by Sara Bennett
“Very,” he agreed. “But I am a grown man and I am of age. He can’t stop me.”
“He will use Pendleton to bring you to heel, Harry. He will disinherit you. I can’t let that—”
“I meant what I said, Sophy. When it comes to a choice between you and my inheritance then I choose you. I choose you, my love, every time.”
Until then she had struggled to believe it possible. Now, seeing his beloved face, so fierce and determined, hearing his vow to put her first, she believed it. Believed him.
“Say yes,” he said.
Sophy felt her smile growing. “Yes.”
Harry smiled back, wincing at the pain of his bruised face, and then leaned forward and kissed her. A kiss that took her all the way back to Pendleton three years earlier.
“Whatever comes next, we will deal with it,” he said firmly. “Nothing is impossible when we are together.”
She rested her head on his shoulder and tried not to think about Sir Arbuthnot or what he was capable of. Harry was with her and they could be strong. But could they be strong enough?
Chapter 29
SOPHY
“This is not what I hoped for.”
“I know, Geoffrey, but it’s what Sophy wants.”
Susan and Sir Geoffrey spoke in low voices, the latter with a cup of tea in his hands, and a plate at his side with cake on it. Her grandmother was in her usual chair, looking a little tired, and as Sophy entered the room she could not quite hide her feelings.
“Dear child,” she said. “Sit down. Tea?”
Sophy nodded although she didn’t want any. Her grandmother poured her a cup and held it out. Sir Geoffrey watched, his eyes sober.
“I have heard all about your midnight caller,” he said.
“One cannot accuse him of lack of enthusiasm,” Susan almost smiled.
Sir Geoffrey chuckled and then grew sombre again. “Unfortunately, your acceptance of Mr Baillieu’s proposal of marriage will involve you in his scandal. My sister has refused to chaperone you further and I am afraid I cannot blame her.”
“As much as I appreciate your sister’s help, I won’t need a chaperone anymore,” Sophy said in a determined voice. “I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you both, you have been so kind, but London society is not for me. I am like Harry in that way. I want to go home, to Pendleton Manor, and live my life with the man I love.”
Grandmother raised her eyebrows. “Do you think Sir Arbuthnot will allow that?”
Sophy bit her lip. “Grandma.”
“We need to be practical, my dear,” Sir Geoffrey said.
“I had hoped …” her grandmother let the words trail off.
“We had both hoped,” Sir Geoffrey said firmly. “Marrying Harry may be what your heart desires, but will you still feel the same in ten years? Twenty? And what if Sir Arbuthnot finds a way to take Pendleton from him? Where will you go?” He leaned forward so that Sophy had no choice but to meet his eyes. “He will blame you.”
“He said he would give up Pendleton for me,” Sophy said stubbornly.
Susan raised an eyebrow while Geoffrey leaned back in his chair with a huff of dismay.
Her grandmother jumped in. “It is all very romantic, but Sir Geoffrey does have a point, my dear. There will be repercussions. Sir Arbuthnot may be an invalid these days but he still has the ability to make his son suffer. He destroyed your father. Never forget that. He drove a wedge between you and his son, and his son let him. I do not like it, Sophy. As much as I want to think of you living happily ever after, it does not bode well for your future.”
Sophy had the same doubts and fears but she had put them aside and promised Harry she would marry him. She knew her grandmother and Sir Geoffrey loved her and wanted the best for her, but it was time for her to stand up for what she wanted.
“Harry has let doubt and uncertainty into his life for long enough, and so have I,” she reminded them. “I have chosen him. Whatever happens from now on … I will not change my mind and neither will Harry. I know you wanted me to marry someone who would keep me safe, Grandma, but that isn’t what I want. That isn’t going to happen.”
Her grandmother waited a moment, as if allowing the words to sink in, then reached for Sophy’s hand. Her fingers were warm and comforting. “I know you love him, Sophy. You have your heart set on him and the happy ending you have been dreaming of all your life. So be it.”
