pleasing.”
Charlie smiled. It was easy to misjudge Sophie. She was so pretty and so vibrant that it was not at all difficult to think of her as a flibbertigibbet, passing over her strength of character. “I think so, too.”
“Do you?” The faded old eyes regarded him sharply, as though Aunt Katherine were studying him through a lorgnette. The close regard caused a wriggle of unease to work up his spine.
“Yes.” Would Auntie stop regarding him in that fashion? He felt like an insect under a spying glass.
“And what of Elizabeth Gaskell? Do you ever hear of your former fiancée at all?”
The sudden shift in conversation threw Charlie off guard. Like a good soldier, he eyed the terrain warily. What did this abrupt change signify? Why was she bringing up Beth, right on the heels of their discussion about Sophie?
“What I know of Beth I read in The Tatler.” His words were clipped and precise. Beth’s downward spiral into licentious behavior was a constant source of amusement for Bath—and embarrassment for her former fiancé. He did not like to talk about it with anyone. Not even Auntie.
“So, then. If she is mentioned in the gossip rags, then she is still living a hedonistic existence.” Aunt Katherine clasped her hands, laden with rings, together over her stomach, peering at him with eyes that had only sharpened with age. “And where does this leave you, Charlie?”
“Forgive me, Auntie, but I don’t understand your meaning.” Honestly, the old woman was as mysterious as the Sphinx. John had warned him so, many times in the past. And yet, since she was meddling in others’ affairs, Charlie found it amusing. Now, faced with it himself, it didn’t seem as funny.
“Tut, tut. There’s no need to get testy with an old woman. I only mean to say it isn’t right for a young man to live alone without thinking about a wife and family. While your work with the veterans is nothing short of admirable, what are you doing to better your own life, my son?”
“You sound like my mother. Always lecturing me to give up my work and settle down with a wife.” And yet, what was so winning about his life? Dinner alone. Walks to the Pump Room. Reading before his cozy fire. It was usually pleasant, but took on a lonely tinge now that he thought about it. “Sometimes I prefer solitude. When Brookes is in town, I have a very active social life.”
Aunt Katherine clapped her hands, her rings tinkling merrily. “Ah, but John is now married, and I am sure he and Harriet will have a family soon. He won’t have as much time for trips to Bath and army reunions. You must create a life for yourself that is rich and full, young Charlie. While austerity has its benefits, I worry that you are missing out on the very vibrancy of life.”
Vibrancy. Warmth. Beauty. An image of blue eyes and hair the color of sunlight passed through his mind. A lively young lady, someone to share his life with. He blinked rapidly, clearing the alluring vision away. “I don’t know, Aunt Katherine. Sometimes I think I was meant to be alone. Perhaps that is why God spared me. To live a life of quiet austerity helping others. It’s not a bad existence, you know.”
Aunt Katherine pursed her lips and shook her head. An unusual quiet descended on the library, broken only by the crackling of the fire in the grate. At length, Aunt Katherine spoke softly. “Not all women are like Elizabeth Gaskell. Not even pretty ones.”
“I am afraid all young ladies are more like her than we care to admit.” The thread of bitterness running through his tone was surprising, even to his own ears. “Especially...” His face began to burn, a flush he could not attribute to the heat from the fire. “Especially pretty and vivacious women.”
“Charlie.” Aunt Katherine’s voice was quiet, the kind of tone she might reserve for a child who had fallen and skinned his knee. “Surely you don’t harbor bitterness and prejudice in your heart.” She straightened up and offered him a kind smile. She was like a mother in some ways, and it made him blink back sudden tears. He was a soldier, after all. No good to cry. “‘Another man dies in bitterness of soul, never having enjoyed anything good,’” she quoted. “Don’t allow what Beth did to rob you of happiness.”
It took a few moments for Charlie to gain composure. He simply stared out the library window, avoiding Aunt Katherine’s gaze while he settled his thoughts. What she said was true. He must get rid of all bitterness in his heart. And yet, it was hard to let go of that anger. It had driven him and fueled his existence for so long, he didn’t know how to relinquish it. It had been hidden under a mask of good cheer, at least where the Brookes family was concerned. But Aunt Katherine, with her uncanny powers of perception, had discovered the truth.
When he was of a more reasonable frame of mind, he rose. It was embarrassing to be so emotional. “Aunt Katherine, I must be going. But I do want to thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your help. I appreciate all you are trying to do for me.”
She extended her hand, jewels winking in the firelight. “Tut, tut, my dear boy. I shall meddle with you tirelessly now that John is happily wed.” She gave him a wheedling smile. “Your mother may be right, after all. And remember that the Handley girls are made of stronger stuff than I think we often give them credit for.”
Her words echoed in Charlie’s mind as he walked back to his flat. Why had she added that last bit? Could it be that Sophie Handley was made of stronger stuff than he imagined? Behind that pretty face, was she something more? He let himself into the chilly flat. His housekeeper had the day off, and he hated coming home when she hadn’t been working all day. His home seemed dour and cheerless without at least a fire burning in the grate and the bustle of work in the kitchen.
He kindled the fire himself and extended his hand to the blaze. The warmth ran from the tips of his fingers to the pit of his heart. Perhaps he had allowed bitterness to settle and become part of him for too long. Perhaps it was time for spring—in more ways than one.
Chapter Six
“Oh, Sophie!” Amelia cried, flinging herself through the door of Sophie’s sewing room. Sophie glanced up in surprise. Shouldn’t Amelia be studying with Lucy in the schoolroom?
“Amelia? Whatever is the matter?” Sophie removed a pin from her mouth and stabbed it through the dress form she was working with.
“Papa has agreed to have a dinner party a fortnight from now, and I am to be the hostess. Imagine! My first entrée into Society. So I must have a very pretty gown, you know.” Amelia danced around the room, her long curls bobbing as she clapped her hands.
“That is excellent news, Amelia. What do you think of this blue dress I am finishing? Surely it would fit the bill nicely.” Sophie stepped back and surveyed her handiwork with a critical eye. A bit more pin tucking around the bodice, and it would just suit her young muse. And perhaps a bit of lace, as well?
“Yes, yes, it’s very pretty. But, Sophie, that was the gown I am to wear later in the Season. I want something special for this occasion, something entirely new. Perhaps—” she spun around the workroom, running her hands over the bolts of fabric “—perhaps something in this yellow?” She held out a yard of gauzy fabric, wrapping it around her middle.
A brief wriggle of unease made its way up Sophie’s spine as she watched Amelia prance around the room. Here they were, surrounded by luxurious fabrics of every conceivable color and finish. And here was her young charge, dancing around in delighted anticipation of yet another new dress, made expressly to her whims.
Sophie’s
