Meant To Be (Pendleton Manor 1)

Harry eyed him narrowly. He swayed as if there was a strong wind blowing him despite the still air. “Shoot then,” he ordered. “Best out of three takes all.”

“Is she part of the deal?” Digby nodded at Sophy, his eyes sweeping over her from head to toe, lingering on her bosom. “Or are you scared you’ll lose?”

Wide eyed, she took a step closer to Harry and he leaned in protectively, his shoulder bumping against her when he lost his balance. “Don’t worry,” he said in a brandy fumed whisper. “I won’t let him near you. Besides, I am going to win. Do you trust me?”

Of course Sophy trusted him. She nodded.

“Very well. Sophy is part of the deal,” Harry announced, and if Sophy felt her heart sink, she tried not to show it. This was Harry, after all, her Harry. He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her. All the same she really didn’t like being used as a trophy.

Over the next few minutes both boys fired at the target, impeded as they were by alcohol, but Harry w

as still the better shot. On his turn he focussed as if everything in the world depended upon him winning, and a few times he glanced at her with a reassuring smile. She felt a surge of pride.

When the final arrow had hit the target, Digby threw down his weapon, his fox face sullen and angry. Harry gave him a grin and a shrug, and taking Sophy’s hand, led her down the broad walk through the white garden, as if nothing else in the world mattered.

HARRY

I wish I’d never invited Digby here.

He knew Sophy was giving him curious glances, her long lashes shielding her summer sky eyes. He took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind of the brandy-fuelled fog.

Harry wasn’t much of a drinker and it had been a stupid idea to start tippling so early in the day. Digby had been the one to suggest it, but Harry had gone along, mainly because he felt the need to entertain his guest and Digby’s idea of fun was getting drunk and trying his luck with the servant girls. Harry had learned Digby’s predilection for drinking and tupping on the occasions when he’d been a guest at Digby’s home.

He didn’t want Digby anywhere near Sophy, which was why he had been avoiding her. During one long drunken afternoon, Harry had told him about Sophy. Digby had seemed intrigued, asking questions, wondering aloud why Harry didn’t just take Sophy into the woods and have her there. Harry had hoped Digby would have forgotten their conversation, but it seemed not.

So he’d stayed away, and yet, when he saw her walking toward him just now, his heart had soared like a hawk.

She was his, whether he deserved her or not—and he was beginning to think not—and seeing Digby look at her had only made him more possessive. It crossed his mind that he might beat to a pulp any man who tried to take her from him. Sometimes the strength of these feelings made him wonder if he was quite sane.

He’d been reckless wagering Sophy’s virtue like that. Even though he knew he would win, it had been thoughtless of him to risk her. He had wanted to stamp his claim on her in front of Digby, in a way the other boy could understand. Mine.

“Your friend …?” Sophy said now, looking over her shoulder. “Is he all right?”

Digby had drunk far more than him and when he glanced back, Harry wasn’t surprised to see him lying on the ground. Had he passed out?

“You can’t just leave him there.”

“Why not?”

She glanced at him and giggled. “Because it’s going to snow and he’ll freeze to death.”

Harry shrugged, and then leaned in to rest his head against hers, gently, feeling the soft silk of her hair. “I won’t let that happen, Soph. I’ll bring him inside as soon as we’re finished our walk. You know,” with a warning look, “he wouldn’t be so tender of your wellbeing as you are of his.”

“But he is your friend,” she reminded him.

Was Digby his friend? Harry supposed he was more of an ally. Harry didn’t have many close friends, apart from Adam, and knowing that he would not be going on to university meant he had become somewhat isolated. Digby was of a good family, with plenty of blunt, and Sir Arbuthnot had been pleased with the connection. Harry was pleased too, because Digby and he had become a team when it came to the bullies who liked to throw their weight around at school. Digby had even saved Adam from a thrashing on one occasion, although as far as Harry could tell his brother was indifferent to the favour.

Harry remembered Adam lying on the ground, blood staining his teeth, laughing hysterically. It was as if nothing mattered to his brother at times, not even his own well-being. When Harry thought about the regimental life their father had chosen for Adam, he wondered if his brother might become a better man for such discipline. Would it straighten him out, or would he remain in the irresponsible and lecherous world he seemed to inhabit so effortlessly?

But he didn’t want to think about that. Right now he didn’t want to think about anything but Sophy.

“You’re coming to Pendleton for Christmas dinner, aren’t you?” he asked abruptly. “I would like to dance with you.”

She smiled and her pale skin flushed. She was so sweet, he told himself, so innocent. He wanted her. Wanted her in a way that made him feel raw and dirty. Surely a girl like Sophy wasn’t made for the sort of things he wanted to do to her. Women, in Harry’s mind, came in two forms. The ones you took to bed and used well, and the ones you set upon a pedestal and married. That was why, according to his father, men took mistresses. To soothe that savage beast that all men had inside them, and not inflict such things upon their precious spouses.

“What are you thinking about?” Her soft voice interrupted his thoughts and he pushed them away, forced himself to smile and be gentle with her.

“Only that I missed you.”