Lily George - Captain of Her Heart

“Well dressing? Do you have a hot spring here at Brookes Park?”

“Yes and the servants have it properly kitted out in a mass of flowers. It’s impressive. When we finish here, I would be happy to take you to see it.”

She blinked and nodded, giving him a little half smile. He motioned her to a chair near the hearth. “I’ll ring for some tea.”

“I’m afraid I will take up too much of your time, Captain.”

“Not at all. Next week, when the celebrations are over, we will have more time to talk. Today, we will get started. Where do you want to begin?” He sat down across from her, stretching his good leg out toward the warming blaze.

Her brow furrowed. She reached a hand up, tentatively touching her right temple. “I don’t know.”

“Would it help if I asked Stoames to join us?”

“Yes!” Her quick acceptance caused Brookes to lift an eyebrow. Why would Stoames make that big of an improvement to her manuscript? She colored under his gaze.

Bunting bustled in, balancing a tray with a lavish tea set in one hand. “Bunting, will you find Stoames, and ask him to join us?”

“Of course, Captain.” Bunting placed the tea tray gently on an inlaid table near the fire.

“We’ll have a little refreshment and start the discussion in that manner. Perhaps we both will feel less awkward.” He motioned her toward the table.

She smiled at him, the pinkness in her cheeks ebbing, busying herself with the teapot. He regarded her squarely. “What interests you about the war?”

She poured the tea. If she was still nervous, her hands did not betray her. Not a single drop spilled outside of the fragile china cups. “I want to know the truth about war. Perhaps I feel it is time to write a realistic history, so that those of us who never go to war can know what it is like.”

That sounded a bit daunting, but he nodded anyway. Best not to show any reluctance. “Then where should we begin?”

“What made you decide to become a soldier?” She gingerly sipped at her steaming hot tea.

“Well, you know I was the second son. My elder brother, Henry, inherited the estate. I had to seek my fortune elsewhere.” He took a careful taste.

“Well, yes, I know,” Harriet replied, stirring her tea with a small silver spoon. “But why the army? Why not the navy? Why seek the service at all? You could have been a curate, or sought a career in the church.”

“Army life is most appealing, especially to a young lad full of romantic notions. I love to ride. Riding is my passion, since boyhood, and I wanted to make my living at it. I sought adventure, desired to fight grand battles. And I never had much faith in God, so following the church simply never occurred to me.” He attempted a laugh to soften his words, but it caught in his throat, making an odd, strangling sound.

Her mouth dropped open. “You don’t have faith?”

“I had very little when I embarked on my career. I’ve lost it completely since Waterloo.” Absentmindedly, he stroked his leg, where wood joined ravaged flesh.

“I am very sorry to hear that.” She met his steady gaze. He might well have bared his wooden calf, he was so exposed. No, it was worse even, he had bared his soul to her. And judging by the expression in her eyes, Harriet did not like what she saw. Was it possible that his lack of faith was more unattractive to her than his wooden leg?

He pretended not to understand her look, and set his teacup down with a defiant clink. They needed boundaries. He would talk to Harriet about the war, but never about faith. His mind flashed back to the fields of Waterloo, where men lay dying while their brothers in arms and enemies alike stripped them of their worldly possessions. Never once did they show mercy, not even to their fellow countrymen. His lack of religion was his own affair. In fact, he had earned it. “Where on earth is Stoames?” he barked in irritation.

“Here I am, Captain.” Stoames opened the library door with brusque swiftness. “My apologies for taking so long.”

“Not at all,” Harriet replied smoothly, and poured another cup of tea.

He accepted it with a hearty smile. “Now, what were you discussing?”

“The beginning of my hallowed career.”

Stoames raised his eyebrows at the captain’s biting tone. “Well, I started as the captain’s valet before the war, and then I joined up as his batman. We had some terrific sport in the fields of Belgium.”

“Tell me, Stoames, did you have any trepidation about joining the army?”

“No, no, can’t say I did. To young men, going off to war is a vastly exciting experience. Lots of pretty ladies kissing you goodbye, the pomp of military bands—it stirs your blood, you see. The captain and I were both young and a little wild, and the idea of seeking glory on a battlefield was like something in a story.”

“An epic poem,” Brookes said with a snap, and looked at Harriet from beneath his lowered brows. Did she recall her silly foolishness about Homer and the romance of war?

Harriet blushed anew, and the roses in her cheeks reminded him again of the roses in the courtyard. He remembered kneeling next to his mother in the dirt, handing her pieces of string so she could tie the roses down when the wind blew too hard. His mother had tended those blooms so carefully, nurturing them while they grew, sheltering them from storms. Like most young women, Harriet must have been raised like that, too. She couldn’t help her own naïveté. The anger melted away. He ran a weary hand over his face, scrubbing the last of his ill temper from his expression.

“Harriet, I must be off for a while.” The abruptness of his tone startled his companions, who both looked at him with questioning eyes. “I need to finish the preparations for the Blessing of the Wells.”

“Of course.” Harriet jumped up from her chair. “I’ve taken up too much of your time.” She scurried to the desk and began stuffing the paper back in a pile, spilling half of it in her haste. Brookes’s eyebrows drew together. Barking at an innocent young lady was certainly an unappealing trait in a man. His defensiveness about his lack of faith made him too snappish. A twinge of guilt assailed him.

“I can show you the well, if you like,” he replied with an elaborately casual air, remembering his earlier promise.

“I would love to see it, but I must return home. Sophie and I need to get ready for the Blessing service and the tea, and I must look in on Mama.”

Stoames helped her, neatly tying the sheets of foolscap with a piece of red twine. He then leaned over and whispered something in Harriet’s ear, which Brookes could not hear. Harriet looked up at Stoames, her features softening, and gave him a radiant smile. A terrible tenseness grabbed at Brookes, and he glowered at his batman. Stoames gazed back at him, an expression of innocence on his roughened face.

Unreasonable jealously tugged at his insides. Brookes’s jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed.

Stoames can’t be in love with her. I won’t allow it.

Chapter Six

“What was that all about?” Brookes spat out the words and turned to his batman. “What did you say to Miss Harriet?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Stoames gazed up at the ceiling, his features schooled to blankness.

“When you were helping Miss Harriet, you whispered something in her ear. Something that, judging by the beatific smile she gave you, made her excessively happy. I must know, what did you say to her?” He clenched his fists, flexing them, balling them up at his sides.

“Begging your pardon, Captain Sir, I don’t want to tell you. It’s a private matter and I don’t wish to provoke your anger.” Stoames clasped his hands behind his back but his shoulders hunched forward defensively.