Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Andrew could feel Sophie’s shaking leg beside his own. His anger from the Whitcomb’s served him well here, though; it kept him from buckling beneath the clear anger in her parents' eyes. Even his own father’s.
He was not about to let anyone else rain down censure on Sophie. This particular failing was all his own.
“Well, the unfettered truth is that we are not yet married,” Andrew admitted.
Mr. Renard sat forward, anger darkening his eyes as his mouth opened.
“How dare you!” Sophie’s mother burst out. “How dare you live with our daughter in such an abominable—you’ve ruined her reputation! You’ve destroyed us!”
“Mother—” Sophie began, but Mrs. Renard cut her off with another hysterical shout.
“You will marry her! Do not think you can get around it! You will marry her, and you will do right by her. I will allow nothing less.”
“I have every intention—” Andrew, too, was unable to finish his sentence.
“No, Portia,” Mr. Renard spoke over Andrew. “I do not know if that is our best course of action here. I do not know that we want to align ourselves with this family, regardless of the ramifications. Not when we have been used so ill.”
This time, it was Andrew’s father’s even tone that cut him off. “Perhaps we can listen to the entire story before coming to rash decisions.”
Despite knowing the look of reprobation in Father’s eyes, Andrew appreciated his calm reasoning. Heaven knew the Renards would not listen to Andrew in this state, but maybe with his father, they would be brought to see reason.
Mrs. Renard began to cry, hands covering her face.
Andrew glanced to his side, to see how Sophie was handling it all, and it was more concerning than her mother’s quiet sobs.
Her eyes watched everyone, and yet again her face was an inscrutable mask from which he could read no emotion.
There had been times, yes, that he could not discover what she was thinking, but never like this.
Never had her visage been entirely blank.
Being with her parents must be what did it—what enacted that change in her from open, friendly Sophie to withdrawn and quiet.
He hated it.
He turned back to the group. “I am in possession of a bishop’s license and intend to marry Sophie as soon as we can return to our parish.” He would hear nothing of calling off the marriage.
Mr. Renard stared him down, looking like a man near to calling another out.
“That is good,” Father said. “But I do think you owe her parents an explanation, even still.” His eyes said more; they spoke his disappointment in his son. But he never was the kind to reprimand in front of others.
Frankly, Andrew did not see that he owed Sophie’s parents an explanation at all; they had lied about their daughter and had instigated this entire mess, even if Andrew would willingly take the bulk of the blame.
But Mr. Renard seemed disposed to refuse the match.
Ridiculous a notion though that was, Andrew did not want to frustrate the man into action.
He turned to Mr. Renard, setting his jaw.
“A fortnight ago, your daughter was surprised to arrive in London and learn that a rumor had been started regarding her marital status. She was surprised to learn the origin of the rumor, but it became necessary to see that the rumor became truth. I proposed to Sophie, but out of respect for you and Mrs. Renard, we chose to marry by bishop’s license to ensure that the banns were not read, so that yours and Mrs. Renard’s involvement in the falsehoods would not be exposed. ”
Mrs. Renard gasped, affronted, and Mr. Renard’s eyebrows pulled down low, his mouth flattening, but Andrew continued.
“We intend to be married tomorrow. I will not go back on my word to Sophie, and did not wish to harm her reputation in any way. I can promise no untoward behavior has occurred.” Likely the only time in his life he’d be grateful to have not given in to any temptation to kiss his faux wife.
“Tonight! You must be married tonight!” Mrs. Renard cried, pulling her hands from her face. “Everyone knows—oh, we will be ruined.”
“We must be married in the Weybridge parish with the bishop’s license. It is impossible to make that journey tonight.” Andrew struggled to maintain his composure in the face of it all.
“She will be seen as a wanton woman!” Mrs. Renard cried. The lady was near hysterics at this point. Past it, honestly. Her sobs painted the backdrop of the entire conversation.
It was Sophie who spoke next, surprising them all with a quiet, tempered voice from her seat. “I will be seen as nothing of the sort. By your own word, I am already believed married by all who know me.”
“Do not insinuate that your mother and I are to blame for your actions, Sophia,” Mr. Renard said, his voice biting.
“A rumor of your marital status is nothing to living unmarried with a man. I meant what I said before; all things considered, I am not certain I want the two of you to marry at all. I am not convinced that you can be a gentleman, sir.”
