Chapter Eighteen
The next day was meant to be Mrs. Haverwick’s party, but both Andrew and Sophie had sent their regrets that they would be unable to attend, certainly putting off the inevitable with the woman discovering their farce.
But the more time they put it off, the less likely it would be as detrimental a revelation.
They only had to wait until they were officially married and Sophie relocated to Durham.
Sophie’s work schedule had seen a change that day as well, which she told Andrew of at breakfast.
“When do you need to be there?” he asked, unable to keep from bouncing his knee beneath the table. He’d not slept well, his mind working away at the plan his friends had helped him compile. He would prove his worth to Sophie in the same logical way he’d been proving his worth to society for years.
Why did this feel far more high-risk than his career or life aspirations?
“Half past eight.”
Andrew checked his watch. It was a quarter to. “I need to be at the bank by nine. I will walk you.”
Sophie nodded as she took a bite, and he thought he saw her lips tug upward at the edges before she lifted her drink to her mouth. A success in the way of courtship or simple happiness?
He gathered his things for the day and met her in the entrance hall.
“Your friends are characters,” she stated as they traversed the steps outside.
“That is certainly one name for them.”
Her lips quirked. “Have you known them long?”
“We met in school. I have been chained to them since.”
“I have often wondered what it would be like to have many friends,” she said in that frank way of hers.
“Were you close with any of the teachers at the Seminary?” he asked, using a passing couple as an excuse to walk even closer to her.
“I liked the vast majority of them, and I should think they liked me as well. We enjoyed a good camaraderie, but nothing deeper than that. Even in our neighborhood growing up, I never managed to grow close to any of the other young ladies. And my sisters were both a great deal older than me.”
Andrew found himself wishing he had female acquaintances whom he might introduce to her. Certainly, she would not have many at the Whitcomb project.
“I suppose that is what comes from immersing myself in a man’s world,” she added, one of her shoulders lifting. He was coming to believe that affectation of hers was not so much a movement of nonchalance, but rather one to cover her true feelings on any given subject.
“Well, it is they who are missing out,” was all Andrew could say; he hadn’t a great deal of wisdom on the subject. His friends had actually adopted him in a way, as one might adopt a forlorn puppy. Except this puppy had been less forlorn and more too immersed in his studies to think of socializing.
London’s streets had not truly grown busy with shoppers, though there was bustle enough.
The fashionable hour was yet to come, so this was mainly the movements of shopkeepers, men of work, staff running errands for their households, and only the occasional gentleman or lady.
It was a bustle he usually partook in, his head down, and his movements moving him quickly to his work.
But with Sophie, he found himself slowing his stride, more to spend time with her than to allow her to keep up.
When should he broach the subject of an outing?
He thought a museum or lecture might be best. Something to ease her into the idea of spending extraneous time with him.
A familiar face appeared not two shops down, and Andrew stiffened. Mrs. Haverwick. If she waylaid them, their story was apt to fall apart under her probing questions. He thought in an instant, maneuvering himself and Sophie down a narrow street just beside them.
“What—” Sophie began, but a look at Andrew’s determined expression snapped her teeth shut.
She allowed him to haul her down the still-shadowed alley.
The sun had yet to reach enough height to invade this space.
He hurried them several yards in, far enough that anyone at the mouth of the alleyway would be hard-pressed to see them, then set Sophie’s back against a bricked building, watching the entrance over his shoulder.
At any moment, Mrs. Haverwick would pass by.
“Am I to be informed of just why I’ve been secreted away?” Sophie whispered; he had situated himself near enough to her that her breath tickled his cheeks.
He glanced at her and that charming grin and sparking eyes. “Mrs. Haverwick.”
“Oh, what luck.” She turned her head to watch the road just as he did. “Was Eleanor with her?”
“I did not notice, but she might have been. I saw Mrs. Haverwick and panicked.”
Sophie’s shoulders shook with her repressed laugh. He felt it against his arm. “I should think your panic was well-placed. I haven’t the faintest what we would tell her should we see her—and both of us having cried off her party as well? It would not have been an enjoyable meeting.”
Andrew nodded his agreement, eyes still on the road. Had he missed her passing in the brief moments he’d glanced at Sophie? “She ought to have gone by now, but I’ve not seen her.”
“Perhaps she passed as we entered? Or else went into a shop?”
“Maybe.” A tug at the back of his pants nearly set him off balance. “What in the—”
A loud bark accompanied a set of paws pressed against his thighs, pushing him forward and into Sophie.
In an instant, he fairly flattened her against the wall, his chest meeting hers and his shoulder pressing into her cheek.
He kicked backwards to fend off the mutt, but it only barked louder, then nipped at the back of his jacket.
Pressing a palm to either side of her, he pushed himself away, attempting to give her space to breathe.
Her eyes were wide, and her hands gripped his waistcoat.
Before he could tell her to get out of reach of the devilish animal that seemed moments from tearing either his pants or his jacket, she slipped out from beneath him.
