by Sara Bennett
“But what if you’re right and it’s too late?” Harry replied.
Adam gave a broad shrug. “Then we make another plan.” He wrapped his arm around Harry, giving him an awkward hug. “One step at a time, brother. Let’s march on to victory, eh? In the meantime, you have to do something so despicable that neither Albury nor father will be able to fix it.”
Harry gave him an expectant look.
“Leave it to me!”
Chapter 25
SOPHY
The Marquis of Darlington’s annual Breakfast was one of the most anticipated events of the Season, or so Susan and Sir Geoffrey said. Although it was called a ‘breakfast’, in actual fact it began after noon and went on well into the evening, with dancing and eating, both inside the house and out in the garden. Hundreds of guests were expected, and Sophy was going to be one of them.
She still wasn’t sure why she had been added to the guest list—the marquis was not a friend of Sir Geoffrey’s—but she suspected it was because of James. She had also begun to make friends of her own and had, much to her surprise, found a niche in London society.
Her grandmother had taken to wondering aloud when James would propose, with a twinkle in her eye as if she was teasing, but Sophy knew better. She didn’t want to disappoint her, she really didn’t, but after she and James had their heart to heart and he told her the truth about Evelyn, she couldn’t see them in love. Not the sort of love she had experienced before. Two broken hearts didn’t make a whole. They were friends. Good friends.
The Marquis of Darlington’s house was large, with immaculate grounds; the gardens were in full bloom, and the lawns were green and smooth as carpet. The day had dawned clear and there was an almost cloudless blue summer sky. As Sophy alighted from James’s carriage, her thoughts went spiralling back to her summers spent at Pendleton. The white garden would be looking its best right now, and just for a moment she imagined Harry’s hand reaching for hers as they strolled together.
Her fingers closed on nothing but air.
She wondered if she would ever stop thinking of him. Whenever she was beginning to heal, the memories would come and tear at her all over again.
Sophy shook off her melancholy, reminding herself how fortunate she was, and tried to pay attention to her surroundings. There were a large number of carriages and coaches lined up in the square, their excited occupants alighting. This queue was longer than any she had seen before and her eyes grew wide with astonishment.
“It will be a terrible crush,” her chaperone stated smugly. Being invited to something that was a ‘terrible crush’ was to be the envy of London Society, and Mrs Harding was going to relish every moment of it.
James shared a knowing smile with Sophy. “There are people out there who would give their right arm to take our place.”
“One cannot dance without a right arm, can one?” Lucy mused.
Charlotte leaned closer. “I believe they are going to be dancing the waltz!”
The waltz was still thought scandalous enough in some circles that only a few of the Season’s events included it, but it was gaining popularity. Sophy and the two Harding girls had learned the mechanics of it, just in case, though their mother refused to agree to their actually dancing it.
There was more queuing needed to get into the house, an elegant Georgian building, and Sophy was glad to finally escape through the French windows and onto the lawns. Once there, they discovered long tables groaning with food, and chairs set beneath shady trees. For the more energetic there was country dancing on the west side of the house, and a harpist holding court in the rose garden.
The Marquis was a pleasant grey-haired man, his wife a petite brunette with a dimpled smile. They knew James, but then everyone knew James, and made his party welcome.
“There is waltzing on the east side of the house,” the Marquis said with a wink. “If you wish to be a little more daring.”
“My daughters are quite daring enough,” Mrs Harding replied, with a glare at her obviously disappointed daughters, “thank you very much, my Lord Marquis.”
They walked on and there was a duke she recognised, and a countess with her retinue. A couple of war heroes and their wives, or she assumed they were wives, as well as plenty of the lesser nobility. Sophy had learned to know them on sight now, and even on occasion to receive a nod of recognition herself. She had come a long way from the daughter of a disgraced estate manager, and the little girl Sir Arbuthnot had not thought good enough for his eldest son.
