Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Andrew breathed a sigh of relief upon entering Sternam’s Bank. Here, there was a comfortable amount of monotony, which he desperately needed. Almost as much as he needed a nap. He’d not slept a wink the night before.
Several of the public room clerks greeted him as he entered, and Andrew nodded their way before closing himself in his office and blocking out all else.
Mrs. Honora Gillingham had another of her peculiar requests for him, Mr. Burr was frustrated at the poor return on the investment his solicitor had pressured him to make, and Andrew needed to prepare for the meeting with Mr. Sternam about potential locations around Croydon.
The month before, Andrew had gotten his employer to agree to partner with him on the opening of a country bank, provided it was close enough to town for proper communication between the banks.
It was lunch when he finally surfaced for air, almost surprised to find that his stomach ached with hunger.
He’d been so quick to leave the house that morning, he’d not had Cook prepare him anything for the noon meal.
Which left him to stroll briskly down the Strand in search of sustenance.
He trained his eyes on the shop windows, navigating the crowd with his peripheral vision.
Maybe he would just grab a pastry and suffer through till dinner.
But dinner would have Sophie, and he was doubtful he would manage to eat much.
“Mr. Langford!”
Andrew spun round, looking for the voice. His eyes landed on the round, little woman waving three shops behind him. She scurried up to his side, chest heaving but smile large.
Andrew bowed. “Mrs. Haverwick, good day to you. What brings you to London?”
The woman was from Weybridge, not far from his family’s estate.
“My sister is sponsoring dear Eleanor—you recall Eleanor, yes? My youngest. Well, Susanna is sponsoring her for the Season, and we came just a bit early to have new gowns made. You, I am certain, know well the importance of a good dress for one’s come out. ”
“Dresses, yes. Vital.” Andrew spotted a small shop just ahead that would have what he needed. That settled, he gave Mrs. Haverwick his full attention, though he did not have a great deal of time left before he would be set behind in his afternoon’s work.
The woman was jostled by a passerby but did not appear to care. “You really must come for dinner at my sister’s. They live in Grosvenor Square, you know. Your family is not yet in town, are they?”
“No, they will not arrive for another fortnight.”
“Then, even more reason for you to dine with us—a bachelor all alone? It sounds rather lonely.”
Andrew rather liked his lonely life. It gave him freedom and space to move forward on his goals without distraction.
Distractions like a suddenly recalled wager or a beautiful woman in his home.
Though perhaps that was all the more reason to dine with the Haverwicks—one night away from Sophie and the resurgence of his painstakingly-buried feelings.
“That sounds delightful. I am afraid I must be back to work now, though, if you will excuse me.”
“Yes, yes of course. I will send a note round for dinner. Next Wednesday? Oh, no, we have an engagement. With the Abaroughs, you know,” she said with a raised brow and widened eyes.
Andrew hadn’t a clue who they were, but he nodded all the same.
“I shall find a free day and send over an invitation forthwith!” the woman declared.
“I will anxiously await its arrival,” Andrew said solemnly.
Mrs. Haverwick tittered, patting him on the arm. “You are a dear. Now, I must be off. Good day, Mr. Langford!”
They parted, and Andrew felt a twinge of guilt that any invitation would exclude Sophie. But the only way this arrangement could work was if no one knew it was occurring.
The sun had all but disappeared by the time Andrew locked the door to the bank behind him.
Despite a robust staff, he was the last to leave.
A mixture of poor time management and the desire to ensure each of his clients was well taken care of when he set off for the country was usually at fault for a late end.
Though today, there was one other issue in play. Sophie.
He blew out a breath, which coalesced into mist in the darkness in front of him.
For the first time in years, a woman waited for him at his family home.
Not since his mother had passed four years before had he had any womanly presence awaiting his arrival—unless one counted the family’s housekeeper.
And this felt nothing like returning home to his housekeeper or mother.
The bank was located close enough to walk, though just far enough to be inconvenient enough that he usually hired a hackney.
But tonight, it was an opportunity to put off the inevitable, so he chose to travel by foot.
