Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Andrew ground his teeth as he climbed into the carriage some ten minutes later.
For his brother to imply that their—Andrew and Sophie’s—traveling together was uncouth, to recommend a chaperone beyond the maid, to offer to be one himself, smarted.
And not just because of the air of superiority with which the lecture had been given, but because the man was right.
They should not be traveling without a chaperone—and that was the very least of Andrew’s indiscretions. He’d always prided himself on his honor. He was a gentleman to his core. Or had been, until Sophie brightened his doorstep.
But yesterday he’d proposed a false marriage. A sham for the sake of appearances and a gamble made between boys.
Dash it, what was wrong with him?
“Is anything wrong?”
Sophie’s question so mirrored his own that he nearly laughed aloud.
“If you are having second thoughts—”
Something about the combination of his frustrations with himself and the fact that each time she asked him if he was certain about this, he grew more convinced that never in her life had she expected or desired to be married to him, nearly made him snap.
“Sophie, if you ask me one more time, I swear—” he cut himself off, then tried again. “I made this choice. I stand by it. I want to marry you.” The words were out of his mouth before he realized just what he was admitting.
Thankfully, she seemed to interpret nothing serious in his words. In fact, she laughed. “Very well, I will stop pestering you about it. Though gamble or no gamble, I cannot see any man wishing himself to be strapped to me: a bluestocking with unrealistic career goals.”
“Careful, Sophie, or I may have to list out all your positive attributes to convince you otherwise. And that would only embarrass us both.” He needed to start sleeping better, or else he would never regain control over his tongue. It seemed to have a mind of its own at this point.
Again, she laughed. “It is good to know that I can always turn to you should I need an ego boost.”
“And it is good to know I have one use outside of being pretty.”
He rather liked being the reason she laughed. Could become addicted to it if he was not careful.
“You have many, Andrew.”
Bess entered the carriage then, laden down with a basket full of victuals for their journey. She settled herself in the corner of the equipage, then pulled out some mending.
Andrew met Sophie’s eyes. They could not speak of their arrangement in front of Bess. He planned to inform the staff upon arrival in London that they had married, and having the one maid who worked in their London home at the moment aware of their facade could ruin everything.
But that begged the question… did they tell her now? It would seem foolish not to. If they were happily married, they would have wished to share the news, yes?
He attempted a silent conversation with Sophie. A nod in the maid’s direction and a widening of his eyes. A shrug of his shoulders.
A pulling of her mouth to the side, hesitation, then a nod.
Well, he could only hope that meant she agreed. Otherwise, he might get to experience his first foray into angering his wife.
“Bess,” he began, still watching Sophie closely for any sign of distress. She gave none. “I wished to inform you of mine and Mrs. Langford’s” he stumbled over the title, but could not very well call her Miss Renard, “nuptials.”
The young maid’s eyes grew as she looked between the two of them. “My felicitations, sir. Ma’am.”
Andrew nodded gratefully. Sophie adjusted her skirt around her ankles, avoiding both their eyes.
The young maid suddenly startled, gathering up her things. “Oh dear, and I in your seat, sir. Forgive me.”
She switched to his side of the carriage, and there was nothing else for it; he moved to sit beside Sophie. As always, her nearness prickled his skin with awareness. Bess was watching them, seemingly expecting something. But what?
Of a sudden, Sophie’s hand slipped into his. Startled, he glanced down at her. She smiled up at him, eyes flicking between both of his.
He understood, it was for Bess’s benefit.
His body, however, did not. It seemed to think this was real, and no amount of lecturing from his mind changed anything to the way he subconsciously moved closer and tightened his hand around hers.
Blast, but her hand fit perfectly in his.
Bess smiled satisfactorily, returning to her mending, and Sophie turned their conversation to trivial matters.
To the strange moisture and cold they were seeing in the weather that year, how they’d spent Christmas and Twelfth Night, Sophie’s sisters and Andrew’s uncle, who’d taught him the banking trade, and eventually to what life was like in Bristol at the Seminary and London at the bank.
But all the while she held his hand, and while it became comfortable after a time, he could not give his entire attention to the conversation, as part was stuck on that connection: on how slender her fingers were and how warm his palm became.
How their arms and shoulders melded together.
In about an hour, Bess had nodded off, asleep with her head bouncing against the interior of the carriage.
Slowly, Sophie extricated her hand, patting Andrew’s knee before shifting away. Her whisper accompanied furrowed brows. “You were meant to be in London and I in Bristol these last several years—how will we explain that we were, in fact, married all that time? It is certain to pose a problem.”
“Only if someone were to dig into our pasts. I cannot see anyone actually speaking to my employers or yours to determine our whereabouts; they will assume we have been married some time and leave it at that.”
She nodded. “I did tell Mr. Whitcomb about my position at the Bristol Seminary, though.”
“Did you include how long you worked there?”
Her lips pinched to the side in thought. “Yes. Three years.”
Andrew cupped his chin. “Perhaps we can avoid the conversation when possible, but if pressed, our positions took us apart, but we were together as often as we could be. I have spent a fair amount of time out of London in the last year—that will help us here, I think.”
She shifted in her seat. “You make a fair point. Regardless, the news of my supposed marriage might have reached my employer, but the details probably have not. What of the servants, though?”
Andrew’s eyes darted to Bess, and he rather wished she were still awake. Then Sophie would still have his hand. “I can think of no way to convince them we have been married all this time. We will simply have to hope that they do not gossip overmuch, or else do not delve into the details.”
Sophie nodded, her lip caught between her teeth.
“What have you been doing out of London?” she asked.
Andrew crossed his legs, not quite meeting her eye. Would she think him ridiculous, attempting to reach beyond his station in life? “I have been securing lodging and laying the groundwork to begin my own bank.”