Again she pushed the thought away. She had become good at pushing thoughts away that contained Harry, especially when she was supposed to be enjoying herself. Her feelings remained in turmoil after their conversation in the library at Monkstead House, but she hadn’t changed her mind. If Harry wanted to turn into his father then she couldn’t stop him, but she wasn’t going to be the other woman.
James led the way to the rose garden where they lingered over the scented blooms. The two Harding girls were keen to dance, even if it wasn’t to be the waltz, so their mother took them off to join in the country dancing, and instructed Sophy to find them soon.
“Do you want to dance?” James asked her once they were alone, or at least as alone as it was possible to be among the chattering crowds.
“Later perhaps,” Sophy said with a smile. “It is so lovely here.”
“You should visit my estate in the north. In fact, I insist upon it. I would not call it ‘lovely,’ but the scenery is spectacular.”
“I would like that,” she said.
For a moment they just looked at each other, and Sophy wondered if her grandmother was right. Was James going to propose to her? If he did, was she going to accept him? During their conversations she had touched on her dream of teaching poor children and he had listened and seemed interested. He was a compassionate and intelligent man. If she decided to marry him, could she combine a life with him and fulfilling her dream?
“James …?”
He was looking past her shoulder, his shoulders rigid, and his intense expression had her turning to follow his gaze, only to have her heart sink. Lady Evelyn Rowe stood next to Harry, their heads bent close. As if she had sensed their interest, she looked up. Her face was pale, but no less beautiful. She looked away again almost at once, but not before Sophy read the tumult in her expression.
James reached for Sophy, slipping her hand through his elbow and began to walk away. “Perhaps it would be a good thing to visit my estate in the north,” he said quietly. “A broken heart will never heal if it is constantly reminded of what cannot be.”
She squeezed his arm, not knowing how to answer. They reached the east side of the house and, as the Marquis had promised, there were couples waltzing here on the lawn. Sophy watched them, thinking how elegant and smooth the dance was, and yes, how intimate. The gentleman’s hand on the lady’s waist, and hers on his shoulder, their other hands clasped together, as they turned around and around. It was the lack of other partners that some people found objectionable, how the two dancers were together for the entire waltz, so unlike the more old fashioned frolics where partners changed regularly.
“Sophy,” James spoke up, “We are friends, are we not? Good friends?”
Sophy turned to face him. His eyes looked rather wild, as if he had come to a decision and meant to see it through. “Of course we are.”
“Do you think friendship is enough to build a marriage on? Could you imagine spending your days and nights with me? I know I am not your first choice.”
“And I am not yours.”
“Yet, if I am to be happy with someone then I think it will be you, Sophy.”
“James …” she was suddenly aware of where his questions were taking them. Was he really going to do this now?
“I wonder if you would consider … If you would do me the honour—”
Harry’s deep voice interrupted them. “Sophy.”
Sophy turned, shocked. Harry’s brown hair was fashionably tous
led and his white neckcloth expertly tied above his silk shirt with his dark blue jacket covering his broad shoulders. He wore his town polish well—she could see the change in him—and still it was Harry.
“Will you dance with me, Sophy?” Harry asked quietly. His eyes were shadowed, and there was a seriousness to him she hadn’t seen in a while.
She knew she should say no. She was with James, and Harry might have caught her unawares but she knew that to let him touch her in the intimate manner the waltz required would not be good for her. And yet she ached to say yes.
His warm fingers closed over hers, as if he had no intention of letting her go. “Please?” He smiled a half smile, one side of his mouth turning up, and his eyes narrowed, lines appearing at the corners. Harry, she thought, used to smile a lot. He used to smile at her a lot.
“Sophy?” James came up beside her. He seemed to know what was in her heart, because he said, “It is just one dance, and I will wait here for you. If that is what you wish. One final dance, and then we can continue our conversation when you are done.”
Harry frowned at him. “When you are done?” he repeated. “You make it sound as if we will never meet again.”
