Chapter 4 #2
“Is there no way to allow you home earlier? Or is returning home late a common occurrence among the staff? I apologize, do a great many of you work there? I admit I hardly know a thing about banking.”
“With your penchant for sums, I expect you know far more than most. But yes, there is a fairly large staff. The bank is well-established. We are no Bank of London, but we hold our own.”
“And you enjoy working there?”
He paused, his fork just before his mouth. “For the most part, yes.” He took the bite.
She nodded. “I don’t recall you wishing to go into banking—was it a dream you took up after I left?”
“More or less. My uncle was in banking, so it was always a possible option for me. And it fits well with my natural tendencies.” In fact, he’d hatched the plan on his way home from the Grand Tour and the infamous wager.
He’d known he would need a career on the horizon if her parents were to let him come call.
So, he’d stopped for several months in Kent, delaying his return home, to learn from his uncle.
His schooling had been enough to set him up well, but his uncle rounded his education off and sent him home with letters of recommendation that would help him secure a position. It had done just that.
But the delay had cost him a wife.
“Yes, it does fit, I think. You always were brilliant with numbers and people. Besides, I could not see you as a clergyman or some sort,” Sophie mused.
“Do you mean to tell me I am not pious enough?”
“Yes, exactly that.”
His mouth twitched, and a light laugh escaped her.
He turned the conversation to her as deftly as he sliced through his veal. “And this position—a computer. Is it your dream?”
“More or less.” She smiled over the rim of her glass.
Touche. He wanted to delve into that—ask exactly what she meant—but it was more prudent to keep things surface level. The barest of updates. So that she could exit his life in two weeks' time as seamlessly as she seemed to have entered it.
“How is your family?” she asked then. Evidently, she had not gotten his mental declaration to keep their conversation perfunctory.
He could not help the grimace that crossed his face.
But he did his best to cover it by lifting his own glass and taking a long draught.
“You already know about Edmund. He is in India. Geoffrey is… well, he is Geoffrey. He barely leaves the house and is set to be the most studious—and pompous—of estate owners you may meet in your lifetime. My father keeps busy…”
“And your mother?” she asked it innocently, taking a bite. And she’d been across the country for half a decade—he couldn’t expect her to know. Though one might have expected her own mother would have told her in their numerous correspondences.
He bit the insides of his cheek, steeling himself. “She is dead.”
Everything stilled, except the flickering candlelight which sent a flash of shadow across Sophie’s parted lips. There was a clatter as Sophie’s fork fell the few centimeters to her plate. “I… I had no idea. When?”
He offered a tense smile—he would tell her all, but quickly. He didn’t like dwelling on the events that had changed his life. “Four years ago. A riding accident—she was thrown from the horse and did not recover from the resulting injuries.”
“You—I—I am terribly sorry, Andrew.”
Another tense smile made it to his mouth. “As am I.” Blast, but it still hurt, likely always would.
“Are you…” she trailed off. Yet wherever she was headed with it, he did not wish to continue the conversation.
“How are your parents?” He avoided her gaze, focusing instead on the plate of food in front of him. He did not want to see her reaction to his changing of the subject, but in the pause following his question, he imagined she watched him closely.
“We do not speak a great deal.”
“Your sisters?” He pushed his meat to the side of the plate, nearer the spinach.
“Are well, I am sure.”
“And… your husband?” he asked the question innocently enough, spearing a piece of carrot as he did.
Her responding expression was curiously dry. “Ever elusive.”
What in the blazes did that mean? Whatever it was, it meant the man was not dead, and therefore, Andrew needed to keep this arrangement even more cursory than before. The last flicker of hope that she was widowed winked out.
His midsection felt tight—not quite pained, but near unto that. He did not imagine he could eat any more, and he was, of a sudden, feeling the lack of sleep from the night before. Something about a warm meal and sitting for any amount of time seemed to do that.
“I, ah, hope you do not mind,” Sophie said, her voice stilted. He felt a cad—he had brought this awkwardness about. “But I gave Mr. Whitcomb this address. I did not share your family name or anything of the sort, just that I was staying here for a time if they needed to make contact with me.”
Andrew cleared his throat and his expression of any of the anguish he might have been harboring before looking up. “You went back?”
Her lips pinched as she pushed a lone carrot to the edge of her plate. “Yes. I thought to tell them I would still welcome the position, should they be in need.” She shook her head. “It felt very near to begging, but I suppose I hadn’t much pride left going back at all.”
“What did they say?”
“It was the secretary who answered the door. He did not let me in, though I did not push my suit. He looked down his nose at me and told me he would pass the message along.” She tightened her grip on the fork, then said, “I am not sure Mr. Whitcomb will ever receive the note.”
Andrew leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Would you like me to bring one by? I might gain an audience with him.”
Rather than be offended at his stepping in, she seemed to consider his offer.
“That is tempting. I think I shall give them a day or two before I try again, though. Perhaps I will lie in wait for the man to leave for the day, then put forth my suit. That sounds rather outrageous, does it not?” She shook her head.
“I hate that I might actually consider such a thing. In the meantime, I shall pursue other possibilities for employment. None would be so illustrious, but beggars cannot be choosers, as they say.” She pushed the remains of her food around her plate.
Why was she still seeking employment even if this endeavor did not succeed? He forced himself not to ask.
“You… you truly do not mind if I stay?”
He minded a great deal, and he would go to the grave keeping that information to himself. “Not in the least. You are a friend of the family. I am happy to have you as my guest. I must admit it is nice to have something beyond cold meat and cheese for dinner.”
A spark of entertainment touched the lines around her eyes. “Your cook said much the same thing. It would seem you have not let her stretch her wings while in residence alone.”
“It feels wasteful to have anyone cook just for me.”
“I can understand that. If you would prefer to keep to the meat and cheese normalcy, I do not mind in the least.”
“No. No, this is quite alright, though you need not wait up for me.”
“So, you are often late?”
“More late than on time.” What an interesting dichotomy there was warring within him. He both wanted to stay and continue conversing in this easy manner… and flee the scene entirely.
“What would you say to me looking at your schedule?” she asked, her voice holding a tentative quality.
He looked his surprise at her. “You need not do that.”
“I know it is terribly forward and rather overstepping, but I have a great deal of experience with organization and scheduling. I might be able to help you organize things a bit better. If you do not mind.”
He enjoyed his work—more than he enjoyed the social events that would occupy his evenings were he not in the office.
But some extra hours would not be remiss; it might free up a bit of time for other, personal pursuits.
He did need to decide what to do about the ridiculous wager—not that he felt comfortable attempting anything like finding a wife while Sophie was in his home.
“It certainly would do no harm,” he said, unable to say no to that hopeful expression on her face.
Her mouth split with a smile. “Wonderful. Tonight?”
“Maybe tomorrow?” he hedged.
“Yes, yes, of course. You probably want some sleep—I have a tendency to dive into things without thinking them through entirely.”
Had she done that with her marriage? Is that why she was in the situation she was now?
Alone, without her husband, desperately seeking employment?
He very nearly opened his mouth to ask before he recalled his resolve not to pry into her personal life.
Two weeks. They would just have two weeks of pleasantries and the barest of sentiments.
He could do that. He had to.