Lily George - Captain of Her Heart

“Mr. Stoames, it’s been so long I hardly remember the occasion. How do you do?” Harriet bobbed a little curtsy.

“Very well, Miss. Though you may call me Stoames. Everyone else does. Don’t know what I would do if someone kept calling me Mister.” He swept a courtly bow in her direction.

“Miss Handley is writing a book about the war and requires our assistance. I told her that you were the best military authority she could hope for.” Brookes leaned against his desk, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I’ll be happy to help the young lady whenever she wishes.” Stoames nodded at Harriet.

Harriet flashed a grateful smile in return. “I really must be going, but I would like to start work this week. Is that all right?” The sooner the better. After all, if she finished quickly, she might provide Mama with a comfortable living in the space of a year or so.

“Yes, but if we work on Friday, we’ll have to finish quickly. The village is having the Blessing of the Wells.”

Harriet had completely forgotten the village fete. “Will we have time to work, then?”

“Of course. Come over later in the morning, and we will be done in time for the well blessing and afternoon tea.” Brookes cast a glance over his shoulder at the window. “The clouds are gathering again. I am sure it will rain soon. Let me call my carriage for you.”

Another kindness she might never repay. “No, I am happy to walk. The cottage is only a quarter of an hour from here, and I love the exercise. Until Friday, then, gentlemen.” Her voice squeaked a little, betraying her nerves. She quit the library with a speed usually reserved for one being chased by yapping hounds.

She didn’t cease her sprint until she reached the crest of the hill that looked over home.

I did it. It’s over. He said yes!

Chapter Five

Harriet handed her precious few coins to the shopkeeper.

“Thank you, Miss. Can I get anything else for you?”

“Oh, no. This is all I need.” Harriet tucked the parcel under her arm.

“Very good. Don’t forget now, we’re having the Blessing of the Wells later on this morning, to be followed by a cream tea at the village hall. Please come, and bring a friend.”

Harriet smiled warmly in reply. “This will be my first time to attend the event. My family came here shortly after the ceremony last year. I must confess I am intrigued. Such a funny custom, don’t you think?”

“Oh, it’s a tradition in Tansley. We do it to give thanks to God for the many hot springs that run through our village. They bring us our good health.”

Harriet glowed in the warmth of human interaction. The buzz of activity in the little country store mounted as villagers dropped by to do their weekly marketing. She thoroughly enjoyed the chance to talk to someone outside of her tight-knit family circle, but the shopkeeper was busy and had other customers to attend to. “I shall be there. I cannot wait.” She turned to leave, halting when she spied a line of soldiers on horseback creating a commotion in the middle of the street.

“What on earth?” Harriet turned back to the friendly shopkeeper. “Who are those soldiers?”

“A regiment of cavalry officers. From what I hear, they will be summering near Tansley.”

“I see.” Harriet reached for the doorknob. “Good day.”

“Good day, Miss.”

Harriet left the store, inhaling the aroma of fresh paper and ink that wafted up from her paper packet. The paper smelled fresh and crisp, like newly felled trees. The ink had a sour, tangy scent. The two odors excited Harriet, reminding her of late-night sessions spent writing by candlelight, trying to get to the heart and the soul of the stories that ran constantly through her mind. Her fingers practically itched to take up the pen right then and there. Hugging the parcel a little closer to her chest, she quickened her pace. Harriet crossed past Tansley Cottage, trudging up the hill toward Brookes Park. She hastened her steps, afraid she lingered too long and ran late for her appointment with the captain.

The imposing gates of Brookes Hall loomed up ahead. Those gates enforced dignity and majesty onto the scrubby hill. Harriet swallowed her nerves as she hurried past. The meticulous and handsome nature of Brookes Hall struck her nerves, setting them on edge. The house, made of gray stone, grew darker with every passing year, lending the estate an air of weathered distinction. The counterpanes faced the courtyard squarely, needing no shutters, framed with no curtains. This house had nothing to conceal.

The pale sun rose higher in the sky. Harriet was late. Even so, she paused briefly in the courtyard, resting her package on a nearby planter. She clasped her hands together, willing composure and calm into her inner being. Unbidden, her favorite Bible verse flashed across her mind. I can do everything through Him that gives me strength.

Spirits lifted, hopes buoyed, Harriet stiffened her spine and crossed the courtyard to the front door.

Bunting showed Harriet into the library. A fire glowed in the fireplace, warding off the morning chill. “I’ll let the captain know you are here, Miss Handley. Do you require anything to get started?”

“Is it all right if I sit at the desk? I need to spread my paper out so that I can begin writing notes.” Harriet wiped her clammy hands on her skirts.

“That will be fine, Miss. Though I can bring you a table of your own if you wish to sit closer to the fire.”

“Not at all, Bunting. If you don’t think the captain will mind, then this will do nicely.” Harriet began unpacking her parcel onto the blotter of a massive mahogany desk.

“Very good.” Bunting bowed and closed the door behind him so that it almost made no sound at all.

Harriet smoothed the sheets of foolscap with shaking fingers. She breathed deeply, inhaling the masculine scents of leather-bound books and polished wood. The familiarity of the room struck her anew, causing her eyes to mist over. She brushed the back of her hand across her eyes to dry the unwanted tears. Gazing up, she spied a portrait occupying the place of honor over the mantel. The painting showed a pretty young woman with deep gray eyes who held a baby in her arms. A toddler stood proudly beside them, resting his chubby hands on his mother’s arm. Harriet crossed over to the mantel and peered at the picture closely. That sweet tableau must be Brookes’s mother, his older brother, Henry, and the captain as an infant. The cozy domesticity of the painting aroused feelings of panic in Harriet. She bit her lip and looked away.

A clock ticked in the corner. Each swing of its pendulum struck Harriet’s nerves, like an omen or a warning. She had made a mistake in coming back, in proposing the whole ridiculous idea to begin with. Closing her eyes, she pictured her papa. He seemed so close to her in this familiar room. Papa had secrets. Her family had secrets. She did not need to go delving in Captain Brookes’s personal life for the very selfish reason of writing a book. Why invade a good man’s privacy to suit her ambitions? Harriet’s cheeks burned with shame.

She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. It was time, long past time, for her to leave.

The door creaked open, announcing Brookes’s arrival. “Good morning, Harriet.” His rich, warm baritone filled the room, startling Harriet. “I apologize for taking so long to meet you.”

She spun around, her pulse pounding.

Harriet looked up at him, her eyes so blue they were almost black. He had seen this expression in her eyes once before, the first day they had met on the hill. At that time, she had been speaking of her faith, but now her eyes were so dark, they reflected something else. Fear, perhaps? He surveyed Harriet as he would a battlefield, raking his gaze over her, trying to gauge strategic points and weaknesses. Her lips trembled nervously, and she bit them in an effort to hold still. This observation gentled him, and his mouth curved into an encouraging smile. “I had to approve our well dressing. The servants finished the decorations this morning.”