by Sara Bennett
“Miss Harcourt?” James’s voice finally reached her. He was leaning in close to her, his blue eyes full of alarm, one of his gloved hands covering hers while the other held the reins. She blinked at him.
“Are you well?” he asked her. He seemed genuinely concerned and yet … she sensed that there was another emotion lying underneath. Troublingly, it felt as if he was not so much perturbed by her reaction as satisfied with the result.
“I am well,” she assured him. “I apologise. I … It is so early.”
It was a ridiculous excuse and he must have thought so too, but he accepted it and for a little longer they continued on beneath the trees with their bright green leaves. Harry and his future bride were gone now, vanished into the mist, and she didn’t look for them again.
The bleak emptiness in her life that she had believed was beginning to dwindle had returned in full force and Sophy struggled to put on a happy face.
James seemed to sense their outing was at an end, and he took her home. There was a ball being held in three nights time, and after asking her if she would be attending and securing a dance with her, he departed.
“What a pleasant gentleman.” Her grandmother spoke rather tentatively, her eyes watchful. “And fancy tracking you down to Lambeth? He must be keen, Sophy.”
Sophy didn’t know what he was. She just wanted to be left alone to lick her wounds. She should have told her grandmother she saw Harry in the park but she didn’t. She didn’t want to rake over all the painful memories again. She wanted to sink into her bed and drag the covers over her head and weep herself to sleep.
She remembered the adoring smile on Harry’s face as he turned to Lady Evelyn, and the way she smiled back at him. For some reason the truth felt so much more real now. Harry was lost to her forever and acknowledging that fact swept her with a dark grief so powerful, so overwhelming, that it made every part of her ache.
Chapter 17
SOPHY
Susan knew something had happened to set her back. Sophy tried to pretend everything was all right, but she felt breathless, restless, as if her skin didn’t fit properly. She kept remembering Harry and Evelyn in the park, and no matter how she tried to push the image away it stuck to her like toffee on her fingers.
“Enjoy yourself, my love,” her grandmother called, as she made her way out to the coach. Mrs Harding was waiting for her, her face expressionless, while her two daughters hugged Sophy and smiled, as if they were all the best of friends.
What would they think, Sophy wondered, if they knew that Harry had carried her to the heart of Pendleton and made her his in body as well as soul? That she was no longer a virgin? Would they be shocked and appalled? She had never told anyone about their night together, not even her grandmother, and now there were times when she wondered if it had been nothing but a dream.
She stretched up and found his mouth with hers. “I love it when you kiss me,” she whispered. “I want you to kiss me all the time, Harry.”
He smiled. “And so I will. All the time.”
Sophy blinked and glanced about her. She had been lost in her own memories, memories that made her squirm in her seat, but thankfully no one was looking at her. She hadn’t meant to think about that night, she tried very hard not to. What was the point of revisiting a time when she had been a foolish girl, now that she was older and wiser?
Tonight’s ball was at a mansion in St James Square, owned by an important member of parliament, and the two Harding girls were agog at being invited to such a place. “This is our uncle’s doing,” Charlotte whispered to Sophy. “Mama would never have been asked to attend without his pulling strings!”
It was May now and the latest arrivals in town, who wanted their events to be the most talked about, were going all out to put on the best show.
“Miss Harcourt!” She looked up and felt her low spirits lift at the pleasure in James’s face. “Here you are.”
“Lord Abbott,” she said, greeting him with a little curtsey.
He took her arm, leading her away from her chaperone, but not far enough to offend the matron. “I wondered if you’d cry off tonight,” he admitted. “You seemed sad on that morning we rode out in the park.”
“Sad?” she repeated, wondering whether she could convince him otherwise when her lips refused to smile.
He looked at her a moment, as if he was deciding what to say next. “I think you are sad.” His earnest gaze fastened on her face. “In the same way that I am sad.”
Sophy opened her mouth to deny everything … and then her skin prickled. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She turned her head.
Harry.
He was standing across the room with a group of other guests, but Sophy didn’t see those elegant, fashionable persons. She only saw him. He was smiling at something someone had said but now that smile was frozen on his lips, his dark eyes fixed on her face, and his shoulders rigid beneath his perfectly tailored evening jacket.
“Sophy?” She heard James’ voice behind her, but she couldn’t look away. She felt dizzy, and she wasn’t sure she would have been able to turn away at all. Someone then tapped on Harry’s arm to gain his attention, and she was released from whatever spell she had been under.
For a moment Sophy wished she could run, just as she had done at Albury House, but her panic subsided. She wasn’t going to do that again. One thing she had learned over the preceding weeks was that her pride was more important to her than she had ever thought possible.
There had been a time when she had believed she would do anything to have Harry back, crawl and beg and humble herself like the lowliest creature. Now she knew she deserved better than that. Pride kept her from running because she didn’t want him to know how badly he had injured her. She was like one of Sir Arbuthnot’s game birds hiding in the bracken, winged but refusing to break cover. Just like that bird, Sophy would not make herself a target for Harry.
“Sophy?” James now stood in front of her, with something like pity on his face. He must have seen everything. His brother had probably told him all her secrets—well, those he knew anyway.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Sometimes I forget.”