Andrew leaned forward to chase the words that had been spat his direction. His mouth opened with an angry retort, but Sophie’s hand landed on his wrist, sneaking around his palm and threading her fingers with his.
He squeezed her hand, settling himself. Her expression was still largely unreadable, but her hand said she was in this with him.
“I can understand your shock, Father, but the Langfords are a family of the utmost respect; I have introduced Andrew as my husband, and will not allow any darkening of their name by withdrawing that title. I am beyond my majority and do not need your permission. Andrew and I will be married tomorrow.”
Mr. Renard watched his daughter without an ounce of emotion. The moment stretched long and tense. He did not acknowledge her words, turning instead to Andrew’s father. “You and I will discuss the marriage contract. Now.”
Father’s gaze flicked to Andrew, a crease between his brows. “The couple ought to be involved as well.”
Andrew nodded his gratitude, but Mr. Renard scoffed.
“Well, I disagree. And being that Sophia’s dowry will come from my estate, I do not see why her opinion is needed.”
Andrew’s anger flared again, but Sophie’s hand squeezed around his. He looked a question at her, and she shook her head. A minute motion, but he saw it for what it was. She wanted this entire ordeal over with and had no desire to fight with her father.
“Very well,” Andrew said, “I will see Sophie to her room.”
“No.” Mrs. Renard pushed wearily to her feet, stumbling with the evidently immense effort. Her husband cupped her elbow. “I will see to my daughter.”
“I would be happy to see you both to your rooms,” Andrew offered, showing no sign of his ever-burning frustration. The last thing he would do was leave Sophie alone with her mother.
The woman sniffed, but allowed herself to be led from the room.
Andrew knew he ought to be ingratiating himself with Sophie’s mother, but his blood refused to cool.
So instead, he offered his arm to Sophie and allowed Mrs. Renard to walk unescorted.
It was the height of rudeness, and he did not care one whit.
He saw Sophie’s mother to her room first, where the woman appraised the both of them with narrowed eyes.
“Sophia, you will attend me in the morning. First thing.” Her words brooked no argument and were full of steel despite her wilting frame.
“Yes, Mother.”
Andrew’s nostrils flared.
“You need do no such thing,” he said as the door closed behind Mrs. Renard and they made their way back to the stairs. “You do not answer to her.”
Sophie was quiet, and Andrew’s frustration bled from him in a river of regret. She did not need another person berating her. He would not put himself anywhere near the level of her parents.
“I apologize,” he said, pushing a hand through his hair. “You do not answer to me either.”
She gave him a wan smile.
“You are exhausted. Might I escort you to your room?”
“Of course,” she murmured. “Thank you.”
The hall was shadowed, and only the sounds of their padding footsteps accompanied their short walk to the lower floor. Sophie kept her eyes down and her shoulders stiffly erect.
They were steps from her door when she suddenly gripped his coat sleeve, turning to face him rather than enter the room. There was a look of resigned certainty in her face, and he thought he knew what was coming.
“Loath as I am to admit it, my parents are right. This was foolhardy in the extreme, and I cannot believe how far beyond propriety we have traveled.”
“I know. I am so—”
She cut him off, her eyes flashing as her mask from before melted.
“No. You ought not to be sorry; it was I who showed up on your doorstep begging you to solve my difficulties. It was for me that you made each concession—deigned to marry. And then you thought to give up your dreams for me?” She shook her head, a manic motion.
“Do not—”
Again, she cut him off. Everyone was doing that this eve, and Andrew ground his teeth.
“And now your reputation might be ruined as surely as mine, and my father will use this as leverage to gain every last concession he can manage in the marriage settlement. And you heard my mother—everyone knows. Mrs. Haverwick must have told everyone it was you I married the moment she heard, and if even one person thinks to check the registry or—oh, I cannot do it, Andrew.” Her hands flew out, gesticulating her point.
“I will not be the reason that your vision for your future has been shattered beyond repair. I will not allow you to continue to sacrifice in the face of—”
Something inside of him broke, snapped clear in half, and he grasped each side of her face, forcing her eyes to his and pushing her back against the door.
He spoke, voice low. “Stop.”
Her mouth clicked shut, wide eyes on his.