Lily George - The Temporary Betrothal

From Temporary Engagement to True Love?

Sophie Handley is a charming flirt—just like the fiancée who jilted Lieutenant Charles Cantrill after he was wounded at Waterloo. Yet her assistance in helping veterans is proving invaluable. And when she offers to feign a courtship to appease his family, he finds their arrangement curiously appealing….

Sophie has been groomed from birth for a life of easy comfort. Then financial ruin obliges her to reevaluate all her plans and dreams. Helping veterans and their wives helps her see what’s truly important—and gives her the chance to enjoy the lieutenant’s very appealing company. Somehow Sophie must help his embittered heart to see she’s found her permanent place—by his side, and in his arms.

Sophie patted his arm. “Honestly, Charlie, I am not offended that anyone would think our courtship was real.”

His heart beat faster. Really? Was that so?

“I am a career soldier, but I confess I have no idea how to handle this particular battle. I don’t know how to extricate you without damaging your reputation.”

“Remember who I am? What I am? Fickle and flighty Sophie.” She gave a bitter laugh that wrenched his stomach. “If it comes to that, no one will think anything of it if I break our engagement.”

“I don’t think of you that way,” he muttered. It was the truth. He hated for her to think poorly of herself, when he had seen so much good in her.

She turned toward him, her bright blue eyes glowing. “Don’t you?”

“Not at all. I admire you greatly.” It was difficult to say the words, but something told him she needed to hear it.

She reached up and pecked his cheek. “Oh, Charlie,” she whispered. “That means more to me than all the diamond bracelets in the world.”

LILY GEORGE

Growing up in a small town in Texas, Lily George spent her summers devouring the books in her mother’s Christian bookstore. She still counts Grace Livingston Hill, Janette Oake and L. M. Montgomery among her favorite authors. Lily has a BA in history from Southwestern University and uses her training as a historian to research her historical inspirational romance novels. She has published one nonfiction book and produced one documentary, and is in production on a second film; all of these projects reflect her love for old movies and jazz and blues music. Lily lives in the Dallas area with her husband, daughter and menagerie of animals.

The Temporary Betrothal

Lily George

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Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful.

—Colossians 3:13–15

For Hoot

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

Chapter One

March, 1818

Oh, botheration. All the buildings in Bath looked precisely the same. Sophie Handley clutched her bonnet with one hand, clamping it tightly to her curls as she tilted her chin upward. Her intuition fled—she was completely and utterly lost. There was no sign of a haberdashery anywhere on this street. Sophie scoured the directions, written in Mrs. Wigg’s undulating hand, once more. Very well. She had come up Charlotte Street, just as the housekeeper instructed. But then, had she taken a right or a left at George Street? Neither. She’d walked straight ahead—yes, that was the Circus, directly in front of her. So should she retrace her steps? Or keep going toward the Circus?

Something splashed onto her piece of foolscap, smearing the ink. She scanned the swollen clouds in the slate gray sky. Botheration—an afternoon shower. Rain fell in fat drops, dampening the foolscap so that it folded itself limply across her glove. And she had no umbrella. Of course. She’d left it behind, as this was supposed to be a mere dash to secure a few buttons for Lord Bradbury’s daughter’s frock. And yet here she was, lost in the very middle of Bath, with no parasol.

Sophie bit her lip in frustration. She had come to Bath full of purpose and promise, determined to strike out on her own as a seamstress to a wealthy family. And she was coming perilously close to failure, as she could not even go to the shops without getting lost and drenched.

If only there were a way to catch her bearings, but Bath was nothing like home. To find her way in Tansley Village, she had only to note the position of the sun or the moon and then navigate her way across the fields, the sweet moor grass swaying in the gentle breeze. The scrubby hills and valleys were as familiar to her as the face of a dearly beloved friend—but she wasn’t home any longer. She gave her head a defiant toss. She had chosen to leave home and come to Bath. And she had chosen a life as a servant. So she had better find her way to the haberdasher and quickly, and then return home to continue work on Amelia Bradbury’s riding habit.

She turned back down Gay Street. At the intersection she would try heading in the opposite direction. She shouldered past the milling throngs on the sidewalks, wealthy lords and their well-dressed ladies, scruffy children darting to and fro, and servants soberly dressed in black and white. All of them, every man jack of them, seemed to have an umbrella.

Sophie tossed her now-sodden scrap of paper into the gutter and folded her arms across her chest, holding them closely for warmth. She tucked her chin down, so that most of the moisture rolled off the brim of her bonnet. She assumed a casual air of nonchalance, as though she had forgotten her umbrella on purpose, and hastened her steps along George Street. But oh, it was hard to seem collected when a cold droplet of rain worked its way down your neck and under the back of your frock.

She turned the corner of George Street, colliding with something warm and strong. “Oof!”

“I beg your pardon.” Whatever or whomever she had collided with had a lovely baritone voice. “I hope I haven’t injured you, miss.”

“Oh, no.” Sophie righted her bonnet, which was knocked askew by the force of their collision. She turned her head upward, her cheeks hot with embarrassment. “It’s my fault, really. I was hurrying along and paid no heed to where I was going.”

The brick wall straightened, tilting his umbrella back. His face—she knew that face—