Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
After weeks of not being in the classroom, the opportunity to use her mathematics skills was rather glorious, even with the stipulation that she might not be able to keep this position long term.
She had spent the afternoon doing rather basic calculations to ensure that the positions of the planets to the location where the project would occur in Durham were correctly documented.
She had only found one error, but Mr. Whitcomb had lifted his brow at even that, which she took to be surprise at her abilities.
Surprise was good; it meant she was exceeding expectations.
Mr. Whitcomb also indicated a minor amount of surprise when she’d informed him her surname was Langford, not Renard. She’d fumbled over the announcement, attempting to make it appear nonchalant, and had justified the confusion with the school having utilized her unmarried name on their records.
In the end, Mr. Whitcomb had just brushed off the information, indicating it was not of importance to him. The way her heart pounded after the exchange was in direct contrast to the benign nature of the man’s reaction.
She left the headquarters, glancing at the clock in the parlor with a grimace.
It was an hour later than she was meant to be leaving.
She’d have to take a hack home—it would soon be dark, and she could not walk back to Andrew’s home unattended.
She gathered her things, slipping into her coat as she walked out the door, but came up short on the first step.
There, just across the road, leaning against a lamp post, was her soon-to-be husband.
He smiled, lifting a hand in acknowledgement, then crossed the street. His great coat was dark blue, which complemented his eyes. “I hope you do not mind my coming to meet you. I finished at the bank near the time you said you’d be finished here, so I thought to see if I might walk you home.”
“I am an hour late.”
He grimaced. “Trust the mathematician to puzzle that out.”
“You waited an hour for me?”
“Only forty-seven minutes.”
“Your calculation is far more precise than mine.” Then it was her turn to grimace. “Add this to your list of things to know about me—I am not particularly prompt.”
“I already knew that.” The corner of his mouth hitched up as he offered his arm. He had that boyish look about him again that she so loved, with his dark hair blowing into his eyes beneath his hat, and his cheeks flushed by wind.
She took his arm. “Very true. Do you recall when we were meant to meet at the river to race boats when we were… How old were we? Nine and ten?”
He nodded, his smile growing. “I do not recall any boat racing that day, something to do with me getting caught in a rainstorm after you failed to show up—too entranced in a novel.”
“The story was delightful.”
“The cold I caught was not.”
She leaned into him as she laughed. “You did not hold it against me, though. You always were far more even-tempered than I.”
“Someone had to balance your brash ways. It was a struggle, but I was the only one to fill those shoes.”
She grinned up at him. This was far better than taking a carriage, even with the chill air. She did her best to repress a shiver.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“Much less than you, I am sure. After all, I have not been outside for an hour already.”
“Yes, but I came prepared to walk out of doors. I will hire us a hackney. I believe there is a stand just up here.”
“No need. I will simply borrow your warmth.” She snaked her other arm with the first, tucking herself up to him as they walked, their steps in tandem. “I have been cooped up indoors far too much today.”
His arm tensed, and his step faltered. “If you are certain?”
She loosened her hold. Had she set him off balance? “Completely certain. How was your work today?”
“Far faster. I gave your schedule to my clerk, and it worked wonders, even with our late start after returning from Weybridge.”
She squeezed his arm, happy that the adjustments had helped. “I am required here daily in the afternoons, but if your schedule is more open, perhaps we could lunch together before I need to arrive? I could bring you something around eleven.”
“So long as you take a carriage if there is rain. Or clouds. Or—”
She cut him off with a laugh. “I think I understand your meaning, sir.”
His smile down at her brought out creases in his cheeks and around his blue eyes, which flicked behind her, froze, then made a decision of sorts. “Come,” he said with a gesture of his head. “It will be warm in here.”
She turned, brows lifting at the store there. It seemed to be a jeweler’s shop, with several trays of finery in the window. She looked a question back at him, and he leaned a little closer. “You ought to have a ring when we marry.”
Her throat suddenly closed up, making it impossible to speak, though she couldn’t fathom why. This was Andrew. And theirs was a marriage agreement, nothing more sentimental than that.
