Meant To Be (Pendleton Manor 1)

Prologue

SOPHY

1812, the Ballroom at Albury House, London

Sophy gazed about her, blue eyes wide with wonder. The ballroom was beautiful with its sparkling candlelit chandeliers and the guests dressed in all their finery. It was like the ending to a fairy tale, the sort of ending she had dreamed about for the past three years. Now it was about to happen.

Harry would see her and… for a moment her sunny thoughts clouded. Until now the story she had told herself, the happy ever after, had been so comfortable and familiar, she had rarely questioned it. Like a well-loved book she had repeated the ending to herself over and over again, and whenever a niggle of doubt tried to worm itself into that picture she’d shut it out. Why was that doubt choosing this moment to spoil her happiness?

She took a deep breath and began again. Harry would see her and he’d be so happy. They’d both be so happy, their faces beaming, their smiles wide. It had always been inevitable that they would end up together. From childhood until they were forced apart, they were always meant to be.

She believed that with all of her heart. Didn’t she? Well of course she did! Otherwise she wouldn’t be here right now, risking that heart. Three long years apart didn’t mean she couldn’t still believe in Harry, both the boy he was and the man he had become. He loved her, had promised her a future filled with joy, and now she was here. Ready to claim it.

You’ve been a long time apart, a sceptical voice whispered in her ear. Are you sure he is still the same man? Are you sure he has been as steadfast as you?

That voice worried her. She didn’t like what it was saying.

Sophy smoothed a hand over her white silk skirt. Grandma had made her look as fine as anyone here tonight, so fine that no one could possibly guess that she was poor as a church mouse. Beneath the white silk was a muslin petticoat, and her bodice was made of deep blue velvet with a matching ribbon tied beneath her bosom. Sir Geoffrey had presented her with white kid gloves and a delicate gold chain to place around her neck. Grandma had found the blue slippers that encased her stockinged feet.

The blue velvet brought out the blue of her eyes and her fair hair, dressed in a simple style, was a glowing halo.

“You look like an angel,” Grandma had said. “How could any man resist you?”

“I don’t want any man, Grandma. I want Harry.”

Her grandmother and Sir Geoffrey both smiled and nodded, but Sophy had caught the glance that passed between them. It shook her a little to know that they did not believe in her dream as wholeheartedly as she wanted them to, but she had shored up any cracks in her confidence by reminding herself that they did not know Harry like she did. They did not understand the depth of his love for her, and hers for him. She had been like a soldier marking time. Waiting, waiting, waiting for him.

Now she stood in the ballroom of Albury House, waiting for her life to finally begin again.

Where was Harry?

She scanned her surroundings and tried to ignore the whisper of apprehension. She wouldn’t listen to it. She knew he was coming tonight. Harry’s brother, Adam, had told her so, and Grandma’s old friend, Sir Geoffrey Bell, had confirmed it.

“Harry Baillieu will be there,” he had said as they sat down to supper a week ago. “And, as promised, I have your invitation here, my dear Sophy. You can go along with my sister and my nieces. No one will be the wiser.”

Sophy had felt a little dizzy with excitement.

“She does not mind?” her grandmother had asked quietly. “Your sister?”

His eyes twinkled. “Oh no! She is a hopeless romantic and thinks this is the most romantic thing she has ever heard.”

“Well then, that’s settled. He won’t be able to resist you.” Her grandmother reached to pat her hand. “You’ll see, my dear.”

It hadn’t worked out quite as seamlessly as they’d thought, however. It seemed that Sir Geoffrey’s sister was not a hopeless romantic, and she was not entirely pleased to have Sophy in her entourage. Sophy had overheard her angry whispers to her brother as they were leaving for the ball. She is not respectable, seemed to be the main objection from Mrs Harding, but Sophy reassured herself that this arrangement was only for one night. Once Harry set eyes on her he would sweep her off her feet and they would never again be parted.

She’d waited three years, and yet it was the waiting between her chance meeting with Adam in Hyde Park and tonight’s ball that had finally begun to erode her hopes and dreams. Because if Harry was in London then why wasn’t he outside her grandmother’s door, demanding entry, calling her name?

And now Sophy was here and Harry was not.

A ripple of voices carried through the crush of guests. Heads turned and whispers stirred the air, silks rustled like leaves from an approaching storm. Sophy looked out across the ballroom to the wide shallow steps that led from the double entrance doors into the well of the room. There was a gentleman standing there, elegant in his evening wear, his brown hair a little too long perhaps, but perfectly framing his handsome face.

Harry!

Her heart swooped. Her world, so drab for the past three years, was suddenly lit with the most vivid colours.

It was Harry. He was older, more grown up, but despite their three years apart she recognized him instantly. Harry, her Harry, the boy and the man she had loved all her life. Without him she had been lost and adrift, and oh so alone. Now, at last, he was here.

As Sophy stared, not daring to breathe, he turned to pass comment to the man behind him. Harry’s younger brother, Adam, resplendent in his military uniform. Adam said something in return, raising a cynical eyebrow. Harry’s broad shoulders shifted, as if he were uneasy, or perhaps impatient. He ran a hand over his neckcloth and turned to stare into the ballroom. His gaze passed over the sea of faces, not really looking at any of them, until he reached hers.

And stopped.

His eyes connected with hers with the shock of a collision. Tremors rushed through her body, from her coiffured head to her satin dancing slippers. The sounds around her diminished to an indistinct murmur and the world ceased to exist. In that moment there was only Sophy and Harry.

When she dreamed of this moment, she always imagined him smiling, and it confused her that instead his face had gone blank. It was as if he was finding it difficult to believe that she was here, but she was still awaiting his smile. How could he not be happy to see her? In a moment he would move forward to meet her and take her hands in his, and tell her everything was going to be all right.

Harry didn’t do any of those things.

He stared at her a moment longer, and now she feared he was consciously removing all memory and knowledge of her from his mind. Every single thing she treasured—every kiss, every word, every promise. Until all that was left was a stranger with Harry’s familiar brown eyes. And then deliberately, so very deliberately, he looked away.

Sophy’s face drained of colour. It wasn’t just that he was pretending not to know her. The doubts she had been fighting grew stronger, like arms wrapped around her so tightly that she struggled to breathe.

“Harry?” she whispered through the narrowing of her throat, as if he could somehow hear her.

She stood there unmoving. Although he had looked away, she couldn’t. Her eyes were drawn to the beautiful young woman that came to his side and slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow. Sophy felt a wave of sick jealousy wash through her as Harry turned to smile at this stranger. That was how he was meant to smile at her! That fraud had taken her place in the fairy tale.

At that precise moment someone behind Sophy spoke clearly to their companion. “Henry Baillieu and Lady Evelyn Rowe. Their engagement was only announced tonight. A lovely surprise. Don’t they make a lovely couple?”

“Very handsome. And obviously a love match.”

“Oh yes, obviously.”

Sophy wanted to turn and run but she wasn’t sure that she could move. Her slippers seemed turned to lead, holding her to the floor. Was it possible to disappear by wishing it? Could she vanish in a puff of smoke? She needed to escape. The beautiful ballroom was no longer to be the scene of her happiest moment—she was an interloper on somebody else’s. Harry was engaged to another. The words vibrated through her, threatening to tear her apart. She felt hot tears well up in her eyes.

Harry had lied. All the promises he had made were lies. He was here tonight, but not for her, never again for her.