Tucking his portfolio beneath his arm and pulling his hat down against the January wind, he crossed the cobbled street.
It was ridiculous, really, these feelings coursing through him.
He had invited Sophie to stay, and it was his home—or his family’s.
He should not feel this trepidation about being around her.
But at the same time, he felt it was actually the smartest way to handle the situation.
He could not allow the affection he’d had for her to resurface.
Or worse, grow. He’d forfeited any liberty to those feelings when he’d been too late to declare his suit—regardless of the state of her and her husband’s relationship, which had caused her to be in London alone and in need.
The blackguard. He should learn the man’s name so he could properly curse it.
Yet he also wanted to know nothing about him. Sophie had not readily offered up anything about the man, so it was not his place to pry.
The townhouse resided just past a courtyard garden.
His feet slowed. If only his brothers or father were in residence, to add some sort of buffer to his time with the woman he’d once upon a time wished to marry.
Or an aged aunt, who could lend propriety to the situation…
but their family tree was sadly lacking.
Andrew should have seen her settled into a reputable hotel, but, no, she did not have an excess of funds, nor did he wish her in town alone.
He’d noted the night before that she had no maid, and growing up, she’d slipped from home often enough for him to not be surprised that she did not employ one.
London was not the place for a woman unaccompanied.
And yet here he was, having left her alone all day. What had she done to occupy her time?
The butler let him in, taking his hat and coat and directing him to the dining room. “The missus thought to hold dinner for you, sir, when you are ready.”
Oh blast. She’d not eaten? It was nigh on eight o’clock.
Rather than the pitiful smattering of plates usually set at the table when he was the only one in residence, there was enough for a small dinner party, including several candles lit along the length of the table.
And there, just to the right of the head seat, sat Sophie, resplendent in an unadorned blue gown, her hair done up in a simple fashion, and the bulk of her face obscured by a book.
He could not help it. A chuckle bubbled up his throat.
The book lowered, revealing narrowed eyes.
“Do you find something amusing, Mr. Langford?”
He leaned against the doorway. “Only you, with a novel at the supper table. How often did you hide one beneath the tablecloth growing up?”
Her lips twitched, and she set the book in her lap. “Our parents held the most boring conversations.”
“And I was not enough to hold your attention?”
“Compared to differential calculus?” She sighed, sinking her chin into her propped hand. “The stuff of daydreams.”
He pushed from the door. “I see how highly you esteemed my company.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I read a great deal more when seated beside Geoffrey.”
It did, actually. He dipped his head in thanks. “I am grateful to at least have ranked higher than my stuffy older brother.”
“At least a smidge.” She came to her feet as he approached the table. “Your housekeeper assured me you would not mind a formal dinner—but the way you are gazing around as if it is entirely foreign has me wondering if it has caught you unawares.”
That was one way to put it. “No, no, I am only sorry you waited up for me.”
“You are home rather late.” Her statement held no ire; it was simply a statement of fact. She sank back into her chair, and for a moment, he could only stare at her.
Home. His dinner table. Sophie.
He pulled off his gloves as he sat beside her.
It felt far too intimate, with only the dim sconces on the wall and the candlelight flickering between them.
This was exactly as he’d dreamed his future would be when he came off that blasted boat six years before.
But now it was a nightmare. He wasn’t usually such a ninny around women—never was, actually.
So long as one saw each moment as a logical give and take of sentiment and knowledge, one was not often wrong-footed.
At the moment, he did not feel he had a foot at all. Andrew forced himself to meet her eyes, seeing the situation for what it was. To see her logically. A family friend. An old acquaintance. Another man’s wife.
That last one was exactly the dousing of cold water he needed.
“I am sorry, my schedule was rather a mess today.” He reached for the dish of sweetbread in front of him, offering it to her first, then taking some for himself.
“Do you set it yourself? The schedule.” She put a helping of the vegetables on both her plate and his. Steam did not roll off them, but neither did they appear to have gone long cold.
“No, one of the secretaries at the bank does.”