Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Tucked into the warmth of his family’s library, Andrew stared out at the south lawn. The Renards lived just beyond the copse of trees dotting the hillside.
Despite a close association with the family, Andrew did not really know them particularly well, outside of Sophie.
Her two older sisters had been several years his senior, and he’d not found occasion to spend time in the parents' company longer than to notice that they were rather stiff and proper. He’d never been able to countenance why his parents—ever effusive and kind—had struck up a friendship with them.
Honestly, he’d assumed it was simply a situation of proximity.
They were the closest family to their own, both in physical proximity and station.
Regardless of his lack of intimacy with them, he’d heard enough from Sophie growing up to have an idea of how the couple was receiving her now.
They had vacillated between uninterested in her and strict to a fault, as if she’d been beneath their notice until she did something incongruent with their image.
But to go so far as to create a false marriage for their daughter? It was inconceivable. What had they expected to occur when Sophie returned home? What would they do now that she had found them out?
Something akin to a growl sounded in the back of his throat. He shouldn’t have left her.
The view only added to his frustration. The reminder that soon, she would always be as far from him as she now was. In some London hotel… and then in Durham with the Whitcomb project.
He ought to quit the large window and find solace elsewhere. His mother had a painting room in the house, and he was certain it had not been altered. That was where he was most likely to find peace. If only the woman herself were here to advise him.
“Tolland says you’ve brought Bess back with you. Did you require her services?”
His father’s question brought Andrew round.
Both Father and Geoffrey were watching him from the doorway with near-identical raised brows.
Andrew’s elder brother always had taken after Father with his black hair and dark eyes, his younger after their mother with her light features, and Andrew was a sort of mix of the two with dark hair and light eyes. The mutt of the family.
“No. I escorted Sophie Renard from London and brought Bess as a chaperone of sorts.”
Those brows rose again.
“Is that the youngest of the Renard girls?” Geoffrey asked.
Andrew nodded, glancing back out the window.
“Pretty thing, if I recall. Married some years ago, wasn’t she?”
Andrew ignored Geoffrey, turning to Father.
“Is Mother’s parlor still available?”
Father’s look turned grim. “No, actually. There was an accident—a window left open before a rainstorm. We are having it renovated.”
“Were her paintings harmed?”
The man’s countenance lightened. “Thankfully, no. It is only the floors, but we’ve put everything else up in sheets while we remedy the issue.”
That was a relief—about her art. But a disappointment that he would have no escape.
He tried another tactic. “Would you lend me a hunter, Father? I thought to go for a ride. I’ve missed the country.
” He said the words as an excuse to avoid talking about Sophie’s highly questionable marital status, but it actually sounded rather nice.
He’d not had the time for a good ride in ages.
“You ought to stay a week or two, you know,” Geoffrey said, settling himself in a chair by the fire. “Then you can return to London with us.”
“No, I am expected back at the bank tomorrow.”
Geoffrey chuckled. “I imagine they will not have to close their doors should you take a leave of absence.”
“I am sure Andrew has clients relying on him,” Father said, ever the arbiter between his boys.
“Thank you, Father. Yes. It would not be honorable of me to return any later than promised.”
“Very well.” Geoffrey picked up a book that lay on the table beside him, and silence blanketed the room.
If only Edmund was here. He and their mother had been the life of the household.
The three men present now were no better conversationalists than the books on the shelves around them. Worse, some might argue.
“Do I have leave to borrow a horse for the evening, Father?” Andrew asked again.
Father nodded. “Yes, yes of course. Anything I have is yours.”
Andrew smiled, though the falsehood in that grated at him. By law, nothing Father had was Andrew’s. It was all borrowed until the time his father died, and it passed to Geoffrey. It was on Andrew alone to find his way in the world.
In hardly any time at all, a hunter was saddled, and Andrew was moving freely through the chill air. Maybe his ride would be a short one, what with the sun beginning to fall in the sky, and the temperature already as low as it was.
He urged the hunter into a canter, as he gave his thoughts free rein as well.
