Chapter 2 #2
Unaware of his inner turmoil, she lifted a delicate shoulder.
“That is the problem. I would like to stay in London and plead my case. They do not relocate to Durham for just over a fortnight, so I might be able to convince Mr. Whitcomb to allow me to stay on. I have been planning on this position for months now—and truth be told, I do not wish to return home unsuccessful.”
Andrew’s mood blackened. What did that say about her husband if she did not want to return home? Why did she need a position at all if the man was providing for her as he should?
And where was he?
“How can I help?” The offer fled his mouth before he could stop it.
Anger at her apparently lackluster husband and the employer who had treated her so poorly pushed him to act rashly, but he could not say he regretted it—not when she had her eyes trained on him in that way, with a mix of gratitude and relief. And a healthy dose of surprise.
“Oh, this is enough. You need not do more.” She gestured at the tea.
He pierced her with a look. “Oh yes, tea is certain to solve the dilemma.”
A bit of her customary playfulness re-entered her expression. “Do not discount it.”
“I wouldn’t dare. Do you need a recommendation? I could speak to this Whitcomb fellow.”
“I have several. He refused to look at them.”
Andrew’s jaw tensed. “Do you have a place to stay?”
Her lips pulled to the side. “No. I’d intended to gain a recommendation on lodging from the project head, but without the funds from employment…” She trailed off, her cheeks coloring.
“And your family?”
She grimaced. “Unsupportive.”
Andrew barely held himself back from asking just what sort of man she had married.
But that was uncouth and possibly unfounded, if there was further information about the situation that he did not possess.
He could not pretend this was his friend from years before, and speak to her thus.
Too much stood between them now, and he had to help her without overstepping those bounds.
Although… a small part of him suddenly wondered if her husband might have left her a widow.
That would explain everything… Her dress was a dark lavender, which was appropriate for mourning.
But that line of thinking brought a jolt of longing that scared him in its intensity, so he pushed it aside.
He needed to be helping his old friend just then, not losing himself in pointless fancies.
He sought about for options. Could he front the cost of a hotel for the night? Except she wished to stay for a fortnight, and he could not spare those funds just now. If any of his friends were in town… But would Sophie feel comfortable staying with their families when they were unknown to her?
The clock chimed the coming lateness of the hour.
There was only one thing for it. For tonight at least.
“Well, you must stay here tonight.”
“I couldn’t—”
“You are an old friend, Soph—” He cut himself off and lowered his voice.
“An old friend. And it is only one night, until we determine how best to proceed. No one needs to know that you stayed here alone. Besides, my father would be sorely disappointed if he learned I’d not helped you.
” It was horribly improper, but there was nothing for it.
Air rushed out of her with a whoosh. “Thank you, Andrew,” she murmured, and for the first time, he truly saw the exhaustion and disappointment that weighed heavily on her.
Confirmation that this was the right thing to do flooded him.
So long as neither of them said a word, and the staff kept the information to themselves, they should manage unscathed. Mostly.
“I am happy to do it.” He stood, pacing to the door. “I will have a room made up for you.” As far from his as the townhouse would accommodate.
Andrew left the servants to the work of seeing his guest settled and returned to the dining room to gather up his papers before bed. Perhaps he would do a bit of painting; the action often settled him… but with how muddled his thoughts were, he doubted he could focus.
Spencer met him in the entrance hall. “Sir, I apologize, you had a letter this morning that the footman just provided me.” He offered a small letter.
Andrew took it. “Thank you.”
Spencer bowed and left, leaving Andrew to look at the scribbled address on the missive.
Denby? Andrew hadn’t heard from the man in years.
Nearly as long as he’d gone without hearing from Sophie—not since their school friends had been on the Grand Tour together.
He saw several of his friends often, but not Thomas Denby.
Curiosity overcoming him, Andrew broke the seal then and there.
The letter was short... and salt to his wound.
Langford,
I regret to inform you that I have married.
Alas, you might have thought yourself the sure winner of our little bet years ago, but I have come out on top of all you fellows.
As such, I find myself eager to accept my wedding present of 100 pounds from whichever of you fails to come up to scratch by the time the rest of us have.
Have at it, chap. Get married… or pay forfeit.
Yours, etc.
Thomas Denby
Andrew stared down at the little scrap of foolscap. Blast, of all the times to be reminded of his failed marriage attempts, it had to be half an hour after the woman he’d hoped to marry walked back into his life?
And truly, who would have consented to marry Denby? Andrew liked him well enough, as a man. As a husband, though? The man was indecent at best. Andrew rather thought that it was Denby’s wife, truly, who had lost this wager.
But gads… the bet? A little joke among friends, had it not been? And yet… his honor tightened about him like a noose. Jest or not, he’d given his word freely enough. If Denby really was reminding them of the wager, Andrew would be required to fulfil it.
At one time, that would not have seemed so bad.
He did intend to marry, after all, and he had five other friends who would be getting some version of this letter—it was not as if he needed to jump into action that precise moment.
For each of them to find a woman, court her, and marry her would take months.
Yet he felt as he had any time in school when he did not instantaneously grasp a new subject: behind before he’d even been given the chance to begin.
Not to mention that the one woman to ever turn his head was now upstairs, settling herself for the night, and yet as far from his grasp as if she were dead.