Meant To Be (Pendleton Manor 1)

de and seek in the garden. Sometimes he seemed far too grown up for a little boy. She began to tell him she would do as he asked, but he was already on his way to the door.

“Father?” Harry called with barely a tremor in his voice. “I’m here.”

Sophy huddled deeper under the desk, trying to make herself as small as possible. Above her, she could hear the smack of the cane against bare flesh, and with every strike she jumped, biting her lip until it almost bled to stop herself from crying out in protest. Bent over the tooled leather top, Harry hadn’t made a sound but she knew how much it must hurt. This was much, much worse than being hurt herself, and soon tears were running down her cheeks.

After what seemed forever, the last blow echoed in the room and Sir Arbuthnot stepped back and flung down the cane on the floor beside the place where Sophy hid. She could hear him wheeze with the effort it had taken to punish his son.

“You will remember this, Harry. By God, you will. Recklessness when it comes to my stable is something I will not tolerate. Do you understand me, boy?”

Harry’s words sounded as if they were forced past clenched teeth. “Yes, Father.”

“Sometimes I think there is far too much of your mother in you. You are a Baillieu of Pendleton Manor, do you hear me? My father was hard, but he knew what was needed to make a man of me. I’m going to do the same for you, Harry.”

Sir Arbuthnot turned and left the room and for a time there was only silence. Sophy held her breath, listening, but all she could hear was her heart pounding. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and crawled out from under the desk.

“Harry?” she whispered, as she rose up on shaky legs. “Are you all right?”

Which was a stupid question. Of course he wasn’t all right. How could he be? He was leaning against the desk and he wouldn’t look at her. She saw him surreptitiously wiping his face with his sleeve.

“Hardly noticed it,” he muttered.

It broke her heart that he felt he had to be so stoic. With her usual impulsiveness, she flung her arms around him. His body was taunt, stiff, holding everything in. She was old enough to know by now that Harry’s life wasn’t a happy one. She wanted to make it better for him, but she didn’t know how.

“I’m all right,” he insisted, but his voice was choked and when he dropped his head into the crook of her neck she felt the warm salt of his tears on her skin. “Don’t cry,” he said, his voice muffled. “Don’t cry for me, Soph.”

“I’d like to hit your father the way he hits you,” she admitted, holding him tight. “Hit him and hit him until he said sorry to you.”

He snuffled a laugh at her suddenly violent turn. “Thank you,” he said. “Just … don’t do it, not really. I wouldn’t want you to go to gaol.”

Sophy wasn’t sure what gaol was like but she knew it wasn’t a good place. “Do they have lemon syllabub in gaol?” she asked him. That was her favourite dessert in all the world.

He laughed again, and when he lifted his head his brown eyes were gleaming in response to her silliness, just as she’d meant them to. “I’m sure I could have some brought in,” he said. “Just for you, Sophy.”

She beamed back at him. Harry was the best boy in the world, she told herself. She loved him and would always love him, no matter what.

Chapter 2

HARRY

1801, Pendleton Manor, Oxfordshire, England

Summer had been long and warm, and on these sorts of days the lake at Pendleton was always the best place to be. Twelve year old Harry tossed the ball and watched his spaniel jump in, throwing up a huge splash of water, and making Sophy squeal. Making Sophy squeal was currently his favourite pastime.

“Harry!” Ten year old Sophy scolded him, wiping water from her face and tossing her long fair braid over her shoulder.

She was seated on the stone pathway on the edge of the lake, her bare feet and skinny legs dangling into the water. Her shoes and stockings were set neatly behind her. Harry had noticed that Sophy was generally neat. Perhaps it was because her mother had died when she was very young and although her father did his best, most of the time she had to take care of herself.

Harry met her angry blue eyes and grinned. He knew he shouldn’t have done it but lately, for some reason, seeing Sophy glare at him and tell him off was a lot more fun than it used to be. Especially when she had informed him after he came home from school that she liked Adam best.

Those words seemed to tip something over inside him.

It was true that before he arrived home from his boarding school he’d made the decision he was too old to play with Sophy now. She was a little girl, two years younger than him. What would his school friends say if they knew that every night when the lights went off he lay there and thought of Sophy’s smile? What would his father say? He began to doubt the rightness of his own thoughts and feelings, and for the first time in his life he allowed himself to be swayed by the probable opinions of others.

He’d come home on the verge of breaking off their unlikely friendship, and then she had said that she liked his brother Adam best. Instead of being relieved he’d been shaken in a way he had never been shaken before. All of his steady, level-headed emotions had promptly begun to rattle and pitch, and then they tipped over.

Not that he let her know that. At the time he’d shrugged and said that he didn’t care because she was just a little girl, and no one cared what little girls said. Especially little girls of so little importance. Adam, of course, had enjoyed the whole thing immensely, soaking up her attention, putting his arm around Sophy’s shoulders and grinning at Harry. Adam wasn’t attending school until next year. He knew how annoying he was being, but Harry had swallowed down the urge to shove his brother over and kick him. Instead he’d turned away as if he didn’t care.

But he did care. He began to take great pleasure in teasing Sophy, playing mean tricks on her and driving her to distraction. Sophy was such an even-tempered girl, so that making her cross was a victory in itself, and every time she stamped her foot and glared at him, Harry was the winner.