Free Lily George by Healing the Soldier's Heart

them any good if he began throwing tools against the wall in a fit of rage.
    “D-don’t ever speak of my condition with anyone else again.” Rowland released his grip on the table and regarded her as evenly as he could. “T-tis my affair and no one else’s.”
    “I see.” Lucy drew herself up to her full height, but even with perfect posture, she still was so small. His heart lurched. He’d been a bully and a buffoon, and here she was—the only person who cared enough about him to seek to ease his affliction. When would his temper cease to get the better of him?
    “I apologize, Ensign Rowland. I knew, in some ways, that speaking to Dr. Phillips was an invasion of your privacy. I hesitated to do so but thought perhaps he could really be of assistance. Please understand it was done in an attempt to help you rather than as a way to hurt you.” She turned to go and then whirled around, her skirts flaring about her slippers. “And I understand from Lieutenant Cantrill that you will be far too busy in your work here to attend any more meetings. Shall I consider our reading sessions finished for the time being?”
    He nodded. His heart was lodged in his throat, making speech impossible once more.
    “Very well.” Were those tears in her eyes? Surely not. He must be imagining things—putting thoughts and emotions on Lucy that weren’t really there. “I wish you the best of luck, Ensign. I hope your new position gives you a great deal of happiness.”
    He nodded once more. She patted the table with one graceful, gloved hand and gave him a long, searching glance. “Did you know that you regain your speech almost entirely when you are angry, Ensign? I just thought you should know.” Then she left, taking with her the last bit of beauty, of life, of hope in that small, dusty workroom.
    Rowland sank onto his step stool, the weight of her departure sinking like lead into his very being. He had been so close to having her friendship, and then he threw it away.
    When would he stop being a coward?

Chapter Seven
    L ucy was still shaking when she let herself into the back door of Lord Bradbury’s townhome. Whether she was shaking with fury or fear mattered not a whit. In fact, she refused to examine her emotions too closely. She needed the privacy of her room. No, she needed first a bracingly hot cup of tea. Which she would then carry to the comfort and solitude of her bedroom. She would relax then for never had she been so rattled in her life.
    Lucy retrieved the kettle from the cabinet and began boiling water for her tea. Thank goodness the kitchen was blessedly empty. She didn’t want to make small talk with any of the other servants at the moment. She smoothed her still-trembling hands on her apron. She needed to gain some measure of calm before speaking to anyone else.
    She’d never really argued with anyone before— certainly not with a young man. She’d spent her life trying to get along with others, playing the part of helper in the background of other, more important people’s lives. She never had mattered enough to anyone to even get into a disagreement. Much less a fight.
    She retrieved the canister of tea leaves and placed them into the strainer, breathing deeply. The smell of tea leaves was so pleasant, so soothing. She closed her eyes and breathed once more, just as the whistle of the kettle rent the air. She splashed the hot water into the cup and carried it upstairs, not bothering with a tray and all the accoutrements of a proper tea break. She just needed to be alone, and the quicker the better.
    She settled into her window seat, pressing her hot cheek to the cool glass. But her solitude was short-lived. As soon as Lucy settled behind the curtain with her cup of tea, a knock sounded on the door.
    “Enter?” Perhaps it was the girls, returned from their day out with their papa. But no, Sophie poked her head in the doorway. Lucy sighed with relief. Perhaps she could confide in Sophie.
    “Oh, good. I was