He was watching her closely, his head bent to hers. “I know it is not exactly the thing, but my mother had a ring from my father. I’d always planned to buy my wife one.”
“Of course,” she said, or rather stammered.
This was Andrew. Just Andrew.
But as he led her into the store—which was indeed quite warm—something felt significant about the moment.
The shop was nearly empty, a man on one end of the counter helping a customer look through cases of a sort. Another, older gentleman looked up, smiling as they approached him. “I am Mr. Notley. How may I help you?”
“We are in need of a ring,” Andrew explained. And a good thing, because that strange tightness still had her by the throat.
“Should you like a plain band or one with an inlaid jewel?”
Andrew glanced at her, and she widened her eyes back, bewildered.
“Whatever you wish,” she whispered.
His eyes focused on hers for a long moment before he turned back to the proprietor. “Something inlaid, I think.”
“Ah, a popular choice. Perhaps a pearl or turquoise? It has healing properties, you know.” The man unlocked a drawer and removed a tray with a dozen rings.
“We have a collection of Scottish agate and Portuguese topaz here as well that you might peruse.” He picked up one with a clear blue stone in a golden, worked band, showing it to them.
“I will be just here should you need me. When you are ready, I will take the lady’s measurement. ”
“Which do you prefer?” Andrew asked her when the man had moved to the other end of the counter, tinkering with a tray of watch fobs.
“I hardly know. I—” Her eyes lit on one. It was a delicate, gold band, with an uncut, banded gemstone, smaller than the tip of her pinky nail, placed within it. Following her gaze, Andrew picked up the ring.
“May I?” he asked, holding out his hand.
She slipped off her glove, trying to ignore the heat that seemed to be pooling into her cheeks, and trying to keep the fingers from trembling embarrassingly as she lifted her hand.
With a gentle touch, he grasped the base of her palm, supporting her wrist as his other hand slipped the ring on. It fit perfectly.
“I think that means this is the one,” he murmured. He tilted her hand, the almost translucent gemstone shifting, highlighting the banded colors. “The agate is unique. Perfect.”
She swallowed, nodding.
He watched her a moment longer, but she could not quite meet his eyes, and in a breath, he was signaling the shopkeeper again.
The man praised their choice, though she imagined he would have said the same words should they have picked any other ring in the store, and upon being told they would not need the size altered, completed the transaction.
Sophie just stood numbly by as it was all handled.
A ring—she’d never considered what it might feel like to have a man gift her a piece of jewelry.
Most especially not Andrew, the man she’d once thrown mud at, and who had stepped on her toes when they danced at his mother’s ball.
She had especially not considered a gift being given for their wedding.
But she found herself suddenly predisposed to love the agate ring.
She thought, somehow, that given hours in the store, she might have settled upon the same one.
Andrew requested that they take the ring with them, and when they stepped back into the cold air, the sun much further along the horizon, he turned to her.
“I informed the staff we were married before I went to work today. It might—that is, if you feel comfortable—it might be a good thing if you began wearing this now.” He held out the box that housed the perfect little ring.
Shadows were creeping out over the road, and the streetlamps at the corner were already lit, so she could not see his expression particularly well.
“Certainly,” she agreed, taking the box.
She could not say exactly why, but she did not want him putting the ring on her this time—did not think her nerves could handle it.
When she had it settled in place, her glove returned, and the box tucked into his pocket, they continued down the lane.
“I am sorry to have sprung that on you,” he said, when they’d walked in silence for nearly a block. “We have so little time, and are meant to already be wedded, so I assumed we should take advantage of the moment.”
She shook her head. “No. No, I completely understand. Thank you… It is a beautiful ring.” And it felt wholly unfamiliar, wrapping her finger and digging into its neighbors from beneath her glove.
“Fitting,” he said, eyes on hers.
What exactly did he mean by that?
A cold wind suddenly gusted toward them, and she tucked closer to him. He began to shrug from his coat, but she stopped him with a hand. “We are not far.”
“Exactly. And I will be fine without this for that distance.”
Before she could object again, he had the coat draped over her shoulders, its warmth and scent enfolding her.
“Thank you. Again.”