by Sara Bennett
“He promised,” Sophy tried not to let her voice tremble. “All our lives he has promised.” She would not allow herself to doubt Harry.
“Hmm. Well, promises can be stretched and reshaped, if necessary. The fact I have seen no mention of an engagement in the newspapers is a good sign. So far your Harry seems to be holding firm.”
“An engagement? To another woman?” Sophy blustered.
Her grandmother’s voice took on a brisk note. “And even if marriage between the two of you comes to nothing, you are a very pretty girl, Sophy. Pretty enough to turn heads. We shall see,” she added, and her eyes lost focus as if she was deep in her own thoughts.
Sophy said nothing. Whatever her grandmother’s plans were, if they did not include she and Harry together at Pendleton Manor, then she wanted no part of them. Despite what Grandma Susan might believe, Sophy was determined to retain her complete and total faith in Harry, at least outwardly.
And yet the sad fact was that she had stopped waiting for him to knock on her door. And as yet more time slipped by she began to wonder if there was some other reason he had not come. Some obstacle she knew nothing of, but that Harry was working hard to surmount so that they could be together. She refused to contemplate any of Grandma’s alternate plans, most of which included seeing Sophy wed to one of a number of other men. She was happy with her teaching work, and there seemed no reason to begin looking for a position as a governess or a companion, the two most likely prospects for a woman like her, with some education and yet sadly lacking in family connections or material wealth.
Despite the downturn her life had taken, she was surprisingly content, and if she missed Harry, then the sad truth was she would continue to miss him until her dying day. Sometimes a tremor of panic took hold of her, and with it the fear that Grandma and Sir Geoffrey were right and Harry had forgotten her. She did her best to lock such traitorous thoughts away. She told herself she must be staunch and true.
Being staunch and true was all very well when one could see a happy ending in sight. Sophy was beginning to wonder if her grand love affair was now behind her.
Chapter 11
SOPHY
1812, Hyde Park, London
It was Adam!
She recognised him in an instant, despite the fact he had grown taller and his shoulders were now much broader. His dark hair was longer, so that he kept pushing it back out of his hazel eyes and he wore a lush moustache. Three years had turned the good-looking boy she remembered into a handsome man.
Adam was in regimental uniform, loitering in Hyde Park, looking so devastating that all the women turned to stare at him. Of course they did, Sophy told herself, heart thumping as she drew near, excited laughter bubbling inside her. Adam had been receiving such attention all his life.
Grandma’s maid hurried along behind her as Sophy made her way across the grass to the group of soldiers. By the time she reached Adam she was smiling so broadly she could feel her cheeks stretching.
He turned to her with a puzzled look. Then she saw recognition flare in his eyes, and his initial surprise turned into something far more welcoming.
“Sophy?” he said, bowing enthusiastically over her outstretched hand. “Sophy Harcourt? What on earth are you doing here?”
Relief filled her. She realised she had been holding her breath in case he turned his back on her. Instead he seemed very pleased to see her, and if Adam was willing to acknowledge her, then surely so was Harry.
As if he’d just remembered what had happened three years ago, Adam leaned in closer, his voice sympathetic. “How is your father?”
Moisture welled in her eyes but she held back her tears. “He died in prison. Now I live with my grandmother in Lambeth.”
“Lambeth?” he echoed. She could see him swallowing his shock, staring at her as if he was having trouble taking in her words.
“Yes. My grandmother sent me on an errand to a little shop near here that sells buttons. They were closed so I thought I would walk through the park. And then I saw you.”
“How very fortuitous,” he said, but Sophy could see that her previous words were still resonating with him. “I don’t know what to say,” he admitted at last, shaking his head. “I didn’t know about Mr Harcourt dying in prison. Father refused to discuss the matter with us. Harry asked repeatedly but it was no use, and after a while … I don’t know what happened, to be honest, but he just stopped asking. He tried to find you though, Sophy. You have to believe that.”
