Meant To Be: Pendleton Manor Book 1 Read online

  Meant To Be

  Pendleton Manor Book 1

  Sara Bennett

  Copyright © 2019 by Sara Bennett

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Sara Bennett

  For my mother, remembering all the books we shared.

  Prologue

  SOPHY

  1812, the Ballroom at Albury House, London

  Sophy gazed about her, blue eyes wide with wonder. The ballroom was beautiful with its sparkling candlelit chandeliers and the guests dressed in all their finery. It was like the ending to a fairy tale, the sort of ending she had dreamed about for the past three years. Now it was about to happen.

  Harry would see her and… for a moment her sunny thoughts clouded. Until now the story she had told herself, the happy ever after, had been so comfortable and familiar, she had rarely questioned it. Like a well-loved book she had repeated the ending to herself over and over again, and whenever a niggle of doubt tried to worm itself into that picture she’d shut it out. Why was that doubt choosing this moment to spoil her happiness?

  She took a deep breath and began again. Harry would see her and he’d be so happy. They’d both be so happy, their faces beaming, their smiles wide. It had always been inevitable that they would end up together. From childhood until they were forced apart, they were always meant to be.

  She believed that with all of her heart. Didn’t she? Well of course she did! Otherwise she wouldn’t be here right now, risking that heart. Three long years apart didn’t mean she couldn’t still believe in Harry, both the boy he was and the man he had become. He loved her, had promised her a future filled with joy, and now she was here. Ready to claim it.

  You’ve been a long time apart, a sceptical voice whispered in her ear. Are you sure he is still the same man? Are you sure he has been as steadfast as you?

  That voice worried her. She didn’t like what it was saying.

  Sophy smoothed a hand over her white silk skirt. Grandma had made her look as fine as anyone here tonight, so fine that no one could possibly guess that she was poor as a church mouse. Beneath the white silk was a muslin petticoat, and her bodice was made of deep blue velvet with a matching ribbon tied beneath her bosom. Sir Geoffrey had presented her with white kid gloves and a delicate gold chain to place around her neck. Grandma had found the blue slippers that encased her stockinged feet.

  The blue velvet brought out the blue of her eyes and her fair hair, dressed in a simple style, was a glowing halo.

  “You look like an angel,” Grandma had said. “How could any man resist you?”

  “I don’t want any man, Grandma. I want Harry.”

  Her grandmother and Sir Geoffrey both smiled and nodded, but Sophy had caught the glance that passed between them. It shook her a little to know that they did not believe in her dream as wholeheartedly as she wanted them to, but she had shored up any cracks in her confidence by reminding herself that they did not know Harry like she did. They did not understand the depth of his love for her, and hers for him. She had been like a soldier marking time. Waiting, waiting, waiting for him.

  Now she stood in the ballroom of Albury House, waiting for her life to finally begin again.

  Where was Harry?

  She scanned her surroundings and tried to ignore the whisper of apprehension. She wouldn’t listen to it. She knew he was coming tonight. Harry’s brother, Adam, had told her so, and Grandma’s old friend, Sir Geoffrey Bell, had confirmed it.

  “Harry Baillieu will be there,” he had said as they sat down to supper a week ago. “And, as promised, I have your invitation here, my dear Sophy. You can go along with my sister and my nieces. No one will be the wiser.”

  Sophy had felt a little dizzy with excitement.

  “She does not mind?” her grandmother had asked quietly. “Your sister?”

  His eyes twinkled. “Oh no! She is a hopeless romantic and thinks this is the most romantic thing she has ever heard.”

  “Well then, that’s settled. He won’t be able to resist you.” Her grandmother reached to pat her hand. “You’ll see, my dear.”

  It hadn’t worked out quite as seamlessly as they’d thought, however. It seemed that Sir Geoffrey’s sister was not a hopeless romantic, and she was not entirely pleased to have Sophy in her entourage. Sophy had overheard her angry whispers to her brother as they were leaving for the ball. She is not respectable, seemed to be the main objection from Mrs Harding, but Sophy reassured herself that this arrangement was only for one night. Once Harry set eyes on her he would sweep her off her feet and they would never again be parted.

  She’d waited three years, and yet it was the waiting between her chance meeting with Adam in Hyde Park and tonight’s ball that had finally begun to erode her hopes and dreams. Because if Harry was in London then why wasn’t he outside her grandmother’s door, demanding entry, calling her name?

  And now Sophy was here and Harry was not.

  A ripple of voices carried through the crush of guests. Heads turned and whispers stirred the air, silks rustled like leaves from an approaching storm. Sophy looked out across the ballroom to the wide shallow steps that led from the double entrance doors into the well of the room. There was a gentleman standing there, elegant in his evening wear, his brown hair a little too long perhaps, but perfectly framing his handsome face.

