bowing her head in prayer.
Dear Father, please show me the way. I don’t know what to do. Help me find the answers.
As a woman, her options were limited, but still, there had to be a way she could prevail. At one time, she thought she would become an authoress, but that idea died along with her father. He encouraged her writing, but Mama called it a dreadful waste of time. Could some sort of position be the answer to her prayers?
The bright jingle of a bridle pierced her reverie as a horse and rider approached. Harriet glanced over at the pair, as they crossed the field by the millpond, the black horse stamping easily through the tall grass. She frowned, her mind fixated upon her troubles. She was in no mood for politesse.
But wait—that man was familiar. He wore an army uniform with the same careless assurance that a dandy might wear an outrageous cravat. Her pulse skittered. Something was not right about his leg, though. His muscles didn’t flex with the movements of his mount, yet his hands grasped the reins easily, as though he were born to the saddle.
She smoothed her hands over her wrinkled attire. Why hadn’t she put on something more attractive than her lavender gown? Too many washdays had left the once-pretty dress worn and limp with age. She was perfectly attired for housekeeping, not for social graces.
The soldier reined in the horse and gazed down at her, a brief smile touching his lips. A faint scar zigzagged across his chin. She was gawping at his handsome yet rugged visage. Where were her manners? She shut her mouth with a snap.
Dismounting with care, he limped toward her, extending one gloved hand. “Miss Handley?”
“Sir?” Harriet bobbed a quick curtsy as she clasped his hand. Who was he?
“Don’t you remember me? I am Captain Brookes.”
“Oh!” Harriet gasped. Where was the dashing young lad who swept Sophie off her feet? Standing before her was a square-jawed man with a somber expression in his gray-green eyes. He had little in common with the wild youth she remembered. She picked up the pieces of her shattered composure. “I am so happy to see you home safe, Captain. My family will want to see you again. Have you been home long?”
“I settled in Tansley yesterday. I am home to set up house in Brookes Park and to clear up my brother’s business affairs, but I haven’t yet had time to make social calls.”
“We were very sorry to hear of his passing, Captain.” She dropped her gaze, staring in fascination at the burrs clinging to her skirt.
“Thank you.” He offered his arm, and she allowed him to guide her back down the hill toward the cottage. He tucked the reins into his other hand, leading his black mount along beside them. Harriet slowed her steps to match his pace. Was he always this tall? Her head didn’t even reach his shoulder. And his shoulders—were they always so broad? Being in the army made a boy into a man.
His touch burned through her sleeve. She needed a distraction, anything to curb her reactions to his presence and his touch. She cleared her throat. “I’m sure you saw a lot of Belgium, sir, what did you think of the country?”
“Not too much, I confess. Most of it was spent on horseback or slogging through the rain and mud. I spent some time at a home in Brussels.”
“Brussels? The dispatches never mentioned that. I thought you remained at Waterloo.”
“No, the surrounding villages were too crowded to contain all of the wounded, you know. The townspeople collected many of us who were injured.” His eyes darkened to gray, and his lips stretched into a taut line.
“So, you didn’t stay in a hospital?” The Handley girls were never privy to what happened after he was nearly killed at Waterloo.
“No, the hospital was full. I spent much of my time recuperating in the home of a Belgian merchant. I…I did not see much of the city, though…” His jaw tightened and he fell silent.
His brief tale had carried her away. Her fingers itched to write it all down. What a fascinating book it might make. Did his injuries cause the changes she observed in him, or his entire experience in the war? But asking such a question would be beyond rude. She had to find a more well-mannered response.
“How good of them to save you and your men.” A feeble response, but a polite one. She stumbled on a rock in the path, and he gripped her, steadying her until she found her footing. A tingle zipped up her arm at the pressure of his gloved hand.
“Yes.” The curtness of his reply signaled the end of the interview.
They meandered on in silence, over the rolling hills leading to the village. Birds twittered and flitted through the scrubby trees, and a cool breeze ruffled the moor grass. Brookes paused, gazing out over the vista. “I’ve missed this.”
He had a wonderful voice with a dark and husky tone. But his responses were altogether too brief. Could she draw him out more? She smiled. “Beautiful, isn’t it? There’s nothing so pretty as a Derbyshire view. I come out here often. I feel closer to God out here.”
“Closer to God?” He looked down at her, a harsh light kindled in his eyes.
“Yes. On the hilltop, it’s easier to feel closer to Him, as though I can touch the sky.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t know a view could inspire such reveries.”
Was he mocking her? She must have sounded lonely, like an old maid with no one but seven cats to talk to. After all, Brookes certainly wasn’t her confidant. Harriet gave herself a brisk mental shake.
They continued slowly down the hill. Harriet halted, regaining her sense of decorum as they neared the cottage door. “My sister is away from home this afternoon, Captain. She is visiting a friend in Riber. But if you would care to call tomorrow, she will be home.”
“I shall be delighted to see all of your family. Until then?” He released her arm and touched his fingers to his brow in a brief salute.
“Until then, Captain.” She bobbed a curtsy.
He led his horse to the mounting block in front of the cottage, levering himself into the saddle with ease. But then, she reminded herself, he had made a career in the saddle and would always ride well, wooden leg or no. He clicked his tongue and the horse sauntered off, switching its tail. Harriet gazed after him, aware that a brief niggle of jealousy was working its way down her spine. Sophie possessed beauty that caused strangers to turn and stare, and a graceful manner that inspired poets. Harriet never resented her little sister. On the contrary, Sophie’s loveliness inspired pride. But now she held the heart of a man like Captain Brookes. Why, Sophie had everything—and she had nothing.
Chapter Two
Brookes shifted in the saddle, breathing deeply of the damp grass as he headed home. The first hurdle lay behind him. The visit went much better than expected. Nervousness flowed away from him. No, indeed. In point of fact, he had enjoyed his conversation with Miss Harriet more than he’d first imagined.
Had she changed so much in the space of just a few years? Brookes remembered her as a spinster, a bluestocking, forever locked in her father’s library. Sophie had captured his interest and later his heart with her bright beauty. Long golden ringlets, large blue eyes that twinkled with merriment, full rosy lips kissed with a dimple on each cheek—Sophie was the acknowledged beauty not only of the Handley family, but of Matlock Bath.
And yet…
An image of Harriet’s dark blue eyes, fringed with sooty lashes, flashed across his mind. He could still smell her scent—violets, was it? And something else, purely feminine—mingled with the late summer breeze. Some women grew harder as the years passed, especially women who were forced to live in poverty. But Harriet had blossomed. Now, she was a truly lovely woman.
And she spoke intelligently, too. Hers was not the silly prattle that other young ladies might attempt, frivolous girls like—well, like