James raised an eyebrow. “Sophy is considering travelling north with me, to see my estate. By the time we return you will be married to Lady Evelyn. You are no fool. To keep picking at this scab means it will never heal, and I am sure you would wish Sophy to be happy. Enjoy your dance, Baillieu, because it must be your last.”
Harry was smiling. Why was he smiling? James had spoken the truth, Sophy suspected, and they both knew it, so there was no reason for Harry’s cocksure smile.
“Sophy?” Harry held out his hand in a way that was almost proprietorial.
Sophy could remain angry with him after what he had said to her at Monkstead’s house, but what would that accomplish? After a brief hesitation, Sophy whispered, “One last dance.” His fingers closed around his. His expression still puzzled her. This should be a sad moment, their final dance, and yet he didn’t seem sad at all. Before she could ask him why that was so, he led her onto the dancing area of the lawn.
Their last dance together, she thought dizzily. One final memory to add to the collection, and then everything would change. She could not live like this any longer, with her heart torn in two. She needed to let Harry go once and for all. James was right. But for now she was here, with him, and she would squeeze every last drop of pleasure from this moment.
Harry turned her into his arms. Her gaze caressed his smoothly shaven jaw and firm lips, and the way his dark lashes framed his brown eyes. He wore the sort of cologne a fashionable London gentleman would wear, but underneath he still smelt like Harry. She wanted to close her eyes and savour him somehow, but she also wanted to keep her eyes open so she didn’t miss a thing.
“What did Abbott mean?” Harry asked her quietly. He had drawn her close, closer than the dance required, and she felt the brush of his body against hers. A tremble began deep inside her.
He’s not yours, she reminded herself. He will never be yours.
“Sophy? About you going north to his estate?”
She met his eyes without flinching, “I believe he is going to ask me to be his wife.”
If she hadn’t been looking she might not have seen the flash of emotion. Jealousy. Possessive jealousy. Harry still thought of her as his, and that made her catch her breath, and then it made her angry.
“Don’t say yes. Not yet,” he said with a sudden urgent intensity. “Wait. Will you do that, Sophy?”
“Harry, you must know how that sounds,” she responded fiercely. “After what you said the other night … You have no right to ask anything of me! This was a mistake …”
She would have pulled away but he held her hand tightly in his, the other firmly gripped her waist, refusing to let her go. “I know how this sounds. I’m sorry for the other night. But will you wait? Tell Abbott you will consider his proposal, there is nothing wrong in that. Please give me a little more time.”
“Harry, you had three years,” she reminded him quietly. “I waited for you for three years and only found you again because of Adam.”
“I explained about the letter and my father,” he said, and there was a desperate note in his voice. “I apologised, Sophy. I’ll keep apologising, every day of my life, until you forgive me.”
“That’s not what I meant. You don’t have to keep apologising,” she said, looking away, her throat raw. “I meant that it is time to end whatever this is between us. We’ll always have our memories, but they should be left in the past now, Harry. Please, do this for me. I need to let you go.”
He closed his eyes and bent his head until his forehead was pressed to hers. His arms went around her and held her tight, and he was no longer even pretending to waltz. Sophy knew she should pull away before he caused another scandal but he was speaking again.
“I won’t let you go because it’s not in the past. Not for me. I need you to wait for me just a little longer. I can’t tell you how, not yet, but I am going to make everything all right again.”
“You talk in riddles,” she whispered and finally drew away, putting some space between them.
His laugh made her think he had become unhinged. “I am, aren’t I? Sophy …” She felt his fingers against her cheek, in her hair, and his breath warm on her lips as if he was going to kiss her.
“Harry, please don’t,” she gasped. “Not when people can see us. You can’t do this to me, not when you’re not mine. And I’m not yours.”
“I love you,” he said. “I loved you before and I love you still.”
“Harry,” she said, “let me go.”
He leaned in, and breathed, “Take shelter, my lady.”