He didn’t try hard enough.
But there was something in his face that was begging her to understand, and despite the maelstrom inside her, and the rising doubts, she forced her mouth into the semblance of a smile. This was Adam, her childhood friend, and it was good to see him.
“Is your brother at home in Oxfordshire?” she asked shyly, noticing the other soldiers were now very interested in their conversation. To Sophy, Pendleton Manor was still and always would be ‘home’.
“Yes, but Harry will be in London next week,” Adam said and then looked away. His expression was wary now, as if he regretted the confidence he had just shared. “He’s, eh, well, he’s going to be here for the ball.”
“The ball?”
“Yes, at Albury House. It promises to be one of the most attended events of the Season. Do you know …?” but he bit his lip. “No, of course you don’t.” He paused and then went on, although not as naturally as before. “Why did you leave without telling us, Sophy?”
Now it was her turn to be shocked. She shook her head, some of her hair coming loose from the pins and curling about her face. “I had to leave before your father set the bailiffs on me, Adam. Didn’t he tell you?”
“No.” He watched her warily.
“You think you know so much about me and yet I have heard nothing from Harry,” she said, letting him see her anger. “Although I have written to him more times than I can remember.”
“You’ve written to him?” Adam sounded astonished.
It only made her angrier. “I expect my letters were burnt unopened.”
“Sophy, you know I would never have done such a thing.”
He was right. She tried to calm herself. Adam had always been her friend.
Adam was staring at her thoughtfully, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword. “I can ask him to write to you, if you like?”
She didn’t have to ask who ‘he’ was, but Adam sounded as if he wasn’t sure that suggestion would be welcome to Harry. And when he added, “He’s very busy these days,” it sounded like he was already making excuses for the reply that would never come.
“Is Sir Arbuthnot …?”
“Father had a turn. Collapsed over an argument about a horse. He is confined to his bed most of the time. Not that it stops him from roaring orders to Harry, who is running the estate now. We never did find another manager after your father …Well, Harry does it all, and Father likes to have him at his beck and call.”
“My father didn’t do anything wrong,” she ventured, watching his face. “None of what was claimed was true.”
This time he gave nothing away, but the very vacuity of his expression told her that he did not fully believe her.
“Is Harry married?” she asked, her voice a little high.
A frown creased the skin between his brows. “No,” he said.
She tried not to show her relief but he probably saw it anyway. Unlike Adam, Sophy had never been very good at hiding her feelings.
“I heard that you were married.”
She caught her breath. “Married?” she said.
Who had made up such a story? But deep down she knew. It was another way for Sir Arbuthnot Baillieu to distance his eldest son from a girl he didn’t think good enough.
“Yes, you married your cousin,” Adam went on.
“And you believed that?”
“Adam?” One of the other soldiers was calling to him, and Sophy saw that a group of young women had come up to speak to the men, and a da
rk haired girl was flicking coy glances at Adam. She was reminded again how he had always been one for the ladies.
Sophy quickly forced another smile and said goodbye. Adam bowed over her hand and for a moment it seemed as if he wanted to say something more, but when he didn’t, Sophy walked away.
“What a handsome young man,” her grandmother’s maid said. “He seemed very pleased to see you, miss.”
Sophy smiled, but did not satisfy her curiosity.
When she reached the gates, Sophy turned, and found Adam standing, still watching her. The dark haired girl was clinging to his arm now but he ignored her. He was too far away for Sophy to see the expression on his face, but something about the set of his shoulders made her think that far from being pleased to see her, he had been perturbed by their meeting.
All the way home to Grandma’s, Sophy mulled over their conversation, picking at it like a square of knitting, searching for the dropped stitches. Harry had taken over the estate because his father was unwell, Harry had asked about her and then stopped, Harry had tried to find her and stopped. Adam believed Sophy was married to her cousin. Was that why Harry had stopped looking? Why would he believe such a thing without speaking to her first, face to face?
