Meant To Be (Pendleton Manor 1)

She drew in a breath through her aching throat, blinking to clear her sight. That was when she realised he was looking at her again. The blank indifference of a moment ago was gone and now his handsome face looked tense and tight. There was a frown between his brows, and although the beautiful woman at his side was speaking to him, he wasn’t listening to her. He was too busy staring at Sophy.

He was angry with her.

Go away. You don’t belong here.

He might as well have shouted the words across the ballroom. Harry wanted her gone. He had never wanted her here in the first place.

Reality settled in her belly like a cold, hard stone. She should not have come tonight. It was so stupid of her to believe that all that had been between them would mean anything to this man just because it did to her. She had been right to have reservations. She should have listened to them.

Harry didn’t want her anymore. He had moved on to a new woman. A new life. He had done as his father demanded and all the things he’d said to her, all the promises, all the kisses and touches, had been lies. Her father had warned her to guard herself from him all those years ago, but she hadn’t believed him. She had been asleep and it was time to wake up.

Sophy now did the only thing she could, the thing she should have done when she was five years old.

She turned from Harry and ran.

Chapter 1

SOPHY

1796, Pendleton Manor, Oxfordshire, England

Five year old Sophy Harcourt squeezed her eyes shut, trying her hardest to be invisible. She could hear Sir Arbuthnot Baillieu stomping about the house, calling for his eldest son, and he didn’t sound very happy. In fact, he sounded unhappier by the minute.

She gave a whimper.

The library was Sophy’s favourite place. She was an avid reader for her age, or as her father said fondly, ‘bookish’. She had found a book about King Arthur’s knights of the round table, and was regaling Harry with chivalrous stories from it, when they were interrupted by the angry owner of Pendleton Manor.

Maybe, despite seven year old Harry’s bored expression, the gallant nature of the knights had struck a chord because he gave her a little bow and said, “Take shelter, my lady!” Or maybe he was just teasing her.

She looked at him, wide eyed, as he pressed in beside her, both of them hiding behind the mahogany desk. Harry said that if Sir Arbuthnot caught them then he’d be wearing the stripes from his father’s cane for days to come, and Sophy would be sent home to her parents in disgrace.

Sophy knew she shouldn’t be here, even if she did consider it her home. She had been barely two years old when her parents left their old home in Devon and came to Oxfordshire. Pendleton was all she knew. But the daughter of a lowly estate manager was not proper company for the heir to Pendleton Manor.

“Harry!” roared Sir Arbuthnot. “I know you’re here. Come out, boy, and don’t be such a damned coward. I want to know what happened to my best hunter. You rode her, didn’t you, you young cur? She’s lame because of you!”

Harry’s face scrunched into a worried frown. Sophy could read his thoughts—he didn’t like being called a coward, and he was going to stand up and face his father.

She reached for his hand, squeezing it tight. Sir Arbuthnot thrashed Harry far too often for her liking. She thought he would do much better thrashing Harry’s brother, Adam. Adam, with his angelic smile and naughty ways, deserved to be punished rather than Harry, who was always worrying about doing the right thing.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “It was Adam’s fault. He dared you to ride the horse, Harry. You know he did.”

It was true. Adam had dared him, sneering at Harry’s “do-gooder ways” as he called them. Harry had been goaded into riding the horse, when everyone knew Sir Arbuthnot cared more about his horseflesh than he did his sons.

Harry turned to look at her, his brown eyes fixed on her, and for a hopeful moment she thought he would pay heed. Until he said, “Stay here.”

She shook her head at him. “Harry…” But Harry had already begun to crawl out from under the desk. She closed her hand into a fist as her fingers slipped through his, holding on to the comforting warmth a little longer.

“Don’t say a word,” he repeated. He looked back at her in her wooden cave and then straightened. Harry was already tall for his age and most times seemed much older than his years. It was because of the responsibility of being the heir, she had heard her parents say when they thought she wasn’t listening. Harry’s father placed a great deal upon his shoulders, and expected a great deal in return. It had been so with all the Baillieus since they first built their castle and claimed their land.

“Harry—” she tried again.

“Don’t say a word, Sophy. Don’t give yourself away. Once it’s safe, sneak out.”

And let you take the punishment on your own? Sophy asked herself. A punishment he didn’t really deserve? She huffed. “I want to tell him it was Adam’s fault.”

He stooped to look at her and shook his head, his straight brown hair falling into his eyes. “He won’t listen to you. He’ll tell your father, and then you’ll never be allowed to see me. I’d rather get a beating than that. Stay under there and be quiet.” He forced a grin and said again, “Take shelter, my lady.”

Sophy squirmed in frustration. She knew he was right, and it would most likely happen that way. It was unbearable to imagine not spending her days with Harry, never seeing the smile on his face when she said something he found amusing, or watching as he explained to her the workings of his estate, and sometimes the world itself, his voice so very serious. If it wasn’t for Sophy, Harry wouldn’t think to swim in the lake or catch tadpoles, or play hi