Chapter Twenty-Six
The party was larger than Andrew had expected, and judging by the way Sophie’s wide eyes took in the two dozen guests, she must have felt the same.
A couple approached them, the woman all smiles and glittering jewels, the gentleman in a stiff cravat and stiffer expression. Andrew tried to tamp down his dislike for the man who must be Mr. Whitcomb.
“Mrs. Langford, I have been on absolute tenterhooks to meet you. I am Mrs. Whitcomb.” Her excitement appeared genuine, her cheeks lifted in a rosy smile.
Sophie exchanged a look with Andrew—this woman was friends with Mrs. Haverwick; they would have to play their parts well in front of her—but quickly returned the smile with a small curtsy.
“It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Mrs. Whitcomb.” She included Mr. Whitcomb in her next sentence.
“Might I introduce my husband, Mr. Andrew Langford, to you both?”
Mrs. Whitcomb exclaimed over his presence and gushed her hope that they would be comfortable in her home. Mr. Whitcomb eyed Andrew. “You appear familiar—have we met before?”
“Not that I am aware of, sir.” He hoped not, at least. One inconvenient meeting in their past could potentially unravel the farce he and Sophie were enacting.
“Hmm,” the man sniffed.
“Let me introduce you to the rest of our guests,” Mrs. Whitcomb declared, making up for her husband’s chill with her warmth. “You likely know some, but perhaps not all.”
“Yes, thank you,” Sophie said.
They followed their hostess to the nearest group. It was all men.
“Gentlemen,” she declared, and four sets of eyes turned to her. “I wished to introduce Mr. and Mrs. Langford to you.”
The men nodded to Sophie but shook Andrew’s hands. Mrs. Whitcomb labeled them each as they did so.
“Mr. Telney is an astronomer on the project, and Mr. Radcliff, Mr. Harper, and Mr. Thorne are all fellow computers, Mrs. Langford.”
The men paused, shifting glances back to Sophie. Her hand on Andrew’s arm tightened, but she was outwardly the picture of calm. “Pleased to meet you all. I am happy to meet more members of the project.”
Mr. Thorne furrowed bushy, gray brows her direction and then Andrew’s. “You mean, it is not—”
“My wife is quite brilliant. You will find her an impressive addition to your team,” Andrew offered, pretending ignorance to Thorne’s surprise.
To their credit, the men recovered quickly, shaking Sophie’s hand and indicating their excitement to work with her. She held her own, looking each in the eye and offering small comments when needed that exhibited her grace and intelligence.
The pattern continued, surprise that it was Sophie, not Andrew, who was the member of the team, and then general acceptance.
There were a few that turned their nose up at her, speaking in the barest of civility that had Andrew clenching his jaw, and a few that she was already acquainted with, but overall, the respect shown settled some of his doubts.
In time, dinner was announced. Sophie was seated across from him, two seats down, but far enough that conversation was not possible. Andrew had the wife of Mr. Sybil beside him and Mr. Thorne with his gray eyebrows on the other side for dinner companions.
“Your wife is a rare treat, Mr. Langford,” Mr. Thorne said on his left.
“Thank you, I rather agree with you.” Andrew dipped his spoon into the onion soup. “You will be computing for the team as well, yes?”
The man nodded. “And what will you be doing during our time in Durham?”
Andrew cleared his throat. It was an innocent enough question, but it brought to light some of the more hazy parts of their faux marriage.
The parts that would interest people and have them asking more questions.
“I will remain here for the time being, though I hope to relocate to the team’s headquarters soon. ”
The man’s brows lifted. “Ah.”
“Do I hear correctly that you do not intend to travel with your wife?” Mrs. Sybil asked.
Andrew nodded, glancing at Sophie as he did. She was speaking with the man beside her, her hands gesturing. “I am unable to leave work just now.”
“Where do you work?” Thorne asked.
“Sternam’s Bank, but, as I said, I intend to join my wife when I can.”
“But she will be alone,” the woman declared, eyes almost comically wide.
“Mrs. Langford is very capable,” he replied. “And she will not be alone; she will have the entire team with her.”
Mrs. Sybil appeared skeptical. “It is unheard of, I must say.”
“Well, my wife is rather unique, yes.”
“Very unique, indeed,” Mr. Thorne said, and his tone was apathetic at best.
Andrew did his best to talk of anything but Sophie the rest of the meal.
He had no intention of embarrassing her, and it seemed whatever he said could be construed the wrong way entirely.