She shivered, suddenly cold despite the warm day. What if she were to board a coach to Oxfordshire, walk up to Pendleton Manor and knock on the door, demanding entry? It seemed like a good idea, but not if Sir Arbuthnot was still there, and although Adam said he was bedridden, he was still capable of throwing her into prison just as he had her father. She had seen his fury first hand and she was frightened of him.
But she didn’t have to risk travelling to Oxfordshire. Harry would be at a ball at Albury House next week and she could meet him there. Face to face. If she could just see him again, meet his eyes, remind him of the promises he had made and the future they had planned …
Harry was old enough now to make up his own mind, but perhaps he had forgotten what they meant to each other. Perhaps, like Sophy, he had had other troubles to deal with. She wanted to believe that, believe that Harry still meant to stand by his promises to her, but that life had thrown obstacles at him.
Sir Geoffrey had said that Harry had forgotten her because she was no longer in his sphere. Although she didn’t believe it was as simple as that, she now had a chance to enter his sphere. Show him she was still the girl he had loved. Show him that there was still a chance for them.
The closer she got to Lambeth the more the idea of attending the ball seemed like the perfect ending to their love story.
“I have to go to a ball, Grandma!”
She burst out with the words as soon as she walked in the door of her grandmother’s house.
Grandma Susan, who had been dozing in her favourite chair, woke with a start. “A ball?” she said, struggling to sit up. “What on earth are you talking about, Sophy?”
“It’s next week, Grandma. At Albury House. I have to go. Harry will be there and I must see him. I think … I know if he sees me he will remember how we were and then everything will be all right.”
Slowly the truth was untangled, and her grandmother’s expression grew thoughtful.
“So Harry has been running Pendleton while his father harasses him from his sick bed? I suppose that would cause anyone to set aside their own happiness for a time. But would it be enough to stop him seeking you out, Sophy?”
“Sir Arbuthnot has been lying, at least I think he has. Adam said he and Harry thought I was married. That would be Sir Arbuthnot’s doing, but I need to ask Harry. We can sort it out, I know we can, if only I can see him face to face. This is my chance, Grandma. I can’t not take it.”
Her grandmother nodded, her eyes bright with excitement. “Let me send a note to Sir Geoffrey, and then I will take you upstairs and show you some of my treasures. Ever since you arrived on my doorstep, I have been preparing for a day such as this. I just thought it would be under different circumstances.” There was a twinkle in her faded blue eyes. “A society ball,” she sighed. “Imagine!”
Sophy asked her what she meant by treasures, but her grandmother refused to answer, shaking her head and demanding a pen and paper. After a note to Sir Geoffrey was written and sent off, she led the way upstairs to the cluttered box room under the eaves. A trunk sat in a corner, its domed lid covered in a thick layer of dust.
When Grandma had regained her breath, she unfastened the catch and flung the top back. The dust flew up into the air and they waved their hands, coughing. It was a good few moments before Sophy could look inside.
Gowns, all carefully wrapped, the folds protected from moths with bags of lavender. Sophy gasped, the sight was so unexpected. Grandma reached in, lifting out a garment, removing the covering, and shaking it so that it was properly displayed. Sophy reached out a tentative finger, eyes wide.
“It’s so beautiful,” she breathed. Then her grandmother took out another, and another. Although the styles were old-fashioned, the colours and fabrics were as fresh as they must have been when they were packed away.
“But whose are they?” Sophy asked, running a careful finger along some velvet edging.
Susan chuckled. “Why, they’re mine, child! Whose did you think they were? I was quite a belle in my day. Sir Geoffrey liked me to look my best whenever I was on his arm.”
Sophy tried to pick a question from the dozens whirling around her head, but she was speechless.