The mantel clock in the parlour struck the hour. “James will be here soon,” Sir Geoffrey announced.
“James will understand,” she said, her voice firm and sure. “I’ve made my choice, and I am not going to change my mind.”
“You sound like Susan, my dear,” Sir Geoffrey piped up. “Once she makes up her mind then it is made. Well, it is just as well she told me to procure the special marriage licence.”
“So we can be married today?” she said, eyes wide.
Susan reached for her hand. “Yes, my dear. In fact, you will be married in two hours and then set off to Pendleton. Does that please you?”
It did please her. Sophy could not keep the smile off her face. She was going to wed Harry, her Harry. “You will be there?” she asked breathlessly, looking from Sir Geoffrey to her grandmother and back again. “You are my only family and you must be there.”
“Of course we will,” her grandmother answered for them both. “Now, what will you wear, Sophy? We don’t have much time. Sir Geoffrey sent a note around to your Harry earlier and he will meet us at St Anne’s at eleven o’clock sharp. It is all arranged.”
Sophy reached to hug her grandmother. Despite her personal misgivings, Grandma had done everything in her power to ensure this day was a happy one. “Thank you,” she whispered.
She was about to get her heart’s desire but first she must say goodbye to her friend.
“I am happy for you, Sophy.” A familiar sadness filled James’ blue eyes.
“I wish you and Evelyn could …” she began, but didn’t know how to finish.
He waited a beat before answering, as if now he had set his dreams aside he no longer wished to discuss them. “I am looking forward to returning to my estate,” he said. “I will find some solace from familiar surroundings. Who knows? I may rally again.”
Sophy took his hand in hers. “I’m so sorry I can’t do more for you, James,” she whispered. “You have been such a good friend to me, and I have enjoyed our time together so very much. If you ever need my help …”
He squeezed her fingers. “Have a happy life, Sophy. I mean that. I wish you all the best for your marriage and your future.”
A moment later he was gone.
HARRY
Harry opened his eyes and blinked. Then cursed. His eye hurt and everything looked blurry. Last night, Adam had applied ice to it, and at least the swelling had gone down. His nose hurt too, although his brother informed him that it most likely wasn’t broken.
He seemed to know rather a lot about broken bones and bruised faces, but Harry supposed that all went hand in hand with soldiering. Or sleeping with women he shouldn’t.
“You can’t marry Sophy looking like a boxer who’s lost his fight,” Adam had told him. “Now get some sleep and I’ll wake you in plenty of time for the wedding.”
Harry staggered to his feet and splashed water over that bruised face, carefully drying it, before examining himself in the looking glass. It wasn’t quite as bad as he’d expected but it was bad enough. If he had his wish, he would marry Sophy in a week or so at Pendleton, with the garden in full bloom, and his neighbours and tenants to drink a toast to him and wish him well.
But that wasn’t going to happen, and though she understood why, Sophy had been disappointed. So was he, but that didn’t stop him from feeling light hearted. As if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders.
Harry wanted his ring safely on Sophy’s finger and then he would tackle the problem of Sir Arbuthnot. As for Pendleton … Harry would make his choice known if and when the time came, but
he didn’t want to think about it now. He wanted to be happy, and surely after everything he deserved that?
Sophy was his and he loved her. He had always loved her. He would always love her. Nothing else mattered and if it took him the rest of his life he would teach her how much she meant to him.
Adam was downstairs reading the newspaper. He looked up at Harry and winced. “Well, at least you don’t look quite as bad as last night. How’s your brain? Still functioning? You do remember you are marrying Sophy, don’t you?”
“My brain is functioning perfectly,” Harry responded, sitting down and looking at the coffee pot. He poured himself one, adding cream and sugar, and took a sip.
“A note was delivered from Sir Geoffrey Bell to say he has the special licence and the arrangements have been made. The wedding is at eleven.”
He winced. The inside of his cheek must be cut because it stung, but he soldiered on, taking another sip, until the beverage began to do its work.