In an instant she was carried back to a time when she was five and Harry was seven. She had been reading a book about King Arthur and his knights, and then Sir Arbuthnot had come seeking Harry for something he hadn’t done. Take shelter, my lady, Harry had pretended to be a gallant knight, hiding her under the desk. And she had stayed there while his father beat him for that something he hadn’t done.
She could see he knew she had remembered. “Harry?” she whispered, confused more than ever.
Just as a shrill voice rang out from across the lawn. “There you are, Harry Baillieu!”
He looked up and his eyes widened. Sophy turned and saw a woman approach them. It wasn’t Evelyn. This woman was dark haired, wore a plain day dress, and in her arms was a baby. She barely noticed Adam lingering in the woman’s wake. Sophy felt Harry stiffen, and then he seemed to relax, as if accepting his fate.
“I tried to stop her,” Adam called out, “but she won’t be stopped, brother.” His expression was apologetic and yet something like glee shone in his eyes. Just for a moment they were on Sophy in a knowing look. “I hope you’re prepared for this,” he said as he drew closer. “My brother is about to be heroic.”
Chapter 26
HARRY
Harry would have preferred Adam to wait a few more minutes before he launched his conspirator upon them. Selfishly he had wanted to hold Sophy a little bit longer, even if he couldn’t tell her what was happening until it was done. So many things could still go wrong and even if they didn’t, he hadn’t wanted her involved in the ensuing scandal. Then, unable to bear her leaving him and thinking the worst, he’d blurted out those long ago words.
He recognised the woman—the same one his brother had brought to him a couple of nights ago. This time her clothing was more respectable, and her face was clean of powder and rouge. She looked like a shopkeeper’s wife fallen on hard times. She wasn’t a surprise—Adam had told Harry what he intended before they arrived today—but the baby was. A convincing addition.
Gasps sounded all around them and the musicians began to falter. At his side Sophy stared with shocked eyes, and James Abbott had come to take her arm, drawing her away as if he feared she might be contaminated by the coming scandal. Despite his hackles ris
ing at the thought of another man touching her, he was relieved to have her safe. He didn’t want Sophy caught up in this and he knew he shouldn’t have asked her to dance. When he’d seen the two of them together, so serious, he’d know he had to speak to her and convince her not to marry James. Because if she did then all of this would have been for nothing.
He couldn’t think of that now.
“You are a liar and a cheat!” the woman cried, her voice ringing out all around them. “All those sweet things you promised me, and then you abandoned me. Abandoned us.” She had stopped in front of him, quivering with emotion.
Harry reached out, but she flinched away, turning to her audience, which was growing rapidly. Nothing like a scandal to draw a crowd. She began to tear his character to shreds in lurid detail while he stood there, resigned, letting it all wash over him.
Adam had given him the basic scenario and told him he didn’t need to do much, that the other player in this piece of theatre would carry the show.
He wanted to look at Sophy again, to convey to her somehow that this wasn’t true, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t be sure she had understood his hint from the past, but he didn’t want to risk involving her in this now that it had started. She must not be tainted by any breath of scandal. Again he berated himself for asking her to dance, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. What if he never had another chance to hold her, to tell her how much he loved her? His selfish desire, not to mention his arrogance, had outweighed the risk. Harry always needed to win.
“Baillieu?” The Marquis had arrived, taking in the situation with a world weary glance. No doubt it wasn’t the first time one of his breakfasts had been interrupted by a guest’s impending disgrace. “Will you come with me? Perhaps we can find somewhere a little quieter. I’m sure you and your … this lady have much to discuss. In private, eh?”
The baby decided to let out a wail, drawing even more attention to them. The whispers around him were gathering strength. It was just as he’d wanted but it was no less unpleasant to be at the centre of it. Harry straightened his shoulders and reminded himself that when it was over he would be able to rearrange his life in the way he longed to, rather than the way his father demanded.