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Authors: Lily George
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gratifying, he dared not examine. But it most
assuredly was.
Chapter Seven
S unday—a day of rest.
Sophie stretched her hands up to the ceiling. Time to find that
solution she’d promised Lieutenant Cantrill. She was mortified that she had
neglected his problem since her promise to assist Amelia two days before. Her
life had been all a-swither, planning gowns and helping to select the menu and
the guest list. He hadn’t been far from her thoughts, though. When combing
through the guest list, one name had particularly caught her eye: Lieutenant
Charles Cantrill. When she mentioned his name to Lord Bradbury, certain there
must be a mistake, his lordship laughed. “Don’t let his austere existence fool
you, Miss Handley. He’s the second son of one of the wealthiest merchants in
England. He’s a member of my club, and a most welcome guest.”
That added a whole new patina to Charlie Cantrill’s allure. So
he came from wealth but adopted a poor lifestyle to help others. He was wounded
in service yet refused to rest on his laurels. And he had been most mysteriously
jilted by his former fiancée. The lieutenant grew more interesting by the
moment. So in helping him find a solution to his familial drama, she would be
able to inch that much closer to him. Not that she really liked him all that
much. But goodness, it would be lovely to have a gentleman friend of sorts
again, one to squire her home and hold the umbrella for her. When he allowed
himself to joke, his eyes lit up with a mischievous twinkle, and she caught a
glimpse of the Charlie Cantrill John Brookes had talked about before the
war.
No use lolling about in bed. She could be at church and by his
side in a matter of minutes if she hurried. Sophie bolted out of bed, landing
with more of a thud than she meant to. She had only three quarters of an hour to
ready herself and hasten to St. Swithins. There would be no time for breakfast,
surely. She flung open her wardrobe and rummaged among her plain, serviceable
gowns for something fetching enough to catch the lieutenant’s eye.
Her lavender gown was still in pieces, ready to be stitched
together for the dinner party a week hence. She eyed her wardrobe with mounting
frustration. Oh, to have unlimited funds like Amelia Bradbury. In a range of
frothy confections, she would certainly catch the lieutenant’s eye.
Botheration. The dark blue damask with the pleated bodice would
have to do—it was the most attractive one she owned, for it darkened her eyes to
a sapphire shade.
She scurried about the room, pulling on her stockings, tossing
on her gown and pulling on her black kid slippers. Her hair—oh, dear, her hair.
She had no time for a complicated style. A simple ribbon would have to do.
There. She looked presentable, if not exactly alluring. She wrenched open the
door—and tripped headlong over Lucy, who was strolling down the hall.
“Wherever are you off to in such haste?” Lucy propped Sophie up
by the shoulders, saving her from tumbling onto the floor.
“St. Swithins. I am attending Sunday services.” Sophie righted
herself and checked to make sure her hair hadn’t come loose.
Lucy’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “You never mentioned
going to services before.”
“Um...” Sophie unsuccessfully fended off a blush. Her cheeks
were scorching hot. “I only just remembered it.”
“Hmm.” Lucy stepped backward, planting her fists on her hips.
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with Lieutenant Cantrill, would it?”
Botheration. It was best to go ahead and admit defeat. The
blush told all. She nodded, smiling at her friend. “He’s a friend of my family,
after all. Would you like to accompany me?”
Lucy gave her head a decisive nod. “Of course. Let me just get
my wrap.”
Bath was now her adopted hometown, its streets and alleyways
becoming more familiar with each passing day. She struck out for St. Swithins
with confidence. Sophie and Lucy skirted the Circus, glancing at the
assuredly was.
Chapter Seven
S unday—a day of rest.
Sophie stretched her hands up to the ceiling. Time to find that
solution she’d promised Lieutenant Cantrill. She was mortified that she had
neglected his problem since her promise to assist Amelia two days before. Her
life had been all a-swither, planning gowns and helping to select the menu and
the guest list. He hadn’t been far from her thoughts, though. When combing
through the guest list, one name had particularly caught her eye: Lieutenant
Charles Cantrill. When she mentioned his name to Lord Bradbury, certain there
must be a mistake, his lordship laughed. “Don’t let his austere existence fool
you, Miss Handley. He’s the second son of one of the wealthiest merchants in
England. He’s a member of my club, and a most welcome guest.”
That added a whole new patina to Charlie Cantrill’s allure. So
he came from wealth but adopted a poor lifestyle to help others. He was wounded
in service yet refused to rest on his laurels. And he had been most mysteriously
jilted by his former fiancée. The lieutenant grew more interesting by the
moment. So in helping him find a solution to his familial drama, she would be
able to inch that much closer to him. Not that she really liked him all that
much. But goodness, it would be lovely to have a gentleman friend of sorts
again, one to squire her home and hold the umbrella for her. When he allowed
himself to joke, his eyes lit up with a mischievous twinkle, and she caught a
glimpse of the Charlie Cantrill John Brookes had talked about before the
war.
No use lolling about in bed. She could be at church and by his
side in a matter of minutes if she hurried. Sophie bolted out of bed, landing
with more of a thud than she meant to. She had only three quarters of an hour to
ready herself and hasten to St. Swithins. There would be no time for breakfast,
surely. She flung open her wardrobe and rummaged among her plain, serviceable
gowns for something fetching enough to catch the lieutenant’s eye.
Her lavender gown was still in pieces, ready to be stitched
together for the dinner party a week hence. She eyed her wardrobe with mounting
frustration. Oh, to have unlimited funds like Amelia Bradbury. In a range of
frothy confections, she would certainly catch the lieutenant’s eye.
Botheration. The dark blue damask with the pleated bodice would
have to do—it was the most attractive one she owned, for it darkened her eyes to
a sapphire shade.
She scurried about the room, pulling on her stockings, tossing
on her gown and pulling on her black kid slippers. Her hair—oh, dear, her hair.
She had no time for a complicated style. A simple ribbon would have to do.
There. She looked presentable, if not exactly alluring. She wrenched open the
door—and tripped headlong over Lucy, who was strolling down the hall.
“Wherever are you off to in such haste?” Lucy propped Sophie up
by the shoulders, saving her from tumbling onto the floor.
“St. Swithins. I am attending Sunday services.” Sophie righted
herself and checked to make sure her hair hadn’t come loose.
Lucy’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “You never mentioned
going to services before.”
“Um...” Sophie unsuccessfully fended off a blush. Her cheeks
were scorching hot. “I only just remembered it.”
“Hmm.” Lucy stepped backward, planting her fists on her hips.
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with Lieutenant Cantrill, would it?”
Botheration. It was best to go ahead and admit defeat. The
blush told all. She nodded, smiling at her friend. “He’s a friend of my family,
after all. Would you like to accompany me?”
Lucy gave her head a decisive nod. “Of course. Let me just get
my wrap.”
Bath was now her adopted hometown, its streets and alleyways
becoming more familiar with each passing day. She struck out for St. Swithins
with confidence. Sophie and Lucy skirted the Circus, glancing at the
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