What would be the best place for Sophie to stay while in London?
Selfishly, he hoped to find her lodgings near him.
Masochistic it may be, but he wished to court her for the short time he had.
How would he manage it, though, when her job required her to be married, and all their town believed the same?
Could he request the privilege of courting her in private?
And she had no maid of her own—who would provide chaperone and attend her in London and then in Durham?
The same questions had plagued him all day. They tumbled about his mind, as if repetition would solve the tangle.
Subconsciously, he turned the horse toward the Renard estate. His thoughts had been there all evening; why not his physical self? Even if he could not see Sophie, something in that made him feel better.
When the cold began to bite at his nose and ears more than was comfortable, he slowed the horse to a walk.
He’d come nearly as far as the outer reaches of the Renard estate, and it would have to be far enough for today.
He began to turn the horse round when a figure down the lane caught his eye.
Usually, he was not one for idle conversation with neighbors, and especially not with his mind in the state it was, but this figure was decidedly a woman.
His honor would not allow him to leave the lady alone. Especially this close to sunset.
Dismounting, he walked the horse a handful of steps closer when the woman’s identity became clear.
“Sophie?”
Her head had been bowed, but it snapped up. “Andrew,” she breathed, shoulders slumping.
He lengthened his stride.
“What happened?” he asked, eyes taking in the carpetbag in her hand. “Are you well?”
She shook her head, the action sharp and short as she came to a stop in front of him, in the middle of the lane.
Her hand was white around the bag’s handle, and her features were tight.
“My parents claim they simply allowed the neighborhood to believe that I was married, but I am certain that is not the case. They were ashamed of what took me to Bristol, and chose—willfully lied—to tell everyone that I had married.” She swallowed, pacing past him and his horse.
He turned the hunter around to follow her, but did not miss the way her fingers swiped beneath her eyes when she was turned from his view.
But then she spun, and her anger and pain was etched into every curve of her cheek and mouth.
Every line about her eyes. The emotions were brought into sharp contrast as the sun peeked between the trees, spotlighting her face.
“And that is not all. They have determined that they can cover the lie… How, you might ask? By finding me a true husband—they’ve already picked one out, even.
I need only meet the man, marry him, and be done with the affair. ”
“Pray, tell me you jest,” he said, momentarily frozen to the spot.
Her voice was disgusted. “I only wish I were.” She shook her head, hands suddenly limp at her sides. “I am so sorry, Andrew. I could not stay. I… I did not know what to do. Your home was the closest.”
“You intended to walk to my home?”
“It is only just above a mile or two.”
“It is nearly six miles by road, Sophie. And it would have grown dark, and cold, and—” Blast it all, why could this woman not have the smallest measure of self-preservation? She was going to kill him if she continued on in this matter.
But then he caught sight of her expression. Miserable. Depleted. He moved to her side, gently guiding her to his horse. “Come, I will take you the rest of the way. My father will host you for the night.”
“I couldn’t—” she cut herself off, lifting her gaze to the sky in apparent frustration. “I must, I suppose, as I have given myself no other options. Drat, Andrew, I am so sorry I keep putting you in this position.”
“It is only fair. I have had half a decade without your impositions.”
“Ah, so I am only fulfilling a long-neglected role,” she said. But his jest had worked, and her countenance was a little lighter.
“Precisely. With impressive skill, I might add.” He cupped his hands to give her a boost, then looked at the sun. It had begun to paint the sky in reds and oranges, and there was not time for him to walk the horse back.
Resigned to the impropriety, he handed up her carpet bag, preparing to climb up behind her.
She perched sideways in the saddle, the bag in her lap, eyes on him.
He loosened the reins, then carefully pulled himself up behind the saddle, putting his arms to either side of her.
Her bonnet obscured his view of the road, but she must have realized because she removed it, adding it to her bundle in her lap.
The situation was awkward, but more than that, it was close.
Her forehead came to his chin, and when he opened his mouth to dispel the discomfiture, she looked up, and it became even more intimate.