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She could remember her father warning her about him, that she was not the sort of girl Sir Arbuthnot would accept and that eventually Harry would come around to his way of thinking. Sophy Harcourt, he had said, was not wife material. And yet Harry had promised and she had believed. Before he died, she had persuaded her father that her version of Harry was the true one. He had sent the ring and the letter, and Harry had come to find her, just as he’d hoped. And then he had walked away without a word because he didn’t believe in her enough to walk up to her and ask the right questions.
If their roles were reversed she would never have walked away. Would she? She allowed herself to imagine seeing Harry with a woman holding a baby, in a situation that looked cosily domestic. Add to that a father who whispered poison in her ear for months at a time, so that despite her best intentions she began to believe him, fight though she might against it.
She refused to forgive him, but grudgingly she allowed that Harry walking away made some sense in those circumstances. As for what he had said to her in the library just now. That was a different matter.
His mistress …
It was the worst kind of insult she could imagine.
She wished she could go home but it seemed important to continue to play the part she had chosen for herself. If Harry was watching she didn’t want him to see how wounded she was, how once again he had fired his arrow with such unerring accuracy.
She looked across the aisle that separated the seats and noticed that Lady Evelyn was watching her. Had she seen Harry follow her into the library? Was she jealous? Sophy could not read her expression, only that some powerful emotion was rippling over that calm and beautiful face.
“I believe there is supper after this,” James whispered close to her ear. His warm breath stirred her hair and she met his blue eyes and nodded. He smiled again and brushed her hand with his, fingers warm and gentle.
Sophy looked up again. Lady Evelyn was still watching and this time it was possible for Sophy to read the other woman’s expression.
Evelyn was sick with jealousy, and Sophy knew just how she felt.
Chapter 23
HARRY
He was a fool. For a man who had tried all his life to be better, to do what was right, to aspire to the highest principals, he wasn’t much better than Digby.
It had taken him no time at all to come to his conclusion. As soon as the door to Monkstead’s library closed, he knew. He had offered Sophy a carte blanche and she had left him. Of course she had. He wasn’t just a fool, he was a desperate fool. And he had to ask himself if this was how his father had first felt when he wanted a woman and already had a wife. Did that choice come down to something as simple as selfish greed?
Harry had wanted to be a good man, completely unlike his father, and instead he had turned into him.
Supper was lavish but he had no appetite. Adam made polite conversation with him, but he recognised the puzzled light in his brother’s eyes. Adam nodded discreetly toward the other end of the room.
Harry was too busy feeling sorry for himself to look. Sophy was right, it was too late. He had left things too late and he had only himself to blame. He needed to pull himself together and face his future. He needed to wash the bitter taste of his poor dec
isions out of his mouth with the brandy waiting for him in his study. Perhaps after that he would be able to see his way forward again instead of gazing back.
Adam sighed beside him. “Harry, your fiancé and her brother are arguing,” he said. “Something is wrong.”
This time Harry followed the direction of Adam’s nod and paid attention.
Evelyn and Oscar stood close together, his head bent over hers, dominating the conversation while she stared at the floor and said nothing. Her cheeks were flushed and Oscar had hold of her wrist, keeping her prisoner even though she was not attempting to escape.
The fog inside his head cleared. Adam was right, something was wrong.
Evelyn lifted her head and Harry saw that while her face might be a blank wall, her eyes were full of emotion. He started forward, Adam following behind. Oscar was still speaking when they reached the couple. There was no mistaking what sort of conversation this was.
“…Unacceptable behaviour. After what happened before … willing to jeopardise your reputation again for the same idiocy? Learn to control yourself, Evelyn. If you can’t then at least wait until after you are married and have provided Baillieu with an heir!”
“Evelyn?”
Evelyn started and Oscar returned his regard without bothering to hide his fury. Harry’s gaze dropped to Evelyn’s wrist and Oscar reluctantly released her. She began to rub it and Harry’s eyes narrowed.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, knowing full well it wasn’t. What he really wanted to do was pin Oscar against the wall and demand answers, but this wasn’t the time or place, and Evelyn would not thank him for making her the centre of a scene.
She had already plastered a fake smile on her face. “Of course,” she said, her voice lifting. “My brother was just telling me how much he enjoyed the music. Weren’t you, Oscar?”
Oscar didn’t bother to answer her, nodding instead at Harry and Adam, and brushing past them on his way to the supper table. There was a beat of silence and Harry frowned.
“What was he saying?” he asked quietly.
