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Harry looked at him in wary surprise. It was rare that Adam was serious, but he could see he was serious now.
“I don’t know why Sophy left Pendleton. I know what Father said, but I’m certain there was more to it than he let on. Maybe you should remember what a scheming bastard he’s been all our lives.”
“Adam, that’s over,” Harry reminded him impatiently. “I don’t want to reunite with her. I just want to get her out of my head and my life.”
Adam nodded. “Very well. I suppose you could take Evelyn away somewhere, a week or two in the country? If she’ll leave London, of course. By then Sophy may be engaged to James and out of your reach.”
The cab rumbled over some cobbles, the only sound in the tense silence. The stink of the perfume clinging to his brother’s clothing was making Harry feel queasy, or at least that was what he told himself.
But it seemed that Adam’s uncharacteristically serious moment had not ended yet. “I’m saying this because, Harry, I am reasonably certain that is what is going to happen. She’ll be someone else’s and any chance you might have had will be gone. I suppose you could have a raging affair with her, or offer her a carte blanche? Have you considered that?” He laughed at Harry’s reaction. “I see you have. What’s stopping you?”
“It would hurt too many people,” Harry snarled. “I don’t intend to be like Father. I refuse to behave as he did to our mother.”
Adam cocked an eyebrow. “Too upright, eh?”
“You’re insane,” Harry muttered.
“Perhaps. My advice? If you want her you must act fast. Stop going round and round in circles. Get your hands dirty, Harry.”
“Even if I set aside every one of my morals, it’s too late,” he said, his voice bleak. “I’m marrying Evelyn.”
Adam sighed. “Yes, I keep forgetting.”
They didn’t speak again for the rest of the journey to Albemarle Street.
SOPHY
Mrs Harding was accompanying Sophy and her two daughters to some exclusive and fashionable shops near Covent Garden. They had entered a haberdasher when Sophy saw a familiar face. Lady Evelyn Rowe was examining some cloth at the counter with an older woman who looked so much like her, she had to be her mother, the Dowager Countess.
Sophy had managed to put Harry completely out of her mind over recent weeks, and apart from one glimpse of him in Hyde Park, she hadn’t seen him at all. It was peaceful not to have that constant riot of emotion inside her, to just enjoy her time now instead of constantly rehashing the past.
With a nervous glance toward Lady Evelyn, she followed Mrs Harding over to a display of the latest summer muslins and tried to show some interest. Sir Geoffrey had offered to have new outfits made for all three girls, and his sister was quick to take advantage in case he changed his mind. Not, as far as Sophy could tell, that he ever did. Sir Geoffrey was one of the most generous men she knew.
“Evelyn, this would be perfect for your wedding veil!” the Dowager Countess’s strident voice rose above the low murmur of the other customers.
Despite her best efforts, Sophy found herself drawn to the conversation. Harry’s wedding. That familiar ache started up in her chest and she wanted to groan aloud.
Evelyn examined the lace, her lovely face pensive, a little frown between her winged brows. “Do you think so, Mama? Is it not a little ostentatious?”
Her mother was easily persuaded. “Perhaps.” She lay the lace aside and picked up something new. “Two such attractive people hardly need embellishments,” she added with a smile.
Evelyn smiled back but Sophy could see it was forced. Was everything not well in paradise?
Sophy sighed, and Mrs Harding shot her an impatient glance. “Whatever is it, Sophy? One would think you were never satisfied. No one likes an ungrateful girl.”
Now it was her turn to force a smile. “I am grateful.”
Lady Helen spoke again in that loud, aristocratic voice. “Where is Harry? I thought he was meeting us here?”
“He is. Don’t worry, Mama, Harry is never late.”
The Dowager Countess looked about her, and suddenly her gaze landed on Sophy. Her face went to stone. “Isn’t that the girl?” she hissed, probably imagining she was keeping her voice lowered.
Evelyn turned her head and her face lost all its colour. Something akin to panic flickered in her dark eyes.
At that moment Sophy felt Mrs Harding’s hand close on her arm. “You were staring, Sophy,” she said reprovingly. “It is very ill mannered.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Sophy protested.