  Harry!

  Her heart swooped. Her world, so drab for the past three years, was suddenly lit with the most vivid colours.

  It was Harry. He was older, more grown up, but despite their three years apart she recognized him instantly. Harry, her Harry, the boy and the man she had loved all her life. Without him she had been lost and adrift, and oh so alone. Now, at last, he was here.

  As Sophy stared, not daring to breathe, he turned to pass comment to the man behind him. Harry’s younger brother, Adam, resplendent in his military uniform. Adam said something in return, raising a cynical eyebrow. Harry’s broad shoulders shifted, as if he were uneasy, or perhaps impatient. He ran a hand over his neckcloth and turned to stare into the ballroom. His gaze passed over the sea of faces, not really looking at any of them, until he reached hers.

  And stopped.

  His eyes connected with hers with the shock of a collision. Tremors rushed through her body, from her coiffured head to her satin dancing slippers. The sounds around her diminished to an indistinct murmur and the world ceased to exist. In that moment there was only Sophy and Harry.<
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  When she dreamed of this moment, she always imagined him smiling, and it confused her that instead his face had gone blank. It was as if he was finding it difficult to believe that she was here, but she was still awaiting his smile. How could he not be happy to see her? In a moment he would move forward to meet her and take her hands in his, and tell her everything was going to be all right.

  Harry didn’t do any of those things.

  He stared at her a moment longer, and now she feared he was consciously removing all memory and knowledge of her from his mind. Every single thing she treasured—every kiss, every word, every promise. Until all that was left was a stranger with Harry’s familiar brown eyes. And then deliberately, so very deliberately, he looked away.

  Sophy’s face drained of colour. It wasn’t just that he was pretending not to know her. The doubts she had been fighting grew stronger, like arms wrapped around her so tightly that she struggled to breathe.

  “Harry?” she whispered through the narrowing of her throat, as if he could somehow hear her.

  She stood there unmoving. Although he had looked away, she couldn’t. Her eyes were drawn to the beautiful young woman that came to his side and slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow. Sophy felt a wave of sick jealousy wash through her as Harry turned to smile at this stranger. That was how he was meant to smile at her! That fraud had taken her place in the fairy tale.

  At that precise moment someone behind Sophy spoke clearly to their companion. “Henry Baillieu and Lady Evelyn Rowe. Their engagement was only announced tonight. A lovely surprise. Don’t they make a lovely couple?”

  “Very handsome. And obviously a love match.”

  “Oh yes, obviously.”

  Sophy wanted to turn and run but she wasn’t sure that she could move. Her slippers seemed turned to lead, holding her to the floor. Was it possible to disappear by wishing it? Could she vanish in a puff of smoke? She needed to escape. The beautiful ballroom was no longer to be the scene of her happiest moment—she was an interloper on somebody else’s. Harry was engaged to another. The words vibrated through her, threatening to tear her apart. She felt hot tears well up in her eyes.

  Harry had lied. All the promises he had made were lies. He was here tonight, but not for her, never again for her.

  She drew in a breath through her aching throat, blinking to clear her sight. That was when she realised he was looking at her again. The blank indifference of a moment ago was gone and now his handsome face looked tense and tight. There was a frown between his brows, and although the beautiful woman at his side was speaking to him, he wasn’t listening to her. He was too busy staring at Sophy.

  He was angry with her.

  Go away. You don’t belong here.

  He might as well have shouted the words across the ballroom. Harry wanted her gone. He had never wanted her here in the first place.

  Reality settled in her belly like a cold, hard stone. She should not have come tonight. It was so stupid of her to believe that all that had been between them would mean anything to this man just because it did to her. She had been right to have reservations. She should have listened to them.

  Harry didn’t want her anymore. He had moved on to a new woman. A new life. He had done as his father demanded and all the things he’d said to her, all the promises, all the kisses and touches, had been lies. Her father had warned her to guard herself from him all those years ago, but she hadn’t believed him. She had been asleep and it was time to wake up.

  Sophy now did the only thing she could, the thing she should have done when she was five years old.

  She turned from Harry and ran.

  Chapter 1

  SOPHY

  1796, Pendleton Manor, Oxfordshire, England

  Five year old Sophy Harcourt squeezed her eyes shut, trying her hardest to be invisible. She could hear Sir Arbuthnot Baillieu stomping about the house, calling for his eldest son, and he didn’t sound very happy. In fact, he sounded unhappier by the minute.

  She gave a whimper.

  The library was Sophy’s favourite place. She was an avid reader for her age, or as her father said fondly, ‘bookish’. She had found a book about King Arthur’s knights of the round table, and was regaling Harry with chivalrous stories from it, when they were interrupted by the angry owner of Pendleton Manor.

