Chapter Twenty
The buzz of conversation in the room that would hold the mathematical lecture seemed to bleed into Sophie’s chest and increase her own excitement to be there.
Amongst the crowd, she even spotted a handful of women.
Most with men, like herself, but a couple seemed to have attended the lecture on their own accord.
The room was quite full, and though she and Andrew had arrived in time to gain seats near the back, there were several standing about the edges as well. She leaned closer to Andrew. “Who is today’s speaker?”
“Benjamin Gompertz,” he said, turning to watch her reaction.
She was certain it was exactly as he’d wished. Her eyes rounded. She so enjoyed Gompertz's insights, and for years now, he’d been acquiring many mathematical awards. The opportunity to hear from him, first-hand even, was incredible.
The man himself appeared near the front of the room, and the noise dimmed, but did not halt entirely until he stood at the lectern.
He had a strong brow, prominent nose, and deep-set eyes, but Sophie could not care less for his appearance—she shifted to the edge of her seat, prepared to learn of his mind. His brilliant mind.
“I am appreciative of the Mathematical Society for allowing me to present to you today. I intend to speak on a topic I have spent considerable time studying, and which continues to yield results and findings today.” He cleared his throat, peering down at his papers.
“Some might believe this to be too profound a concept; however, in this hall of mathematicians, I do believe the implications will excite us all. Therefore, I will be speaking on the application of a method of differences. Ultimately, I wish to lay out my findings on imaginary quantities.”
A thrill ran through Sophie. Oh, how some of her more advanced students would enjoy this lecture. If only she had brought—
Andrew grazed her back with his fingers to gain her attention.
The action sent an entirely different thrill through her.
She twisted in her seat, thoughts momentarily muddled.
Andrew held out a journal and pencil, one corner of his mouth ticked up in a smile.
Gratitude surged as she took it. “Thank you,” she murmured, turning back to the front of the room.
Andrew’s hand did not move, however. It settled across the back of her chair as it had across the bench the night before, somehow both comforting and distracting.
But not the sort of distraction that she wished to remove.
A handful of missed words from Gompertz might be worth the sensation of warmth that came from his palm.
A thought occurred to her as she scribbled notes from the speech.
Was this what had her mind so riddled with mistakes, this attraction that was clearly forming for Andrew?
Did she care for him? More than in the usual way she’d long been aware of—as a friend?
Did she care for him as one might a suitor?
She’d certainly been intrigued when he’d held her in the alley. Had been fascinated with how her midsection felt filled with butterflies when his face had come close to hers. And she’d not wanted to leave when in the garden the night before.
The very idea stopped her scribbling mid-word. How strange, to think of Andrew that way. Except… it didn’t feel particularly strange. And that was the oddest thing of all. Could she possibly be beginning to care for her faux husband as one might a real one?
And would that complicate things entirely?
As usual, Andrew was waiting for Sophie when she left work that day, even though he’d gotten to the bank late that morning after the lecture. Seeing him brought a little light to the otherwise dreary afternoon she’d had.
He crossed to her and, in an instant, pressed a kiss to her cheek. It was firm and, well, not exactly quick. But not overlong. Not long enough, actually.
“Is everything well?” he asked as he pulled back.
Her hand had grasped his waistcoat, seemingly of its own accord, when he drew near. Shocked, she forced her fingers to let go in a breath, but she could do nothing for the spot that Andrew had pressed his lips to for the briefest of moments, for it now burned fiercely. Andrew had just kissed her.
Why had Andrew kissed her?
He was watching her with an inscrutable expression. Did he know the effect he had over her? She hardly understood it, but it seemed to grow worse with each interaction.
But then he repeated his question, as if having kissed her was the most natural thing in the world, nothing to get hung up on.
She was rather hung up on it, truth be told.
“No… I—that is.” She gathered her wits, embarrassingly slowly, and tried again, meeting his eyes.
They were so blue. Quite the opposite of the overcast evening above.
“I am not doing well at this position, Andrew,” she admitted.
“I am… In truth, I am failing abysmally. I am both bored by the work and distracted from doing a decent job. It is aggravating.”
He did not immediately rush to reassure her, thinking through the problem first, giving weight to her anxieties in a way that somehow made her feel better already.
“You are under a lot of stress, Soph. Could that be the reason?”
With how topsy-turvy she felt over that kiss of his, it was very likely that he was part of the problem. He might be why she could not keep her mind on the work. “But I will not get the position if something does not change. I will not earn it.” And, she did not know if she wanted it.
No. That was not true. Of course, she wanted it—she had spent hours in the cold, reminding herself just why she loved this field of study the night before.
And then Andrew had come. She had enjoyed everything that followed much more.
Another point to him being the distraction.
“You have already earned it—that is what you need to remember. You already earned it and proved your capabilities. You can do nothing about whether or not Mr. Whitcomb finds a replacement; you can only do your best.”
She nodded. He was right—she was under a great deal of stress just now. Stress of the position, yes, but also this engagement that was once a business arrangement but was now something… more? How to let go of it all enough to excel, as she knew she must be capable of doing.
“For now… would you mind a distraction?” Andrew asked softly.