So instead, he stuck to base topics: the weather, Andrew’s work with the bank, the London Season that was beginning to come out in full force.
Sophie seemed to do well in her own conversations, nary a frown on her face throughout the evening.
When the men and women separated following the meal, he met her eyes through the crowd of parting women. She gave him a small smile, then was absconded by Mrs. Whitcomb, who looped her arm through Sophie’s and leaned close to share some on dit.
The men returned to their seats, and port was brought out. Talk naturally turned to the project, as every man there was involved, aside from Andrew.
“How goes the situation with Pritchard and Co? You said an investment fell through?” Thorne asked Whitcomb. Andrew recognized the name—it was another of London’s smaller banks.
Whitcomb scowled. “We are turning our efforts to private investment.”
“I take it that means it has not gone so well,” the man Andrew recalled as being Mr. Harper said with a chuckle.
“These businessmen do not understand the value of science and how incredible it is to further our species’ knowledge. I am certain we will secure the necessary funding,” Whitcomb said, a bitter note in his voice.
“I hope you are right, we are meant to relocate next week,” Harper said, brandishing his glass with another chuckle.
“Langford works at a bank,” Thorne remarked offhand.
Whitcomb’s eyes settled on Andrew, a new, appraising look in their depth. “What bank?”
“Sternam’s.”
One of the man’s brows lifted, and he leaned forward. “Would the partners be interested in funding a revolutionary astronomy project? We have secured the bulk of our financing, but one of our investors pulled out, and we are in need of a sum to continue on as planned.”
All eyes were on Andrew. His hand constricted on his glass. “I cannot say for certain. I hope I do not overstate my importance when I say I have some sway with the group, but I am not positive that we could approve an investment of that magnitude in only a few days.”
Whitcomb nodded. “We will extend the deadline, if we must.”
That would mean more time with Sophie, which was good. But it also gave the man more time to replace her. “I believe I have some time in the early afternoon on Monday, if you would like to come by for an appointment.”
“I will plan on it. Thank you, Langford.” For the first time, the man did not have a hard look in his eye as he surveyed Andrew. Andrew returned his nod.
“Let us return to the women, then,” Whitcomb said, setting his empty glass on the table.
When they entered the drawing room, Andrew spotted Sophie easily, in a pair of armchairs by the fire with their hostess. Mrs. Whitcomb stood at their entrance, crossing to her husband, so Andrew took her spot, settling into the plush chair.
“How are you?” he asked.
Her eyes crossed to Mrs. Whitcomb. “I am not certain.”
“Did something happen?”
“Nothing particularly of note, only… Mrs. Whitcomb informed me that she is something of an amateur mathematician. I believe she is a large part of why Mr. Whitcomb is giving me an opportunity—I think she might have pushed him to it. And I am certain it was she who told her husband of my marriage.” Her fingers traced the pattern on the armchair.
“After learning of it from Mrs. Haverwick?”
At this, Sophie laughed. “That woman knows everyone.”
“It is true,” Andrew said. “Is that bad, though? You seem unsettled.”
“No, only… well, it is silly.”
“I doubt that.”
She gave him a grateful smile, the firelight dancing on her face as she turned to face it.
“It is simply more evidence that Mr. Whitcomb does not truly trust my capabilities.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, though the nearest member of the party was several paces away.
“It took his wife, a fictitious marriage, and a lack of available replacements to gain me this position. And he still has not offered it to me in truth yet.”
He wanted to encourage her, but needed to tell her what he had learned as well. “And the project start may be delayed. Mr. Whitcomb has not secured the necessary funds he needs yet.”
She grimaced. “Then he has more time to remove me.”
“I am sorry. I am going to speak to the partners at Sternam’s, maybe we can invest.”
“That is more than gracious of you.” She looked at the rest of the party, that furrow appearing again between her brows. “Sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice leaving the Seminary.”
“Excuse me,” Mrs. Whitcomb called, gaining the room’s attention. “We had thought to have a reading tonight, for a bit of entertainment. If you will all gather here.”
Andrew stood, offering his arm, but when they’d crossed the drawing room, Mrs. Whitcomb did not have a book prepared; she was in conversation with Mrs. Sybil. Andrew and Sophie stood on the outskirts of the party as the servants brought in more chairs.
“I tell you,” Mrs. Sybil said, her voice rising, “it is not appropriate.”
Mrs. Whitcomb lifted a placating hand. “I am sure it will all come out all right in the end, dear.”