“What time is it?” he asked, suddenly looking past Adam at the window. Outside it was grey and he had assumed it was early, but now he noticed it had been raining and that might account for the dull day.
“Nearly ten,” Adam responded.
Harry lurched to his feet. “Ten!” he shouted. “You said I am getting married at eleven!”
Adam threw his paper aside. “Plenty of time.”
“What if James persuades her to run off with him instead?”
Adam chuckled. “She won’t. Your future wife is remarkably loyal to you, brother, although I’m not sure you deserve her.” There was a silence and Harry could feel his brother’s considering gaze. “When Father hears he will be livid. I know you said last night that you didn’t care, but Harry …”
“I’ll deal with Father when the time comes.”
Adam continued to stare for a moment and then stood up. “Go and put on your wedding clothes then,” he said sternly, as if he were talking to a soldier in the ranks. “I know you can’t do much about your face, but at least make an attempt at respectability.”
Harry laughed. “We seem to have changed roles,” he said.
“A temporary arrangement,” Adam assured him.
Harry paused at the door. “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t know what I would have done without your help.”
“Neither do I. Now go on, your bride awaits.”
Chapter 30
SOPHY
St Anne’s in Lambeth was not a pretty church, certainly not as pretty as the church in the village near Pendleton. And it was raining, a soft constant drizzle that threatened to send her already difficult hair into a mass of rebellious curls. Her grandmother had decided she should wear the white silk gown with the blue velvet bodice, the same dress she had worn when she first saw Harry again at Albury House. It had been torn in the garden, but Grandma had mended it with fine, invisible stitches.
Sir Geoffrey insisted on drinking a toast to her before they left, and by the time they reached the church it was shortly after eleven. “Brides are allowed to be late,” he said, though it did little to lessen the butterflies in her stomach.
Breathlessly, Sophie stepped through the door. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the poor light. There was a candelabra that barely pierced the gloom, and she could see two men standing, waiting at the front. Her heart gave a jolt as they turned and she saw Harry smiling at her.
She would have run up the aisle and into his arms, but her grandmother held her arm firmly. “We are walking sedately,” she insisted. “You will want to look back on this day knowing you did things correctly, even if they were more than a little unorthodox.”
Sir Geoffrey chuckled and took Sophy’s other arm, and the three of them together made their way towards the two Baillieu men.
Harry reached out and took her hand in his, their fingers tangling together. She barely noticed the reverend waiting patiently to begin, or Adam giving her a grin and a wink.
“This is most irregular, but Sir Geoffrey assures me it is what all parties want,” the minister said, clearing his throat. “Shall we begin?”
The vows didn’t take long and Harry held her hand throughout. He answered the reverend in a confident voice, and she stumbled only once. When they were done, he leaned in and kissed her more thoroughly than the reverend probably approved of, judging by the increased amount of throat clearing.
It was a signal for the others to step forward and offer their congratulations, shaking hands with Harry and kissing Sophy’s cheek. Susan held her close and for a moment Sophy was close to floods of tears, but she kept herself to a respectable snuffle.
“Take care, my dear,” Grandma whispered against her damp cheek. “I want to see you again very soon. Write to me from Pendleton. I wish to have letters. I need to know everything is all right.”
Sophy hugged her again. “I will write, Grandma, and I will visit. I promise.”
As she stepped back, Harry shook Sir Geoffrey’s hand, and then reached to take her grandmother’s. Grandma stepped in and placed her palm on his cheek, staring up at him with such an intent look Sophy worried she was going to say something vexing.
“Harry,” the old woman said. “I hope you will forgive me for my less than warm welcome last night. My granddaughter means everything to me.”
Harry’s mouth twitched into a smile. “She means everything to me too.”
“Look after her.”
“I will.” Harry enclosed her in his arms, giving her a hug. A moment later, he was walking Sophy back down the aisle, his strides so much longer than hers. He was in a hurry, she thought, though she wasn’t sure why.