“I would relish one.”
His eyes crinkled. “Then I wished to take you to a circulating library.”
“Oh, that sounds delightful.” She bounced up on her toes in anticipation.
But as they walked, she could not help falling back into a fit of the blue devils, her mind constantly returning to how terribly she was doing at work.
If she did not gain this position, what was she to do?
Return to teaching? And what of this farce of a marriage?
At the same time she was to marry Andrew in earnest, she would learn whether she would gain a permanent position in the Whitcomb project.
And what if she did not gain it? Could she slip back into obscurity, no husband needed?
Andrew had only agreed to marry her for her sake. Well, and the sake of his wager. But he was a successful, attractive man. Could he not find another wife if he needed one? He had time—none of his other friends were yet married.
And why did her chest ache so to think on it?
“Come now,” Andrew said. “You are meant to have more fun with me, not less.”
She shook her head. “I am sorry. Forgive me.”
“Nothing to forgive.” He laid his hand over hers.
She did not deserve this man. He was like a rock to her rushing stream—believing in her when she did not know that she deserved it. Saving her when her family created this lie. Listening to her gripe and moan about this position.
“Tell me more of your plans,” she said, wishing to turn the conversation to him. “Your estate and bank.”
Rather than answering, his expression grew serious. “I wished to speak with you on that, actually.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” His hand, folded against his chest as he escorted her, tugged against his lapel. “If you are to be gone for eighteen months… I do not… that is, I am not certain if…”
She glanced over at him, incredulous. She’d been so wrapped up in her own thoughts, she’d not seen the particular set of his jaw and furrow of his brow. What had him so on edge? He glanced at her and shook his head in personal disdain.
“I apologize. I am making a mess of this. It is only that I have been thinking how peculiar it is to send you off alone to the north of England. Even when the nature of our marriage is… what it is.”
“You are thinking of coming with me?”
Some of her incredulity bled into her voice, and he grimaced. “You need not sound so aghast.”
“It is only that I do not understand. Your dreams—your plans.”
“They can wait. The bank can wait.”
“But the estate.”
“Do not tell me you were only marrying me for my estate, Soph.”
She shoved at his arm. “Be serious, Andrew. I am already taking your name. Your future. Do not let me take your dreams as well.”
He paused on the walk, looking around, then tugged her to the side of a shop and lowered his voice. “I can find a position in Durham.”
“But why would you want to?”
“Because of you, Sophie! Because I want to be with you!”
She scoffed. “You cannot throw away your dreams on the basis of our friendship. I will not allow it!”
His brow raised. “Are you my keeper now, dear?”
She nearly stamped her foot. How could he be so flippant about something so very serious?
She was not even certain where her anger was coming from.
But a little whisper told her it had something to do with the hope that had burgeoned upon his saying he wanted to be with her.
And that had no place here—not when there may be no basis for the marriage if she did not attain her position.
Not to mention, if she fell entirely for Andrew Langford, she might never be able to regain her focus at work. He could not come with her and keep her teetering on the edge of wondering whether theirs could have been a love match if given the chance.
“I thought that sounded like you, Andrew,” an amused voice met with their raised ones. And one glance at the face of the man who had joined them showed several interested shoppers watching as well.
Sophie hid her face with her bonnet, her cheeks heating.
“Charles,” Andrew greeted the man, his tone deadpan.
“Do not sound so pleased to see me. I apologize. Did I interrupt a lovers’ quarrel?”
“Nothing of the sort. Simply a discussion,” Andrew returned.
Her face had cooled enough to look up at Andrew’s friend. She recalled him from several days ago in Andrew’s library. He gave her an easy smile and a nod. “Naturally. I often debate the merits of…” he leaned back, looking at the closest shop, “haberdashery with such passion.”
“It is imperative to have good, quality thread, Mr. Shepherd,” Sophie said, finding it hard to meet Andrew’s eye just then.
Mr. Charles Shepherd cocked his head back at Andrew. “And Langford wants to cheap out, does he?” He tsked, glancing at his friend. “I may not know much, but I do know that wives are generally right.”
Andrew’s responding smile did not reach his eyes, which were fastened on Sophie. “The first sensible thing you’ve said in living memory, Shepherd.”
“Well, on that glowing compliment, I would take my leave, but I actually planned to call on you later today, so now is as good a time as any, I suppose. My parents are hosting a ball, and require your presence. Something important, evidently, though I own I did not read the entire letter.”
“I do not generally attend events.”
Mr. Shepherd nodded. “Yes, but you now have a wife, and you cannot keep her from decent company.”
“His wife likes events even less,” Sophie added.
Charles groaned, tapping his palms against the sides of his legs. “Agh. Tell me, where might I find one of you?”
“Usually, we have our noses in books.”
“So that is why I have never met one. I am frequenting the wrong places. I thank you for your service, Mrs. Langford.” He bowed, lifting his hat from his head.
The theatrics actually brought a small smile to Sophie’s face.
Even with the frustrating conversation she’d been having with Andrew, she darted her eyes to see his reaction to his friend, to share in the entertainment.
But Andrew had his eyes on Mr. Shepherd, and that same furrow from before was between his brows.