A girl like that.
The way he spoke of Sophy made Harry hot with rage. He wanted to argue. He wanted to storm out of the room. But he was nineteen years old, and he would not come into his maturity for two more years. Could he evade his father’s wishes that long? Somehow he would have to.
Harry closed the door behind him. Adam was still sitting on the staircase. The brothers looked at each other, and for once they read each other perfectly.
“Did he tell you it’s up to you to keep the place intact?” Adam asked. “Sophy or Pendleton, eh? What a choice to make. Glad I wasn’t the first born.”
Harry’s eyes were bright with anger, hands clenched at his sides. “I’m not giving her up, Adam. I’m not.”
Adam nodded. “Good for you,” he said, but there was something in his face that made Harry’s confidence waver. As if Adam knew that he was just fooling himself.
Chapter 7
SOPHY
1809, Pendleton Manor, Oxfordshire, England
“Did he really agree?”
Sophy glanced up from her book, surprised by the note of excitement in her aunt’s voice. She was halfway up the old pear tree, which was overgrown and long past bearing fruit, sheltered by the new spring growth. George and Anna were in the orchard, and they had been strolling together, heads close in conversation, but now they had stopped by the trunk of her tree.
“Sir Arbuthnot thinks he is more intelligent than me because he inherited a baronetcy,” her father said, and the scorn in his voice was clear. “In truth he is a lazy man who seeks the easy way to solve a problem. I have offered him a solution and he has taken it. Of course he agreed!”
Aunt Anna was paying them another of her frequent visits. This time there had been talk of Arnold accompanying her, but some other matter had cropped up to prevent him. Sophy was relieved. Her suspicions
that her father and her aunt were match making were growing by the day.
“That is wonderful news, George! I must tell Arnold at once. He will be so pleased. And how pleasing for Sophy, too. You know Harry Baillieu would never have married her. Young girls are ruled by their emotions a great deal too much—they need older heads to watch over them. Oh, everything has turned out perfectly, just as I told you it would.”
Sophy’s mouth opened but she held in the gasp trying to escape. Perhaps she was too shocked to gasp. She closed her book sharply but luckily her fingers prevented it from making a sound, caught as they were between the pages. The book was from Harry’s library, one she had smuggled out when she was there to dine with her father and one of Sir Arbuthnot’s neighbours. Sometimes, when her father was present at visits with neighbours, Sir Arbuthnot made a point of asking that Sophy be there too. Her father said Harry’s father liked her at his table because she was pretty and distracting enough to keep his guests from noticing the less than favourable deals he often talked them into. He had acquired several fine horses in such a way.
Sophy wished she could tell Harry about that. She thought he might be amused. Then again he might be irritated. Since Digby had come to Pendleton for Christmas, she had felt a distance grow between her and Harry, and she worried that it was her fault.
The conversation in the orchard was giving her more to worry about. What was this about Sir Arbuthnot loaning money to her father so that he could buy back his family’s lands? Harry’s father would never do such a thing … unless it was to his benefit. And as for her father and Aunt Anna, Sophy thought she already knew what they were hoping to achieve.
“When will you and Sophy come home to Devon?” Anna said.
“Not immediately,” her father replied. “Sir Arbuthnot says he needs me for a time yet, until he is ready for Harry to take over. I will have to stay but that does not mean Sophy must. Now she is eighteen she is of an age to marry. Do you think Arnold will agree to take her with Audley Farm as dowry?”
Sophy couldn’t have moved now even if she wanted to.
“How can he not?” her aunt said. “This is the best of outcomes, George. For us all.”
Her father made a sound between a laugh and a groan. “I’m not sure Sophy will think so.”
“Your daughter will do as you tell her,” her aunt said quickly, sensing his distress. “When she knows the lengths you have gone to, to protect her and ensure her happiness, she will be grateful, George.”
“I hope you are right but Sophy has a mind of her own. And I worry that Sir Arbuthnot will not let me go without argument. He believes that by lending his money to me he will rid himself of my daughter but keep me here, under his thumb. We are of the same generation, he and I, and do not trust these modern farming methods. Harry is an entirely different prospect.”
Her aunt gave him a thoughtful look. “Surely whatever his failings Sir Arbuthnot is a gentleman and his word is to be trusted?”
“I have no choice but to trust him.” Her father sounded determined.
“When should I tell Arnold and Sophy?” Anna’s voice trembled with excitement. “Such a perfect solution, George. I will start planning the wedding. And grandchildren! I can hardly wait.”
A moment later they moved on, their voices fading, but Sophy had heard more than enough. She felt sick. Her father had taken money from Sir Arbuthnot to buy back Audley Farm, to see her and Arnold—whom she barely remembered—settled there. How long did she have before their plans reached a point of no return?
She took a breath, and then another.