“Here is the coach,” he said. “Sir Geoffrey has put your bag safely inside.”
She turned to look over her shoulder at her grandmother, pressed to Sir Geoffrey’s side, watching her go. She was holding a handkerchief to her nose. Adam had followed them.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” he asked.
“On my honeymoon?” Harry mocked. And then he was serious again. “No. This is something I must do on my own.”
The brothers shook hands and Adam thumped him on the back before enclosing Sophy in a warm embrace. “Best of luck to you both,” he said. He stood there as the door was closed and the vehicle rattled off, moving away from the church and Lambeth, into London itself.
It had all happened so quickly, almost in a blur. They were married. Sophy glanced at him expecting him to beam back at her, but Harry was staring out of the window at the dreary streets, frowning, lost in his thoughts, and she suspected they were not pleasant.
They were going to Pendleton and she knew that Harry was worried about what awaited them there. Their happy ending hadn’t been reached yet. Sophy knew there was one more obstacle to overcome.
HARRY
He was grateful to see the back of London. A few moments ago he had married the girl he loved, but instead of the grand wedding that had been planned for November, with hundreds of guests and a church full of flowers and candles, they had stood in a gloomy and chilly chapel with only their closest family to congratulate them when it was done.
But it didn’t matter, because Sophy was his at last. After so many years, she was his. He didn’t regret a moment of that hasty service or the minister’s unwelcoming stare. What was important was the piece of paper in his pocket that proved they were legally joined.
He glanced over at Sophy to see her resting her head against the leather seat, staring at the window and the rain outside. No doubt she was thinking about Pendleton and what awaited them there. Harry had arranged some food for the journey, and had debated whether they should break their trip overnight, but he wasn’t sure he could do that. As much as his body ached for her, Harry wasn’t going to be able to enjoy his new wife until he had seen his father and spoken all the words clamouring to be said.
“Sophy?”
She turned and smiled at him, her eyes wary. “Yes?”
“You should rest.” Then, w
hen she didn’t answer him, added, “Come.”
She took his hand and he pulled her closer, and down onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her and nuzzling against her hair. She turned her cheek and her lips brushed over his. He could be blindfolded with his arms tied behind his back and he would recognise her taste. It was as if she was stamped upon his senses and he would know it anywhere.
“None of this seems real,” she whispered. “Just another dream.”
“I assure you, this is no dream.” He took her hand in his, and examined the wedding band he had placed upon her finger. The ring had been his mother’s wedding ring and he had brought it to London, thinking to give it to Evelyn. He hadn’t done so and now he knew why. It rightly belonged to Sophy.
“The ring I gave you before,” he said. “The signet I put on your finger the night I made you mine. When your father sent it back, my father couldn’t wait to show it to me. He thought me seeing it would be the end of my love for you. Instead it only made me more determined to find you.”
She looked into his eyes, her own full of painful memories.
He was silent for a moment, not wanting to remember that day in Lambeth when he had walked away. “Do you ever wonder what your life would be like now?” he asked instead. “If your father had bought back his land, and you had married your cousin?”
She shook her head. “Harry, I would never have done that.”
He rested his forehead against hers. She was right. His Sophy would have fought against that with her last breath. “I have much to make up to you for, Sophy.”
“We have the rest of our lives.” She cupped his cheek, her fingers stroking his skin, her lips against his jaw.
“My father doesn’t believe in love, not the sort that we have.”
“You are not your father, Harry.” She kissed him again, little soothing kisses, and he sighed.
He closed his eyes, allowing her to touch him, kiss him, but his thoughts were still dark. Sophy was true and so had he been, until he saw her with that man in Lambeth, and then he had turned his back on her. His father’s lies had worked their way into his heart and soul, and he hadn’t even realised it. How many times had he heard him denigrate the women he used for his own pleasure? Drawing a line between them and the sort of woman a gentleman should marry. And to his father, Sophy had always been firmly in the former camp. Harry knew now he had learned his own bias from the cradle.