“Forget?” he asked her, still in that gentle tone of voice.
“Forget that it’s over.” She spoke the words before she could stop herself.
He didn’t ask her what she meant. Instead he looked past her head, across the room, and she saw him go still. Then he dropped his gaze to hers once more.
“I hope you saved several dances for me.” He spoke the words as if nothing had happened.
“Of course.”
“Good girl,” he said with a smile.
She glanced over her shoulder again as they moved off, but Harry was gone now and the only person who had seemed to notice them was Lady Evelyn.
James was the perfect companion. He danced with Sophy, and then with Lucy and Charlotte, he even danced with a shy wallflower who had been hiding herself in their group, far away from her unpleasant chaperone. James, Sophy decided, was everything that Digby was not. He was a balm to her sore heart.
As the evening wore on she did her best to forget about Harry. She knew her grandmother would want a complete account of the ball and the guests, what everyone was wearing and what was said. She took note. She was glad when she realised that she was, if not at the very forefront of fashion this Season—that would be Lady Evelyn—then certainly not the dowdiest girl in the room.
There was a point when she became aware of Harry dancing with his fiancé, but she made sure she was on the other side of the room. James seemed to be of a like mind, making sure she was not in the vicinity when Harry and Evelyn took to the floor. Whether it was on purpose—again she wondered if Digby had told him—or by coincidence, she was just grateful not to find herself too close to them.
Sophy found that the more she pretended not to care about Harry Baillieu and his lady love, the better at it she became. She would be cool and aloof, which wasn’t
easy when her natural inclination was to be open and honest. Considering the circumstances, everything seemed to be going very well.
Until Digby asked her to dance.
HARRY
Seeing Sophy again had shaken him to the core. He had convinced himself, stupidly he realised now, that she would go back to wherever she had come from and he would never see her again. He’d put her out of his mind, at least during his waking hours because she still plagued his dreams. But now here she was, the same and yet different, looking very comfortable in her surroundings. He had a sinking feeling that Sophy wasn’t planning on going anywhere.
He’d recognised the fair-haired man she was with as Digby’s elder brother James. After Evelyn had told him that James had offered for her hand, and been refused, he seemed to notice him everywhere. Seeing Sophy and James together made him suspicious. Had the two of them formed some kind of allegiance? Were they intent on destroying his peace of mind? Or was he losing said mind because of his own idiotic imaginings?
“Is something the matter, Harry?” Evelyn’s mother wore a frown between her winged brows. “You’re very reserved this evening.”
“Nothing at all,” he assured her. “Although perhaps the guests are packed in a little close tonight.”
Lady Helen smiled. “Nonsense. London is exciting, Harry. You are such a country boy at heart.” But she said it fondly, as if she forgave him his provincial roots.
Evelyn’s family wanted the two of them to be seen together, and they were excited about the wedding. Evelyn was an only daughter and the desire to see her happily settled was understandable. Although Harry was aware that that happiness came with the addendum of her making a good marriage and being properly maintained in the years to come.
Lady Helen was the Earl of Albury’s second wife, and now a widow herself. The son from the first marriage, Oscar, was now the Earl of Albury, and as far as Harry could see, he ruled the roost. Evelyn seemed rather intimidated by her half-brother, while her mother was clearly under his thumb.
So Harry wasn’t surprised to see Oscar step in, taking over the conversation. “As you are aware, Baillieu, Evelyn had many contenders for her hand. Yet you were the one she chose to marry. I do hope you are aware of that honour and treat my sister in the manner she deserves.”
Harry didn’t much like Oscar. The man was a bully, rather like Harry’s father, and perhaps it was that similarity that gave him the tools to handle his future brother-in-law.
He nodded and said the right things—how fortunate he was to have won Evelyn’s hand and how much he was looking forward to spending his life with her. The words came easily but they tasted wrong in his mouth. Everything seemed to taste wrong since Sophy had reappeared.
Oscar listened without emotion, then leaned in close and spoke for Harry’s ears alone. “My sister is a dear sweet girl but she is still young. Young girls get carried away sometimes, and have their hearts broken. It is a rite of passage, so my step-mother tells me. Evelyn has had her heart broken once, Harry. I do not want it broken again. Take heed.”
Harry stared after him. Evelyn had had her heart broken? This was news to him. Was it something to do with the proposal from James Abbott? But how could it, if she was the one who called off the engagement? What did it matter anyway? He and Evelyn were engaged and he needed to stop all this nonsense with Sophy Harcourt.
Evelyn also seemed a little on edge, which made him wonder if her step-brother had been whispering in her ear as well. At least once they were married he could put a stop to all that.
They took their places in the set dance and he smiled as he reached for Evelyn’s hand. He was sorry that Adam wasn’t here tonight. Apart from being the better dancer, his brother’s easy going nature meant he was good at easing any tension in the room. Harry never felt so comfortable as when Adam was around. All the same as the evening went on he began to enjoy himself. Just as well, he thought wryly, because there were many more to come. He was only prepared to suffer them for the sake of his future wife. Evelyn was far more of a social animal than Harry, and it would be cruel not to indulge her.
