stood to her! She would not be able to take a decent breath, not until the evening was over and she had retired to her room.

  The guests began milling into the drawing room, one after the other. Only a dozen in all—Sophie had counted and recounted the guest list in the days leading up to the event. And because she was included, there was going to be an odd number at dinner unless Mrs. Cantrill arrived with her son. Then there would be an even sixteen. Had they remembered to lay sixteen places? Sophie half turned to go check, but was held in place by Amelia’s tight grip.

  “Lieutenant Cantrill,” Lord Bradbury’s voice boomed in her ear. She snapped her attention around to her faux beau as he bowed gallantly before Amelia. How handsome he was tonight, resplendent in sober evening dress. Having never seen him in anything but the simple garb he wore to visit the veterans or to attend church, he was quite a sight to behold. She dimpled at him and curtsied. He gazed directly into her eyes—what magnificent, soulful eyes he had! Sophie blinked rapidly.

  Time to begin the farce. As if she weren’t nervous enough.

  “Lord Bradbury, Miss Bradbury, Miss Handley.” He bowed to each in turn. “Allow me to present my mother, Mrs. Moriah Cantrill.”

  Mrs. Cantrill swept in, her head held at a regal angle. Yes, she was definitely Charlie’s mother. They looked as alike as two peas in a pod. Except Mrs. Cantrill’s thin cheeks did not possess the same dimples as her son’s. In fact, though she resembled him physically, she had much less of his look of intelligence and wit about her, and much more of haughtiness.

  As Sophie curtsied, she glanced over Mrs. Cantrill’s gown. It was of an excellent cut, and beautifully draped, but rather too ornate for a simple reception in Bath.

  As she raised her eyes to Mrs. Cantrill’s gaze, a slight shiver ran down her spine. Mrs. Cantrill was assessing her, too. Charlie
must’ve told her. Would she see through their farce? Mrs. Cantrill’s keen eyes took in all that Sophie was wearing, and focused on the diamond bracelet. She held out Sophie’s wrist, allowing the jewels to catch the firelight.

  “Lovely. Wherever did you find such a beautiful adornment?”

  Charlie turned back from his conversation with Lord Bradbury, watching Sophie with something altogether unreadable yet intense in his expression.

  Sophie looked around. How best to carry off the situation? Lord Bradbury looked faintly amused, while Amelia looked mildly interested.

  “Oh, this? Thank you, Mrs. Cantrill. It is rather sweet. It’s—a present from a friend.” Sophie laughed airily.

  “We trotted out all our finery tonight, Mrs. Cantrill.” Lord Bradbury offered the older woman his arm. “Come, let me show you my latest acquisition. A fine piece of art—have you ever seen such a lovely ormolu clock?” With that, he steered her toward the mantelpiece, leaving Sophie alone with Charlie and Amelia.

  Amelia looked expectantly up at Sophie, but she had no more words to carry off the social niceties. Charlie knew she was penniless, and that such a bauble would likely have been seized by the duns during her father’s bankruptcy so many years before. He was a bright lad, and would put two and two together. Would he think it untoward if Lord Bradbury leant her some jewelry for the occasion? After all, she was only borrowing it. She darted a glance at him. There was no telling what he was thinking. His face was clouded over, and his eyes were dark blanks.

  He bowed at the two ladies and retired to the opposite end of the room, chatting with a group of men who were clustered around the divan. Well, that was that. She would likely not have a moment to speak to Charlie alone this evening. There were too many people about, and too much to do. With a shrug, she turned toward her charge.

  “You should begin circulating, making polite conversation with your guests,” she whispered.

  Amelia nodded but stayed rooted to the spot. Sophie patted her shoulder and turned her toward the side of the room, where a sweet-faced old dowager reclined in a velvet chair. “Go on, ask Mrs. White about her dogs. I’ve seen her out walking them through the Crescent and the park. She adores them like children, and once you set her going, you shan’t have to say a word,” Sophie encouraged.