“Soph, no—”
She paid him no mind. “Come here, you ridiculous creature. Oh, gracious, Andrew, he has muddied your clothes horribly. No—no, stop. Sit! Stay!”
With another almighty push against him, the dog returned to all four of his limbs, and Andrew spun, stepping to Sophie’s side.
The dog yapped at them both—far less fearsome now that Andrew could see how ragged he appeared.
His head came to about Andrew’s waist, and he must’ve been some sort of mixed breed, because Andrew could not tell just what his lineage might be.
But regardless of parentage, his meaning was clear in the spread of his stance and harshness of his bark.
This was his home, and Andrew and Sophie were interlopers.
Andrew lifted his hands. “Good boy, we were only visiting… We have no intention of taking over your domain.”
The dog barked in return, no less harshly than before.
“I do not know, Sophie,” he said, not moving his eyes from the animal. “Do we risk the dog or Mrs. Haverwick?”
Sophie snorted. “The dog has far less long-reaching consequences… but she does not bite.”
“True enough. Haverwick it is.”
In tandem, they cautiously circled the dog, not giving their backs to the animal. He watched until they were near the mouth of the road, then, with a last bark, slunk back into the darkness.
They stayed where they were, not quite out of the alley, but only a few steps within. “I had not planned on a standoff with a dog this morning,” Andrew said, watching the spot where he’d disappeared.
Sophie’s cheeks creased with a restrained smile. “Nor I. Come, he truly did a number on your clothing.”
He lifted his arms out, and she circled him, brushing at the back of his coat with force to remove the spots of dirt the dog had left.
Evidently, he’d also left a great wet spot from his mouth, but hopefully that would dry as there was not much to be done for it.
Andrew saw to the backs of his legs, but Sophie stayed near to inform him when he’d missed a portion.
She was chuckling with mirth by the time they finished, and he arched a brow at her. “You find my near demise hilarious, do you?”
“Near demise? You could handle that dog, certainly. I was never afraid.” She smiled up at him, eyes dancing. “But how did we find ourselves in such a situation? Hiding from the town gossip only to meet the town guard?”
Andrew let out a chuckle of his own. “We are a lucky few. Shall we skip work altogether and join a gambling table instead?”
“It is tempting.” And something in her voice made him watch her more closely.
She’d kept him informed about the events of her position daily, stating that it felt as if she were constantly in the midst of a test—and truly, she was.
He could see it was beginning to wear on her, the constant, near-hidden surprise when she performed well and the continual checking of her work.
She wished to be appreciated for her skill, which was plentiful.
The night before, she’d walked him through an equation she’d found interesting in The Lady’s Diary, and he’d become lost at least twice. She was brilliant.
He didn’t want to question her choices—she could make them for herself—but he did hope she knew that she needn’t continue if the position was too demeaning. “It sounds as if we should sic Sir Chivalry on Mr. Whitcomb,” he said instead, hooking his thumb back at the dog.
The spark reentered her eyes. “Perhaps I should bring a dog with me. It may keep him from looking over my shoulder at every opportunity.”
“I will acquire one for you. You know I will.” Andrew stepped out of the alley, glancing back and forth.
“Yes, I do know it. That is one of the things I dearly love about you,” she said, taking his offered arm and squeezing. “You are ever gallant.”
“Gallant. Witty. A flirt. Careful, Sophie, I might grow too big a head around you.”
“It would be well deserved.”
“But my hats would suffer overmuch.” He began to walk again, only for the door directly past the alley to open, revealing none other than Mrs. Haverwick.
“Blast,” he swore, spinning back to Sophie.
There wasn’t time to rush down the alleyway again. Nor was he desirous of another dog encounter. Doing the only thing he could think of, he pushed Sophie backwards, a step, then two, into the shadows.
Hands on her upper arms, he brought his face just beside hers.
Her rising chest met his; he’d come so close. Their eyes collided from inches away.
“She is back?” she whispered, barely audible.
“Steps away.”
“She will see us here, certainly.” Her hands cupped the backs of his elbows.
“No one looks too long at a couple embracing,” he murmured. “It is uncouth.”
“Oh,” was all she said. Her hands were tight on his arm. Her toes against his.
“I should think she is nearly gone,” he whispered. But in defiance of his words, his hands constricted on her arms.
“Perhaps a bit longer to be entirely certain.” Her eyes shifted between both of his.
His heart hitched. Was it simply her logical nature making that suggestion?
Air swept around them, the wind sending her curls tickling across his lips.
He would swear she leaned into him, that her fingers curled closer around his arms. Did she feel even a small measure of the same draw he did?
That a hundred threads had tied him to her, and they were inching ever closer.
A loud bark from a dozen paces away startled them apart. Andrew immediately pushed Sophie behind him in case the mutt had returned. His eyes swept the darkness, but he could see nothing.
Sophie grasped his hand, tugging. “Come, I do not see her, and I… I am going to be late.”
The moment was broken. The threads cut.
He could only hope he would find a chance to retie them. Soon.