  Maybe, despite seven year old Harry’s bored expression, the gallant nature of the knights had struck a chord because he gave her a little bow and said, “Take shelter, my lady!” Or maybe he was just teasing her.

  She looked at him, wide eyed, as he pressed in beside her, both of them hiding behind the mahogany desk. Harry said that if Sir Arbuthnot caught them then he’d be wearing the stripes from his father’s cane for days to come, and Sophy would be sent home to her parents in disgrace.

  Sophy knew she shouldn’t be here, even if she did consider it her home. She had been barely two years old when her parents left their old home in Devon and came to Oxfordshire. Pendleton was all she knew. But the daughter of a lowly estate manager was not proper company for the heir to Pendleton Manor.

  “Harry!” roared Sir Arbuthnot. “I know you’re here. Come out, boy, and don’t be such a damned coward. I want to know what happened to my best hunter. You rode her, didn’t you, you young cur? She’s lame because of you!”

  Harry’s face scrunched into a worried frown. Sophy could read his thoughts—he didn’t like being called a coward, and he was going to stand up and face his father.

  She reached for his hand, squeezing it tight. Sir Arbuthnot thrashed Harry far too often for her liking. She thought he would do much better thrashing Harry’s brother, Adam. Adam, with his angelic smile and naughty ways, deserved to be punished rather than Harry, who was always worrying about doing the right thing.

  “Don’t,” she whispered. “It was Adam’s fault. He dared you to ride the horse, Harry. You know he did.”

  It was true. Adam had dared him, sneering at Harry’s “do-gooder ways” as he called them. Harry had been goaded into riding the horse, when everyone knew Sir Arbuthnot cared more about his horseflesh than he did his sons.

  Harry turned to look at her, his brown eyes fixed on her, and for a hopeful moment she thought he would pay heed. Until he said, “Stay here.”

  She shook her head at him. “Harry…” But Harry had already begun to crawl out from under the desk. She closed her hand into a fist as her fingers slipped through his, holding on to the comforting warmth a little longer.

  “Don’t say a word,” he repeated. He looked back at her in her wooden cave and then straightened. Harry was already tall for his age and most times seemed much older than his years. It was because of the responsibility of being the heir, she had heard her parents say when they thought she wasn’t listening. Harry’s father placed a great deal upon his shoulders, and expected a great deal in return. It had been so with all the Baillieus since they first built their castle and claimed their land.

  “Harry—” she tried again.

  “Don’t say a word, Sophy. Don’t give yourself away. Once it’s safe, sneak out.”

  And let you take the punishment on your own? Sophy asked herself. A punishment he didn’t really deserve? She huffed. “I want to tell him it was Adam’s fault.”

  He stooped to look at her and shook his head, his straight brown hair falling into his eyes. “He won’t listen to you. He’ll tell your father, and then you’ll never be allowed to see me. I’d rather get a beating than that. Stay under there and be quiet.” He forced a grin and said again, “Take shelter, my lady.”

  Sophy squirmed in frustration. She knew he was right, and it would most likely happen that way. It was unbearable to imagine not spending her days with Harry, never seeing the smile on his face when she said something he found amusing, or watching as he explained to her the workings of his estate, and sometimes the world itself, his voice so very serious. If it wasn’t for Sophy, Harry wouldn’t think to swim in the lake or catch tadpoles, or play hi
de and seek in the garden. Sometimes he seemed far too grown up for a little boy. She began to tell him she would do as he asked, but he was already on his way to the door.

  “Father?” Harry called with barely a tremor in his voice. “I’m here.”

  Sophy huddled deeper under the desk, trying to make herself as small as possible. Above her, she could hear the smack of the cane against bare flesh, and with every strike she jumped, biting her lip until it almost bled to stop herself from crying out in protest. Bent over the tooled leather top, Harry hadn’t made a sound but she knew how much it must hurt. This was much, much worse than being hurt herself, and soon tears were running down her cheeks.

  After what seemed forever, the last blow echoed in the room and Sir Arbuthnot stepped back and flung down the cane on the floor beside the place where Sophy hid. She could hear him wheeze with the effort it had taken to punish his son.

  “You will remember this, Harry. By God, you will. Recklessness when it comes to my stable is something I will not tolerate. Do you understand me, boy?”

  Harry’s words sounded as if they were forced past clenched teeth. “Yes, Father.”

  “Sometimes I think there is far too much of your mother in you. You are a Baillieu of Pendleton Manor, do you hear me? My father was hard, but he knew what was needed to make a man of me. I’m going to do the same for you, Harry.”

  Sir Arbuthnot turned and left the room and for a time there was only silence. Sophy held her breath, listening, but all she could hear was her heart pounding. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and crawled out from under the desk.