A smile lit her eyes. “Truly?”
He nodded. “Country banks are not as secure as they ought to be, in my opinion, being that they are not as large as the city banks. But if one were to align their country bank with a city bank, they would doubtless be more successful. It has been a delicate situation, obtaining the correct lodging for myself as well as working with my employer here, but it is coming together.”
“When will you leave London then? To begin the bank.”
“My hope was to relocate at the end of this month. I would continue working in London for a time, though, while I opened the premises for the bank.”
Her lips turned down briefly. “So soon?”
He nodded, and the reality of their situation rained down on him.
Nothing was official yet, of course, but how was he to begin a bank in Croydon if his wife was in Durham for eighteen months?
Should he postpone his plans? But that would require him to hold off on letting the estate, and he may not find another location that he could afford.
And he couldn’t start over in Durham, it was too far from London; a partnership with Sternam’s would not be feasible at that distance.
But also, this was not a true marriage, not as he’d always anticipated having.
For the next week, it was false in its entirety…
but even when the register was signed, it would be hardly any more real.
What did it matter if his wife was hundreds of miles from him?
She would have her job, and he would not lose his bet, and that was what truly mattered.
But it sent a lead stone the size of a boulder settling into his stomach.
“Andrew?”
He shook himself. “Apologies. What was your question?”
“You are leaving London so soon?”
“Yes. At least that was what I intended. I am near to signing the lease on an estate, and need to be there to settle the details of the bank. Perhaps I can postpone a little…”
She waved a hand. “There is no reason that you should. I do not wish to interrupt your plans any more than I have.”
He nodded, not entirely convinced himself.
Gratefully, she moved the conversation onward. “Now, about me, you need only know that I was taught by Mr. Grenton for three years, stayed with my Grandfather until his death last February, and taught mathematics and astronomy at The Bristol Seminary for Young Gentlewomen.”
He paused for a moment as Bess stirred. But she went still again, mouth parted in sleep. “Astronomy as well?” he whispered.
She shifted, pulling her legs up on the seat between them and leaning against the outer wall of the carriage. “It is important to have a well-rounded resume. I do believe it was what gave me an edge over my competition in the pursuit of this position.”
“I imagine Mr. Whitcomb would appreciate an individual who understood not only the equations, but the importance behind them as well.”
She nodded. “And you were building your banking empire and growing in wealth and prestige.”
He mirrored her stance, shifting backward until he leaned against the wall. “In between pining for my wife, who was too far away, of course.”
She grinned. “Naturally.”
“And what of your habits?” he asked. “Do you still rise late? Breakfast when it ought to be nuncheon? Require a turn around the garden each afternoon?”
Her lips quirked. “Had there been time for that in my schedule, I would have very much enjoyed one. I have not changed a great deal since childhood, in all honesty. I detest waking early, but have trained myself to manage it well enough. Grandfather and I generally engaged in a game of checkers at least weekly—I have not the patience for chess.”
“You astound me. You were always the picture of equanimity and restraint,” Andrew intoned.
She pinched her mouth, but her eyes were laughing. “No, dear Andrew, that was always you. The calm to my storm.”
“Hardly. I think I just got swept up in the tempest.”
She cocked her head as if thinking. “I was abominably persuasive, wasn’t I?”
“That is one word for it. I might have used heavy-handed, but you are the scholar.” He shrugged, the action languid, but couldn’t keep his amusement from his face.
“If I had something, I would throw it at you.” Her hand hovered near her slippers for a moment, as if considering.
“So, you are to be a violent sort of wife?” he quipped, hands lifted, should he need to shield himself.
“Only when my husband provokes me,” she returned, settling back again. It would seem he was safe from her slippers for the moment.
“How quickly you lay the blame at my door.”
“One need not lay what was always there to begin with.” The pertness of her response made his grin widen.
Gads, but he’d missed her. No one had made him smile so much that his face ached in months. Years, maybe.
“Very well, I shall accept to forever be in the wrong.”
“Do you think the rector might add that into our vows?” she asked, a thoughtful—though entirely feigned—expression on her face.
“I will request it of him.” He folded his arms across his chest. “What was working at the school like?”
They continued on in that manner for another hour, until Bess awoke and Sophie yawned so violently, Andrew feared for the state of her cheeks and required her to rest her eyes.
Shockingly, despite the jostling of the carriage, he managed some sleep as well, waking to the dampened noises of London outside.
Sophie still slept, her bonnet tossed to the ground, and her face relaxed as she leaned against the padded carriage wall.
Bess hummed quietly across from them as he scooped up Sophie’s bonnet, unable to keep himself from watching her in that unorthodox state.
Sophie had never done anything in a normal fashion; it was one of the reasons he’d been drawn to her.
He’d been struggling so much to find where he fit in a society that valued oldest sons and forgot the rest, while she’d been seemingly forging her own path.
With her, he’d never felt like a second tier or like he had to be something he was not.
And she was going to marry him. Just as he’d wanted years ago… marry him, but only in name.
He frowned, eyes tracing the curve of her cheek, the space between her parted lips.
He didn’t want a marriage in name only. He’d fancied himself in love with Sophie Renard years ago, and now he did not want to share only his name with her.
He wanted to share her life. He wanted to be stressed over whether he was going to follow her to Durham and abandon his plans.
He wanted her head to rest on him, not against the carriage.
Could he convince her of it? Could he convince her to care for him as he did her?
He had a week until they were married—it was a laughable amount of time, but it was time nonetheless, and he would not waste it.
Especially because he had only a fortnight in total before they would part ways, marriage or no.
It was decided then. He was going to court Sophie Renard. He was going to convince her to take a chance on a true marriage with him.