The Temporary Betrothal. Lily George
steps. “I think the women need money,” she added in an undertone. “Many have no means of income, and several have children to care for. Without a steady flow of money, some of them have been reduced—or nearly so—to rather desperate circumstances.”
Just as he suspected. He stopped, turning to face her. “You will help me, then? These women, they respond to you. Together, we can help keep them from turning to occupations that are beneath them.”
She gazed deeply into his eyes. “Of course I will help you, Lieutenant. Did I not already promise to?”
“Yes, you did. I just wondered if, once you saw how things were—”
“That I would gather up my skirts and flee in horror?” She gave a modest chuckle. “Surely I am better than that.”
He couldn’t bear the challenge in those blue eyes any longer. He directed their steps back toward the street. “I do need your help with one other matter. There’s a young ensign, named Rowland, who is mute. I think conversation—even just listening to someone read aloud from a book—could help him. Do you think you can help me find someone willing to take that on?”
Sophie smiled, her dimples deepening. “I know just the perfect person, Lieutenant.”
Chapter Five
Thank goodness she had gotten an advance on her salary. Sophie sat, cradling her teacup in her hands, observing the hustle and bustle as shoppers filed in and out of Molland’s. She needed a fortifying meal and a few moments’ peace after her chaotic morning. Even though she feigned courage for the lieutenant, her emotions were deeply shaken. She picked up her watercress sandwich with shaking hands and savored one delicious bite.
Her entire family had been cast into poverty when Papa died. But Sophie never realized how very dreadful poverty could be. Of course, it meant making over Mama’s old court dresses rather than enjoying new frocks. And it meant eating potatoes every day rather than having chicken for dinner. And yet, even though they left their ancestral home in disgrace and eked out a meager existence in a cottage, the idea of desperation had never crossed her mind. Why, she had even rejected Captain John Brookes because she no longer loved him after the war.
Love! What nonsense.
Sophie dropped her sandwich and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. What a selfish ninny she had been. The only thing that separated her from the widows she met this morning—women who were facing such straitened circumstances that prostitution suddenly seemed a viable option—was the fact that her industrious sister had kept her from feeling desperate. True, they had discussed taking on jobs in the village. But really, it was Harriet’s own demeanor—her insistence on writing a book, her persistence in having it published—that had kept the wolf from the Handley cottage door. And because of her sister’s cheerful toiling, she never felt as desperate or as poor as the women she met today.
She tried another bite of her sandwich, but really, it tasted like ashes in her mouth.
The only thing to do is resolve never to be a burden on one’s family again. After all, she had gainful employment for the foreseeable future. She would simply have to work hard, save up money and open a dress shop of her own one day. She would never have to worry about Harriet or poverty again.
“Penny for your thoughts?” a cheerful voice interrupted. “Sophie? Are you all right?”
Sophie gave a shake of her head, ridding herself of her reverie. “Lucy.” She patted the table and beckoned her friend to sit down. “Thank goodness you are here.”
“Did you have a bad morning? How did your visit to the veterans go?” Lucy sat across from her and placed her reticule on the table. “Tea and sandwiches, if you please,” she told the waitress with a smile.
“Oh, the meeting went well.” Sophie took a sip of her tea. “But really, Lucy. I had no idea how very badly off some of the women are.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Some of them even consider...selling themselves.”
Lucy nodded. “Yes, I know. I can’t say I blame them. After all, a woman must do what she can to survive.”
Her response was like a slap in the face. Sophie sat back in her chair, her eyes wide. “Surely you don’t condone it.”
“No, I wouldn’t say I condone it.” Lucy accepted her tea from the waitress and nodded her thanks. “I would just say that I can understand it. You see, Sophie, I am an orphan. I grew up in an orphanage. Fortunately for me, I have brains and was able to develop them even in that environment. I was able to become a governess. Some of my friends were not so fortunate.”
Really, this was astonishing. It was like turning over a pretty, smooth rock in a field and seeing the worms squirming underneath. “But really, Lucy. My family lost everything and I never felt that kind of desperation. Maybe my sister hid it from me. I even turned down two marriage proposals.”
Lucy spluttered and choked on her tea. “Beg pardon?” she coughed, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. The waitress returned with a small china plate of sandwiches.
Sophie waited until the waitress left before picking up the thread of conversation.
“Yes, it’s true. I turned down Captain John Brookes and another redcoat—James Marable.” It was embarrassing to admit it now. Especially as Lucy sat staring at her, looking at her as though she had just sprouted horns on the top of her head.
“Why?” Lucy took a careful sip of her tea, continuing to eye Sophie over the rim of her cup.
“Because I did not love them.” Why did it feel like an admission of guilt? After all, Harriet had promised her long ago that she did not have to marry anyone she did not love. Even after Mama died and Sophie was riddled with guilt and sorrow, Harriet promised her she had made the right choice.
Lucy set down her cup with a clink. “Well, then, I must say yes. It sounds to me that your sister did protect you. I envy you your freedom, Sophie. Most young women in dire poverty would marry anyone without delay. No picking and choosing allowed.”
“And that’s why I am seeking my own fortune.” Sophie lifted her chin in the air. It wasn’t as if she was lolling about in bed all day, eating bonbons. She worked very hard for Lord Bradbury and his daughters. And she was building a future for herself until she could strike out on her own and become a modiste with a proper shop.
“And so you are.” Lucy reached out and clasped Sophie’s hand warmly. “But listen, Sophie. Not everyone’s experience is akin to yours. We do not all have the same background, breeding or talent to make something of ourselves. And to be perfectly honest, not all of us are as pretty as you.” She released Sophie’s hand. “You mustn’t judge other women for what they may choose to do to survive.”
“I don’t,” Sophie protested. “I am just stunned, that’s all. In our days of poverty, I never had to consider such a thing. And it both addles me and humbles me to know that others do. I never knew how hard my sister worked as a writer to save my family until this moment.”
A sympathetic light kindled in Lucy’s eyes, easing some of the turmoil in Sophie’s heart. Lucy wasn’t dismayed by her refusal to marry. And for that she was grateful.
Lucy tapped the table with her forefinger for emphasis as she spoke again. “So now that you have this position, what do you wish to do with the rest of your life?”
“I wish for peace and freedom.” Why, she could even feel it—the sensation of being lifted up on wings. Not relying on anyone. Making her own way in the world. “I should like to have my own dress shop someday. When Amelia and Louisa no longer need my services.”
“And what of marriage? If another proposal came your way, what would you say?” Lucy cocked her head to one side.
“I do not know.” An image of brown eyes in a stern face flashed before her mind’s eye. Charlie Cantrill. If Charlie asked her, what would she say? And why