Shortly afterwards they had arrived at Albury House in exclusive Mayfair. Sophy could well believe the Rowe family was as rich as the king. As well as being crowded, the ballroom was a wonderland of flowers and sparkling chandeliers. Glass doors led out onto a terrace and then down to a wilderness of garden, where twinkling lanterns were tucked in among the leaves of the trees.
It was truly magical, a fairy tale, and right now such a place seemed entirely appropriate to Sophy. Because tonight she and Harry were going to see each other again.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t seen him yet. It was difficult to pick out anyone in the crowd or hear anything above all the competing voices. There was a supper room, she’d been told by Lucy, and the dancing would commence soon. Although how one could dance with all these people so close together was a mystery to Sophy.
“The men will go and play cards, silly,” Lucy explained. Sophy smiled—it appeared that she had been lumped in with the sillies of the world. “Some of the men, anyway,” she then clarified. “Others will dance. And many of the women are only here as chaperones, like Mother. They will take their seats. So there will be plenty of room for dancing.”
“Have you a dance card?” Charlotte asked her.
Sophy hadn’t even contemplated such a thing. She wasn’t here to dance, after all. Luckily, before she could reply, Mrs Harding beckoned to them, wishing to introduce them to a portly gentleman standing at her side.
Sophy hesitated, not sure if she was invited or not. When Mrs Harding turned her back it was clear to her she wasn’t. Kind and generous as Sir Geoffrey was, Sophy was discovering his sister was not cut from the same cloth.
She took a couple of steps away from Mrs Harding and looked about her again. She smoothed a nervous hand over her blue velvet sleeve, pleased to note that she looked as fine as any of the other women here tonight. No one could possibly guess that she was wearing second-hand clothing, remade into the height of fashion by her grandmother, or that she was as poor as a church mouse.
Anxiously, she scanned her surroundings once more. Where was he? She had lost sight of Mrs Harding now, and she wasn’t tall enough to see over most of the heads in her way.
A ripple went through the crush. Heads turned and whispers stirred, and suddenly there was a gap between the guests and Sophy could see across the ballroom to the entrance doors and the steps leading down. Her heart stuttered. There was a man standing there, elegant in evening wear, his brown hair a little 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.
Four minutes later…
Sophy pushed her way through the crowd, her eyes blinded by tears she refused to let fall, focused on the open glass doors that led down to the terrace. Outside, the darkness was lit with small lights strung from the trees and the music from the ballroom drifted out to her, as if to mock her presumption. No dancing for you, it seemed to say. No handsome fiancé for you, Sophy Harcourt, and definitely no happy ever after.
She wanted to cry, oh how she wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t. She still had some pride left, though it was battered and bruised. She wouldn’t cry until she was far away from here. Far away from him.
The garden wasn’t like the one at Pendleton, with its smooth lawns and wide borders. Albury House had narrow walkways and prickly shrubs, and her beautiful gown soon caught on a thorn. She felt it start to tear as she struggled to escape. Grandma would be upset. She had worked so hard to make Sophy look beautiful.
But it had been all for nothing.
It couldn’t be helped. She couldn’t stay here, tethered to the garden, until morning. A violent tug, more tearing, and she was free. She turned to run again, when a large hand grasped her arm.
“Stop! Sophy, where are you going? Will you stop?”
That voice, his voice. She tried to pull away from his grip, but he swung her around so hard that she stumbled and nearly fell. Now he had his hands on her shoulders, rough enough to bruise. She looked up at him through the wild tangle that had once been her beautifully coiffed hair.
“What are you doing here?” He was frowning down at her. She could see the whirl of emotion in his eyes, although most of it seemed to be anger. He was angry with her and she didn’t know why.
I came to see you! But the words could not find a way around the lump in her throat and she stared dumbly back at him.
He gave a huff, as if he had better things to do. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said in the sort of voice one would use with a foolish child. “I never imagined you would be here and I don’t …” His hard jaw firmed as he spat out, “I don’t want you here.”
A tear finally escaped and trickled down her cheek but he ignored it.
“Who brought you here?” he demanded, leaning in so close she could see the familiar golden flecks in his brown eyes. “Your husband?”
Sophy blinked. She needed to explain to him, to cut to the heart of this lie, but she felt curiously flat. “Who told you that? Your father? The one who sent my father to die in prison?”
“It doesn’t matter who told me.” His voice was as hard as his grip. “How did you get through the door?”
“I … Sir Ge
offrey Bell arranged the invitation,” she began. “Mrs Harding and her daughters—” But he didn’t let her finish.
“Sir Geoffrey Bell,” he repeated. “I don’t know why you would come here on this night of all nights.” He took what was meant to be a calming breath but he looked anything but calm.