“I saved them,” her grandmother continued. “I could have sold them, I suppose, or given them away. Your mother wondered why I didn’t. She said keeping them was a reminder of our shame and disgrace.” She snorted. “Well, I felt no shame. And I’m very glad now I kept them, because you see before you the makings of your own triumphant arrival at Albury House.”
“Oh,” Sophy whispered, finally understanding. And then her smile fell, “But I will need an invitation.”
“Never you mind that,” her grandmother said. “What do you think the note I sent off was about? Sir Geoffrey will deal with the invitation. Let us decide on the colour and the style that flatters you best, my love. We don’t have much time to work, but I feel sure we can manage something passable.”
It was more than passable.
A white silk skirt over a muslin petticoat, with a bodice of deep blue velvet with a matching ribbon tied beneath her bosom. The dress was simple enough and yet elegant too, and Sophy knew it set off her figure to its best advantage. She had always been slim, but her curves were a tad more voluptuous now than when Harry last saw her, and her face had lost its girlishness and matured into what Grandma said was womanly beauty.
With Sophy’s fair colouring and blue eyes, Sir Geoffrey said she looked like an angel. Sophy retorted that she felt more like a marble statue, stiff and frozen with nerves.
She was going to come face to face with Harry again, and although she had longed for this moment with all her being, and still did, it was also terrifying.
What if he didn’t want her anymore?
No. She couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t believe it. And yet Adam had said Harry had stopped looking for her. There were questions she needed the answers to, and it was time he explained himself.
She remembered that night he had made her his. His passion and tenderness, the way he had held her in his arms and told her he loved her. He loved her and she loved him. As soon as he saw her again he would remember it all and put aside whatever events had set them apart. They would be together from that moment on. She was buoyed up on a cloud of hope and certainty, and she dared not think otherwise.
“She looks rather like you did when you were a girl.” Sir Geoffrey shared a look with her grandmother. They shared rather a lot of looks.
“I have some slippers. They are a little worn, but I think they will do. We are the same size, fortunately,” Grandma smiled.
Sophy looked down at the satin slippers and wondered if they could get new ones, and then felt a stab of guilt. Her grandmother had done so much for her
already, she could not expect more, nor would she.
“They will be perfect. Thank you so much for all of this. I will repay you, I promise. I will—”
Her grandmother gave a gust of fond laughter. “I don’t expect to be repaid, my love. I want you to have your Harry back and I am hoping he is as perfect a man as you seem to think him. That he will take one look at my beautiful granddaughter and fall in love with her all over again.”
Sophy fought back her tears, while Sir Geoffrey gave a grunt and reached to squeeze her grandmother’s hand. “You are a romantic, Susan.”
Sir Geoffrey had given her a pair of white kid gloves to wear for the evening. Now he reached into his pocket and took out a folded piece of paper, the sort of thick, creamy paper that only the wealthy could afford. “I have the invitation here,” he said. “My sister has agreed to take you. You will blend in with my nieces, although you’re much prettier than them, my dear.”
Sophy felt her cheeks warm. They were both looking at her with identical expressions, as if she was their pride and joy. “Thank you.” She spoke the words with all her heart, her voice ragged. “I am most grateful, Sir Geoffrey. And Grandma, I do not know what to say. You have been so kind, so generous, I—”
Her grandmother gave her a hug. “It has been my pleasure. You make me feel quite young again, Sophy, and there is no need to thank me for that.”
“Now, now, ladies, please dry your eyes,” Sir Geoffrey interrupted. “You cannot go to the ball looking as if you’ve been blubbering. Oh, and before I forget, I brought this along. A bauble to give you luck.”
He fastened the gold chain about her neck, ignoring her protests.
“You’re a chancer after my own heart, Sophy. Throwing everything on the turn of your dice. I admire your courage, my dear.”
Sophy smiled, but it worried her to think that was what she was doing. Gambling on Harry still loving her. Wagering that his heart had not changed. For a moment she felt all her dizzy excitement drain away, leaving her alone with cold possibility.