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Tonight’s ball was at a mansion in St James Square, owned by an important member of parliament, and the two Harding girls were agog at being invited to such a place. “This is our uncle’s doing,” Charlotte whispered to Sophy. “Mama would never have been asked to attend without his pulling strings!”
It was May now and the latest arrivals in town, who wanted their events to be the most talked about, were going all out to put on the best show.
“Miss Harcourt!” She looked up and felt her low spirits lift at the pleasure in James’s face. “Here you are.”
“Lord Abbott,” she said, greeting him with a little curtsey.
He took her arm, leading her away from her chaperone, but not far enough to offend the matron. “I wondered if you’d cry off tonight,” he admitted. “You seemed sad on that morning we rode out in the park.”
“Sad?” she repeated, wondering whether she could convince him otherwise when her lips refused to smile.
He looked at her a moment, as if he was deciding what to say next. “I think you are sad.” His earnest gaze fastened on her face. “In the same way that I am sad.”
Sophy opened her mouth to deny everything … and then her skin prickled. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She turned her head.
Harry.
He was standing across the room with a group of other guests, but Sophy didn’t see those elegant, fashionable persons. She only saw him. He was smiling at something someone had said but now that smile was frozen on his lips, his dark eyes fixed on her face, and his shoulders rigid beneath his perfectly tailored evening jacket.
“Sophy?” She heard James’ voice behind her, but she couldn’t look away. She felt dizzy, and she wasn’t sure she would have been able to turn away at all. Someone then tapped on Harry’s arm to gain his attention, and she was released from whatever spell she had been under.
For a moment Sophy wished she could run, just as she had done at Albury House, but her panic subsided. She wasn’t going to do that again. One thing she had learned over the preceding weeks was that her pride was more important to her than she had ever thought possible.
There had been a time when she had believed she would do anything to have Harry back, crawl and beg and humble herself like the lowliest creature. Now she knew she deserved better than that. Pride kept her from running because she didn’t want him to know how badly he had injured her. She was like one of Sir Arbuthnot’s game birds hiding in the bracken, winged but refusing to break cover. Just like that bird, Sophy would not make herself a target for Harry.
“Sophy?” James now stood in front of her, with something like pity on his face. He must have seen everything. His brother had probably told him all her secrets—well, those he knew anyway.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Sometimes I forget.”
“Forget?” he asked her, still in that gentle tone of voice.
“Forget that it’s over.” She spoke the words before she could stop herself.
He didn’t ask her what she meant. Instead he looked past her head, across the room, and she saw him go still. Then he dropped his gaze to hers once more.
“I hope you saved several dances for me.” He spoke the words as if nothing had happened.
“Of course.”
“Good girl,” he said with a smile.
She glanced over her shoulder again as they moved off, but Harry was gone now and the only person who had seemed to notice them was Lady Evelyn.
James was the perfect companion. He danced with Sophy, and then with Lucy and Charlotte, he even danced with a shy wallflower who had been hiding herself in their group, far away from her unpleasant chaperone. James, Sophy decided, was everything that Digby was not. He was a balm to her sore heart.
As the evening wore on she did her best to forget about Harry. She knew her grandmother would want a complete account of the ball and the guests, what everyone was wearing and what was said. She took note. She was glad when she realised that she was, if not at the very forefront of fashion this Season—that would be Lady Evelyn—then certainly not the dowdiest girl in the room.
There was a point when she became aware of Harry dancing with his fiancé, but she made sure she was on the other side of the room. James seemed to be of a like mind, making sure she was not in the vicinity when Harry and Evelyn took to the floor. Whether it was on purpose—again she wondered if Digby had told him—or by coincidence, she was just grateful not to find herself too close to them.
Sophy found that the more she pretended not to care about Harry Baillieu and his lady love, the better at it she became. She would be cool and aloof, which wasn’t
easy when her natural inclination was to be open and honest. Considering the circumstances, everything seemed to be going very well.
Until Digby asked her to dance.
HARRY
Seeing Sophy again had shaken him to the core. He had convinced himself, stupidly he realised now, that she would go back to wherever she had come from and he would never see her again. He’d put her out of his mind, at least during his waking hours because she still plagued his dreams. But now here she was, the same and yet different, looking very comfortable in her surroundings. He had a sinking feeling that Sophy wasn’t planning on going anywhere.
