Lily George by Healing the Soldier's Heart Page A

chances at Eton. But he liked the village and liked learning and had no desire to run off to boarding school with a lot of tony chaps who’d look at him as a charity case. And then he’d lied about his age and gone to war. He had very little to show for his life. But still, one had to say something.
    “I—I—I don’t know, really,” he finally responded, his voice sounding sheepish even to his own ears. “S-something that doesn’t require s-speech, I imagine.”
    Cantrill gave a rueful chuckle. “I should think some occupation with your hands would work well. Would you have any objection to working with a carpenter? There’s a fine one here in Bath, Henry Felton, who does quite a bit of cabinetry and the like. He was apprenticed during John Wood the Younger’s days and knows more about woodworking than anyone in the country, I wager.”
    Working with his hands? Mother would perish at the thought, but the idea was strangely appealing. He’d only ever whittled a few things as a hobby, but the idea of building fine, strong furniture and cabinets—well, that gave a fellow something to do. And it would never matter whether he could utter a single syllable.
    “I-I-Is F-Felton hiring?” A glimmer of hope welled in his chest.
    “Yes. As a matter of fact, he came by the veterans’ group meeting about a fortnight ago, seeking to apprentice someone in his new shop. Felton had an assistant, but the fellow married and moved to Brighton. So he’s in need of someone to help—and quickly, too.” Cantrill glanced at the little mantel clock. “I’d step ’round there today, if I were you. Tell him you are one of the veterans. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to have you.”
    “I—I—I’ll go n-now.” James rose, knocking his chair backward a few feet in his haste. “Apologies, L-L-Lieutenant.”
    “Not at all. It matches the higgledy-piggledy nature of my entire flat.” Cantrill held out his hand with a grin. “Felton’s shop is located on Bennett, near the Assembly Rooms. Best of luck to you, Rowland. Though I am sure you won’t need it.”
    James thanked the lieutenant and saw himself out of the flat. ’Twas midmorning, and the weather was fine enough for a walk. In a mere quarter of an hour, he would change his life.
    As he strolled up Broad Street, his nervousness grew. Perhaps he wouldn’t be able to speak at all once he arrived. What then? Would he just stammer like an idiot?
    He could turn back now. Head back to his comfortable life in the humble flat on Beau Street. He’d been such a failure that no one expected anything of him, besides Mother—and even her hopes were vague and rapidly dying. Cantrill had all but turned him away from seeking employment at first. That’s how very little everyone thought of him.
    He paused, grasping the cool iron of a nearby fence rail until his knuckles whitened. He’d been a coward before. He’d never be one again. Even if he couldn’t utter a word to Felton, he’d find some way to communicate. Hand gestures. Writing on foolscap. Scratching words in the dirt. Anything to finally overcome this impediment and get on with his life.
    He released the fence post, his palm smarting from the pressure. Good. Pain, strangely, kept him calm. It gave him something to focus upon. As he drew closer to George Street, the sight of the walled-off garden on one side street brought Miss Williams sharply back to mind. It was here that she had asked him if he wanted to be well. It was here that she had offered to help him.
    What would Miss Williams think of this plan? Would she approve? She, who earned her bread through her own work, surely would. He wanted her approval. Why? ’Twas hard to say. She was just, well, the kind of girl who any man would want to be friends with. She seemed to have such a tremendous sense of spirit. If he got the position, then he’d have good news for her the next time they met—news that would bring a light to those lovely, velvety brown eyes