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“She was a bit old, but I learned a thing or two,” Adam replied with a swagger.
Harry snorted. “As long as you didn’t take away more than some new tricks.”
“I covered up, brother. Always do.”
There was no time for further conversation. When they walked into the dining room, Harry found himself seated next to Lady Felicia, and did his best to ignore Adam’s knowing look from the other side of the oak table.
How had his father managed to snare the interest of an earl? And a rich one at that, he guessed by the man’s attire and demeanour—that was something his stint in London had taught him, how to appraise a man and accurately guess his yearly income based on his looks alone. But he also knew Sir Arbuthnot was not interested in peers without money.
The girl was attractive, with dark glossy hair and green eyes that slanted upwards, rather like a cat. Her manner with her father and Sir Arbuthnot conveyed that she was sweet and biddable, but something about the glitter in her eyes had Harry wonder if that was entirely the case. All the same, he imagined she would do as well as any woman for his wife, and not many young gentlemen had the opportunity to find a wife with looks as well as money.
But he was not going to marry her. She was not Sophy, and the ache in his chest only grew as the evening drew on.
He hadn’t seen Sophy since he left for London. Now he was home, and he needed her. Several times he’d thought about sneaking over to the Harcourt’s cottage, but he was very much aware of the servants’ watchful eyes—they were always ready to report back to his father. He needed to show caution when it came to the girl he loved, something he had not always done in the past.
At the same time, he worried that she must know about the earl and his daughter by now. Sophy would be thinking he had changed his mind and he needed to explain to her that everything that had happened while they were apart had only reinforced his resolve to marry her. Oh, Sir Arbuthnot would be furious, but Harry was determined to win him around—Harry was his heir and whatever his father might say in the heat of the moment, Harry knew he was never going to leave Pendleton to Adam.
Harry and Lady Felicia made pleasant conversation over the soup. Both of them were polite but neither of them was particularly interested in the other. As the meal went on, however, Harry began to realise that Felicia was far more intrigued by Adam. His brother knew it too, sending her flirtatious grins when no one else was watching, and taking in her blushes. Unrepentant womaniser that he was, Adam was stealing Harry’s unwanted fiancé from right under their father’s nose.
At first Harry was amused, but even his brother’s antics paled in time. He didn’t want to be here. He played with his silver cutlery—his father was looking to impress—and awaited the next course of what seemed an interminable meal.
“My daughter is quite an artist,” the earl said, casting a fond glance at Felicia. “She even brought her sketch book with her. Never without it, are you, my dear?”
The girl flushed and looked somewhat annoyed. Just as Harry had thought, she wasn’t docile. “I’m sure no one is interested in my little drawings, Father,” she said, her glance flicking to Adam.
Adam grinned and Harry sighed. Sometimes Adam was so cruel to girls who liked him, and he wondered why. It might just be in his nature, but he had begun to wonder whether there was something in Adam’s past that had made him that way. Had something happened to his brother that Harry had failed to notice?
“I’m sure that isn’t so,” the earl reproved. “I remember when I made my Grand Tour through Italy and Greece. I made a great many sketches. I still have them. Was it the same for you, Arbuthnot?”
Sir Arbuthnot looked up, barely concealing his scorn. “I had no time for such nonsense. What is there to see in Italy and Greece anyway? I inherited Pendleton when I was twenty-four and it required my full attention. Still does. That is why it is one of the richest estates in England.”
The earl raised an eyebrow at this show of bad manners but was too polite to rebuke him. Felicia stared at Sir Arbuthnot as though he had sprouted horns, and Harry hid a smile over his plate. Perhaps he would not need to worry about wriggling out of this match after all. His father had done most of the work for him.
“Would you teach me to sketch?” Adam asked in a guileless tone. “I’ll be going to Spain soon with my regiment and I’d like to capture something of the countryside. A keepsake.”
Harry stared at his brother in amazement. Last time he had spoken to Adam about Spain, he’d been more interested in surviving the parched, sniper infested landscape than drawing it. Harry spent a moment trying to decipher Adam’s motives. Unlikely as it seemed, was it possible he was being kind? He saw Lady Felicia’s green eyes soften as she looked across the table at Adam and shyly agreed to help.
Harry’s thoughts drifted away from the meal and the young woman his father was pushing toward him as if to tempt his appetite. He didn’t want to be here.
Sophy. He ached for her. She must be wondering if he had forgotten all about her.
Harry decided right then and there that, after everyone had retired to bed, he was going to ride over to the Harcourt’s cottage and speak to her.
Chapter 8
HARRY
The two storey cottage was dark, but Harry knew which window was Sophy’s. He’d been to the Harcourt’s house many times over the years on his father’s business. Now he was here on his own account.
Harry had waited until the Pendleton household was abed—apart that was, from Adam. He’d heard his brother’s low voice in the parlour, and hesitated outside the door. There was a woman in there and it sounded like Felicia. He probably should see what Adam was up to but if he stopped now, interrupted whoever was in there with his brother, he might not get away until it was too late. So he walked past, slipped out of the house, and went to the stable to saddle his horse. Rather than go through the woods that lay between his home and the Harcourt’s, he skirted around them. The woods reminded him of Digby and his foolish behaviour in risking the girl he loved just to punish his former friend.
He would never do anything to hurt her again.
As he rode he felt his heart lift. The Pendleton estate, his land, his home, his kingdom. One day he would be master of all of this. But he knew right now he was walking a fine line. He didn’t want to jeopardise his inheritance, nor did he want to fall in with his father’s plans for his future wife and lose Sophy. Without her he couldn’t imagine being the man he wanted to be. Without her he might turn into his father and that thought made him grow cold.
He stared up at her window for a moment, then grabbed a handful of earth from the garden, and flung it up against the pane. Silence. He did it again, holding his breath, hoping that George Harcourt wouldn’t hear. He didn’t want to have to explain himself, or run off like a child caught stealing apples. He was about to throw another handful when the window was pushed open.
The glow of Sophy’s pale hair put even the stars to shame. He stared up at her, realising again how much he had missed her. He didn’t want Lady Felicia or her dowry; he didn’t want anyone but Sophy.
