Meant To Be (Pendleton Manor 1)

The humour left his face. “Good on you,” he said quietly. “Actually I think you will come out of this better than Harry. He seems to be in the worst of moods for a man who’s just become engaged to such a beautiful and wealthy woman.”

Sophy stayed silent. She refused to let even a whisper of hope enter her heart. What was the point anyway? Harry was engaged. He had removed himself from Sophy as effectively as if he had sailed to the other side of the world. There was no point in wishing for things to be different.

Adam grinned. “Should I enlighten him about your marital state?” Then, before she could answer, “No, let him suffer.”

Her eyes widened.

Adam glanced over his shoulder at the brunette, who was still glaring at them. He muttered something about his life’s trials and tribulations, and then took her gloved hand, bending over it. “Farewell for now, Sophy,” he said, and left her there.

Chapter 16

SOPHY

As the weeks slipped by, Sophy had stopped looking for Harry at the events she attended. She had a growing list of invitations, and Sir Geoffrey and her grandmother scrutinised them closely, choosing the ones they thought most advantageous for Sophy. More people had descended on London and she now found herself mixing with some of the highest levels of Society. One night she danced with two Earls and a Marquis, and because she didn’t really care whether they found her amusing or not, she wasn’t nervous and tended to be her usual refreshingly honest self.

To her surprise, she was proclaimed a hit. She also found her dance card—she had one now—was always filled, and that she was beginning to enjoy herself. Until Digby Abbott sought her out.

“Miss Harcourt!”

She recognised him in a heartbeat. He hadn’t changed all that much, although he’d filled out and his face had grown heavier around the jaw. There were also budding pouches under his eyes, as if he spent far too much time drinking and staying up late.

She had tried to put the memory of that night at Pendleton out of her mind, but there were still occasions when she found herself reliving the helpless terror she’d felt with his violent hands on her. But she’d been young and naïve then, and she didn’t think the Sophy she was now would have allowed herself to be placed in such a dangerous situation.

Harry had blamed himself for making Digby feel stupid. He had offered her up as a prize in a wager! While she had accepted it then, believing it was all part of the trust she put in Harry, now she called herself every sort of fool. Did that mean she had grown wiser? Or was she simply less trusting and more cynical?

Rather than dwell on Digby, Sophy preferred to remember how Harry had come to her rescue that night. The attack on her had shaken him, and he had kissed her as if she was the most precious thing in his world. And he’d made promises … so many promises. All of them broken.

“Are you enjoying your time in London?” Digby continued his conversation with her, obviously too self-obsessed to consider her feelings. Perhaps in his world women pretended they didn’t remember the way he treated them, but not in Sophy’s. Instead of answering him she chose to look away as if he wasn’t there. She was glad they were in the middle of a crowded ballroom in London instead of alone in the snow covered woods at Pendleton.

“Have you seen Harry?” he took a step closer, his eyes fixed on her.

She turned to face him. He was bent on mischief now and Sophy intended to show him she didn’t care and that neither he nor Harry mattered a jot to her. “Once or twice,” she said airily. “Why, did you think we were still close? We’re merely acquaintances now.”

He gave her a look as if he didn’t believe her but before he could say so another voice interrupted them.

“Digby, will you introduce us?”

The other man was

standing behind Digby, but she’d been too focussed on playing pretend to notice. Taller than Digby, his fair hair cut neatly, his eyes a deeper blue than her own, and shadows under them that seemed to speak of some secret grief.

She was instantly drawn to him.

Digby didn’t seem all that keen to make the introductions but the other man waited patiently until he reluctantly obliged. “Miss Harcourt, this is my elder brother, James, Lord Abbott and Viscount Westbrook.”

Sophy curtseyed and James Abbott bowed. When he lifted his head again he was smiling at her, his eyes engaging, and the lingering sadness she had seen in them was gone.

“How do you know Digby, Miss Harcourt?” He glanced from one to the other, clearly aware of the tension between them.

Digby looked at her and she was certain he was silently asking her not to tell his brother the truth. She said they had met at an earlier ball and danced once, but wasn’t it nice to see a familiar face in this gathering of so many strangers?

That led to James asking her how long she had been in London, which she answered easily enough without going into any detail. She had become an expert at saying very little while appearing to say much. They then spoke about some of the events they’d attended recently, and some of the people she’d met.

She learnt that James spent a lot of time in London. She guessed he was Digby’s elder by several years, and so far seemed completely unlike him. Although his family had an estate in the north of the country, he said he did not need to be there all of the time.

“I have a good manager who deals with the day to day problems,” he said, and appeared not to notice Sophy’s slight flinch.

Digby did. Perhaps he knew more than she’d hoped because his gaze caught hers and he fought a smile. It wasn’t a friendly smile, however, and Sophy decided that her feelings for the man hadn’t changed. She still disliked him intensely and wouldn’t trust him under any circumstances.