They had finished their dance and had made their way back to Evelyn’s mother, when Harry saw Sophy again.
His body stiffened, every muscle instantly rigid, and his smile fell from his face like snow down a mountain.
She was dancing with Digby.
The past momentarily swamped him and he struggled to breathe. She was dancing with Digby. He ran a hand down his face, trying to sluice off his anger. Wild thoughts filled his head. Had she given herself to his enemy? When he had learned of her marriage it had occurred to him how blind he had been in regard to her morals as well as her honesty. How else could Sophy bear to be in that man’s arms?
He stood frozen as images flashed through his mind, of the two of them under a Pendleton sky. He swore that for a fraction of time he even felt her warm and soft against him. The taste of her on his lips and her gasps of passion as he pushed deep inside her. Sophy had been his lodestone, she’d kept him from spiralling into the sort of man his father was and the man his brother was becoming. He had thought she would be forever his.
Now that was over, and it made no sense that Harry wasn’t sleeping at night. And when he did sleep, why his dreams were filled with Sophy. And when he woke up in the mornings his body was on fire and his head full of thoughts of her lying beneath him. Thoughts that left him feeling bewildered and confused.
He shouldn’t be lusting after a girl he no longer wanted and who no longer wanted him. He had hoped it would all just melt away like a spring thaw and he could get back to what he was supposed to be doing. Making Evelyn happy.
He hadn’t realised it would be so difficult to push Sophy into the past where she belonged, even though she had married another man. She had betrayed him. Remember that, he told himself, and hate her as she deserves. He wasn’t like Adam, who seemed to easily justify sleeping with a different woman every night. Harry was an engaged man. He needed to remain faithful to the woman he was going to marry.
He was a heartbeat from turning away when something in Sophy’s expression brought his eyes back to her.
It was a look that he remembered. The little frown between her brows, the slight pursing of her lips, and the way she kept her eyes downcast. She was uncomfortable, out of her depth, and afraid.
Again he hesitated. The memory of Sophy standing with her husband, the baby in his arms, and the smiles of their faces, flashed into his brain. If she had looked miserable and downtrodden, if she had appeared as if she had been coerced … He had seen for himself that none of those things had been true. Just as he could see how she was feeling right now.
Harry’s gaze jumped back to Digby. His former friend was watching her too, just as he had watched her the night of the Christmas celebrations. The night he had almost taken what Harry believed rightly belonged to himself. A smile lifted the corners of Digby’s mouth, and there was something so predatory about it that made Harry’s hands clench at his sides.
He might despise Sophy Harcourt with a black bitter hatred for what she had done to him. But he could not stand by and allow her to be preyed upon by someone like Digby.
Propelled by anger and concern, as well as sheer bloody annoyance at himself and Sophy and the world in general, Harry began to wend his way through the dancers.
Chapter 18
SOPHY
Digby’s hand tightened on hers. Sophy had been doing her best to pretend he wasn’t there, that she wasn’t touching him or breathing the same air as him. She had never intended to dance with the man, let alone be in his space, but with James standing there smiling when he asked her … It seemed cowardly to say no, and she refused to be a coward any longer. Dancing with him would show him how little she cared.
“Do you remember the archery contest Harry and I indulged in that Christmas at Pendleton?” he said in a thoughtful voice.
“I barely recall it.”
His smile told her he knew s
he was lying. “Harry won. He always had to win.” He leaned in closer. “He’s watching us now.”
With an effort Sophy prevented herself from checking to see. “Do you remember everything from that Christmas, Mr Abbott?” she asked him a bored voice. “One would almost think it was the highlight of your life thus far.”
He only just stopped himself from scowling. “You think you are very clever, don’t you, Sophy?”
“I don’t recall giving you permission to use my first name.”
“But we are such old friends.”
“Mr Abbott, I think of you as an acquaintance at best ... when I think of you at all.”
Then Digby stopped moving and Sophy looked up to see what was wrong.
Harry was standing beside them.
Her heart stuttered when she saw how angry he looked. His mouth drawn down and his gold flecked brown eyes alive with heated emotion. After a glance at her he turned his attention to Digby.
“I’d like a word,” he said, and it wasn’t a request.
“Unfortunately, I’m otherwise engaged at the moment,” Digby responded, his mouth twisted with derision. “You’re not the king of this castle, Baillieu. Wait until we’re finished.”
Harry was still staring at him, his shoulders stiff, his hands clenched. He was so angry and at the same time he appeared to be wishing he was anywhere but here. Her gaze slid by him and she noticed that the other dancers were watching and murmuring behind their hands. It wouldn’t be long until more guests began to take an interest. That was the last thing she wanted. A scandal was not something any young woman courted, especially one who was already under suspicion.
“You’re causing a scene,” she whispered.
His stare didn’t move from Digby as he leaned forward and said in a voice not to be argued with, “I’ll cause more of a scene if you don’t speak to me.”
Digby smirked but he shifted a little uneasily under the censorious gaze of an elderly matron. Perhaps he wasn’t keen on being the centre of attention either. After a brief hesitation, he stepped away from Sophy, but kept her hand a prisoner of his as he spoke to her. “Let’s humour him.”