“You’re right, though. If your father hears about tonight he’ll probably keep us apart. So I won’t tell him. Or my father, for that matter. But I’ll be damned if I let Digby ever forget this day.”
She breathed a sigh of relief, leaning on his arm as they continued on. Her feet were probably numb with cold by now and her gown wasn’t warm enough.
Harry swung her up into his arms and she cuddled close to his chest, pressing her face to his heart. Her hair had come loose and spilled over his arm and he could feel the soft curve of her breasts, but for once he didn’t think of his need for her body. He was still too shaken from what had nearly happened.
They walked in silence until they were nearly at the barn, and he then set her gently down. He wouldn’t have cared who saw them together, he wanted others to know she was his, but he was aware of his father’s determination that he marry well, which meant a wealthy woman preferably with a title. Harry had no intention of abiding by his father’s wishes, but he was still too young to openly defy him, and it would take time for his father to get used to the idea that Harry had every intention of marrying their estate manager’s daughter.
Some of the children were having a snowball fight, shrieking and running.
“Go inside,” he said, bending his head and kissing Sophy’s nose. “Say you were playing with the children if they ask.”
She looked down at herself with a grimace and nodded, and then looked at him nervously, hesitant to say what was in her head.
“What is it?”
“Will I see you tomorrow?” she asked.
“And the day after that. I’m not going back to school. That’s over.”
She smiled, and this time when she gazed up into his eyes hers were full of love.
Inside Pendleton, Adam was seated on the staircase and gave him a wary smile. “Where have you been? Father’s been asking for you.”
Harry frowned. “Has he gone to bed?”
“He’s in the library. Maybe he’s asleep in there.”
Harry considered carrying on up the stairs to his own bed but he knew that waiting until morning would only make things worse. Whatever his father wanted it was best to get it over with if he could.
Sir Arbuthnot was slumped in his favourite chair, a tumbler of brandy in his hand. He stared at his son through narrowed eyes, his cheeks flushed, his mouth a hard white line.
“Sit down,” he growled.
“Father, what do—?”
“Sit. Down.”
Harry came to the chair in front of his father’s and sat. For a moment Sir Arbuthnot contemplated him in silence. Harry tried not to fidget, reminding himself he was near enough to a grown man.
“You know the Baillieus have always married into money. That’s how we keep Pendleton from falling out of our hands. We’ve had our share of gamblers and wasters, but the money has always balanced that out.”
Harry said nothing, waiting. His heartbeat had quickened. He tried not to clench the arms of the chair. He didn’t want to give away anything, but he had a feeling he knew what his father was about to say.
“You have to marry an heiress, Harry.” Sir Arbuthnot leaned forward, setting his glass down hard on the side table. “I have a number of girls in mind, but I wanted to wait until you were home for good. We can arrange a stay in London with your uncle, add a bit of polish, but after that I want you married and home. Here. At the manor. I’m not getting any younger.”
Harry waited a moment. The words in his head were trying desperately to get out but he held them in, knowing they would only make things worse. He was never going to marry anyone but Sophy but his father wasn’t ready to hear that.
Instead he said, “You didn’t marry until you were forty.”
Sir Arbuthnot snorted. “So you think you can do the same? Well it’s not going to happen, Harry. We need new money to keep the estate running. A few bad seasons, the war …” He shrugged. “Financially things have been tight. I don’t want to borrow to keep Pendleton running but I might have to, and once the banks have their greedy hands on us, there’s no knowing where it will end.”
“There are modernisations you can make. I read about a system of planting that—”
His voice trailed off under his father’s glare. Sir Arbuthnot was never going to change the way they did things. For him tradition was everything—if it was good enough for his father and his father before him, then why change? Harry was caught in a trap and it was tightening its grip on him, making it hard to breathe.
“I need time.”
“For what?” His father’s eyes narrowed. “I know about Sophy Harcourt. I’ve seen you mooning over her and her father has noticed it as well. He has plans for her.” He shrugged. “Frankly it doesn’t bother me if you have her on the side. She’s pretty, I’ve noticed her myself, but a girl like that doesn’t expect more than a roll in the hay. Keep her as long as you like, she’ll be grateful for the crumbs you give her before she moves on to the next man, but she isn’t going to be your wife, Harry. You might as well accept it now.”