Healing the Soldier's Heart. Lily George
Читать онлайн книгу.
immaculate condition, but the library—which was often a gentleman’s pride and joy—should go so heartily neglected by the household staff.
She dusted the volume with her handkerchief, tucked it under her arm and then quit the library for the comfort of her room. The girls were both busy with their dancing lessons and would be occupied for another half hour or so. Perhaps she could at least begin delving into the ensign’s problem before they returned.
Opening the door to her room, she was flooded anew with the peace and the beauty of it. Never before had she been given a room to call her own. The little low white bed in the corner, the settee by the fireplace and even a vanity table with a looking glass were all solely hers to enjoy. She paused for a moment, drinking it all in. How very different and how very wonderful her life was now that she was earning her own way. She must never forget or take for granted all that she was given in return for teaching Louisa and Amelia. For a penniless orphan, she’d done quite well for herself. Really, one could expect no more of life than this—a good position in a nice home. And some day, perhaps, she’d save enough to open her own little school. It wasn’t much of a dream, but it was all she could permit herself, given the circumstances of her childhood.
She wedged herself into the corner of the settee with her favorite pillow at the small of her back and tucked her feet beneath her. She was now comfortable and ready for a good read. But the book was a difficult slog. So many dreadful wounds could be sustained in battle. She’d really had no idea of what the soldiers had endured.
It was no small wonder, then, that the ensign was speechless since the war. Had he been witness to but a few of these injuries it would be enough to scar him for life. And he must have been so very young during the war. A boy, really, just judging by how youthful he still looked, despite his war service. She flipped through the pages, but the wounds the author discussed were all physical in nature. There was nothing about the distress that could take over one’s mind in the aftermath of a battle.
She closed the book and gently laid it to one side. She cupped her chin in her palms and concentrated on the ensign himself. After all, he could speak. It wasn’t as though he were completely bereft of speech. So there could be nothing wrong with him, physically speaking. He could communicate with other soldiers and had spoken to her. So what could be helpful to him? What could help him regain the faculties of speech completely?
Louisa and Amelia burst into her room, chattering at high volume. Snapped back from her reverie, Lucy rose, sending the volume under her settee with a swift kick. Explaining just why she had such a treatise in her room to two curious young ladies was a greater task than she was equal to at the moment. Better to hide it than to explain it.
“Oh, Lucy, such fun,” Amelia panted, fanning herself with her hand. “The dancing master said I am a natural, so graceful. I cannot wait for my first Assembly Rooms ball, when I shall dance until dawn.”
“Not if Papa says anything about it. He’s already said you must be home after the supper is served.” Louisa’s face clouded. “And besides, he liked my dancing, too,” she grumbled, flinging herself on the settee.
“That may well be, but you shall have to wait two more years before you can flaunt your skills,” Amelia retorted, spinning around on one foot. “I shall only wait a few short days.”
Lucy gave an inward sigh. Trouble was brewing yet again. Time to split the girls up for a while. Though Amelia’s upcoming debut was rather exciting, her manner of crowing about her good fortune to her younger sister was wearing to everyone’s nerves—particularly Lucy’s, as she often had to act as peacemaker between the pair. “Amelia, my dear, you should go to Sophie’s room at once and be fitted for some new dresses. Louisa, you may stay here with me. We shan’t go back to the schoolroom today. You two are far too overwrought to concentrate on any more lessons.”
Amelia giggled and executed an extraordinarily deep curtsy to Lucy and Louisa, then flounced out of the room. Louisa sat glumly, plucking at the needlepoint pillow she had drawn into her lap.
Lucy took her small hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. Louisa and she were very close—closer than her and Amelia though she strove to hide it. She loved them both—but felt more kinship with Louisa. She was smaller than her sister, more hesitant and quieter. She had little of Amelia’s verve but was sweet and dear to Lucy—as dear to her as family. “I know how difficult it must be for you now, Louisa. But you must know that your turn will soon come. And then you’ll be dancing in a ballroom, wearing a fine frock just as your sister shall in a few weeks’ time.”
Louisa sniffed, turning her face downward. “I know it seems silly of me. But I can’t help it. And when Amelia starts crowing about her new gowns and her parties, well, I just want to throw things against a nearby wall.”
Lucy could not suppress a smile. “Louisa, dear, you must have patience and faith.”
Louisa sighed and pulled her hands away from Lucy’s grasp. Her brow remained deeply furrowed.
Oh, bother. None of this was helping. Lucy searched Louisa’s anguished expression. Though it did seem silly, a pang tugged at her heart as she remembered just how quickly Louisa’s debut would come. Though the time would feel like an eternity to the young lady, they must cherish the few years they had left together. She must find a way to distract her charge, to entertain her, as Amelia enjoyed her first glittering season in Bath.
“Well, then. Why don’t we suspend our regular schoolroom lessons?” Lucy asked, eyeing Louisa carefully. “It will be difficult to move forward anyway, with Amelia going for fittings and the like. Perhaps you and I could have more outings together. Bath is alive with history. We should enjoy it.”
Louisa glanced up, hope dawning on her woebegone face. “Could we, Lucy?”
Lucy shrugged. “I don’t see why not, as long as your father approves.”
“Oh, Lucy!” Louisa wrapped her arms around Lucy’s neck, giving her a fierce hug. “You are so kind. And what fun that will be—just we two. Can I ask Papa today when he returns from his club?”
“I think it would be better if I asked his lordship. But it wouldn’t hurt if you showed him you approve of the plan.” Lucy grinned. Good. Things were turning out better than she had hoped. She hated to see Louisa sulking. “Would you like to take tea in your room?”
“No,” Louisa replied with a definite shake of her head. “I like your room better.”
“Silly gel.” Lucy ruffled Louisa’s curls with an affectionate gesture. “I’ll go downstairs and make some tea and bring it up. The others are busy with Amelia’s party. You don’t mind, do you? Do you want to help me?”
“I’d rather stay here.” Louisa stretched out. “My head is beginning to ache.”
“Ah, then you need food and drink,” Lucy admonished. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She returned to her room just quarter of an hour later, bearing a tray with steaming hot tea and chocolate biscuits. Louisa was still sprawled across the settee, but she was reading that certain familiar green volume her governess had tried so desperately to conceal.
Lucy set the tea tray down carefully, busying herself with the cups and saucers. The questions were going to start soon; why, she could feel them bubbling to Louisa’s surface. She must compose herself and think of a way to explain the book without inciting further curiosity. She poured a cup of tea for her charge, adding two spoonfuls of sugar as Louisa loved.
Louisa sat up, casting the book aside, and accepted the teacup. “Lucy, why did you borrow this book from Papa’s library?”
Ah, there you go. The questions had begun. “I was using that book for some research, Louisa. That is all.”
Louisa took a careful sip of scalding tea. “But you are no nurse, Lucy. What do you need to research war wounds for?”
There was no way to hide the whole truth. “I am helping a veteran of Waterloo. There is a group of veterans who meet at Saint Swithin’s,