Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sophie’s elation continued through the night and well into the morning. Andrew loved her. All her concerns over how she would keep her feelings at bay were nothing. He loved her and had kissed her to distraction.
And soon he would do so again. For the rest of their lives.
Her mother’s reprimands and hysterics, delivered from the woman’s dressing table in boundless quantity, washed over her. Sophie nodded, smiled, was outwardly repentant, and did not care in the least what the woman said.
Andrew loved her. She had stumbled back into his life, made a mess of both of theirs, and somehow, seemingly against all odds, found the most blissful of happiness.
And today they would be married.
Goodness, but it felt like she was in a dream from which she might wake any moment.
As she returned to her bedchamber following Mother’s set down, to gather her things for the journey to Weybridge, the door beside her own opened. Andrew appeared in the doorway, adjusting the sleeves of his coat, but when he glanced up at her, he froze.
“Devil take it,” he muttered.
Sophie laughed. “Good morning to you, too?”
He closed his door, wary eyes on hers. “Do not smile at me like that.”
“I am just smiling, Andrew,” she said on another laugh, tempted to close the space between them. To finger the edges of his coat and adjust his cravat.
He must have seen some of her intent in her gaze, for he raised his hands in a warding-off gesture. “I did not sleep a single minute, Sophie. My self-restraint is essentially nonexistent.”
“I slept wonderfully,” she teased.
His eyes burned as they watched her, but then he closed them tightly shut. “Blast it, woman, I cannot wait to marry you.” They opened again, a tenderness in their depths that warmed her through.
“And I you.”
His smile arrived then, and after a deep breath, he held out his arm. She shook her head.
“Just a moment, I need to gather my bonnet and check my trunk.”
He let his arm drop, turning to watch her as she entered her room.
She left the door ajar as she spoke over her shoulder.
“Mother insists we leave directly from breakfast this morning. Which is well enough, as I need to be back on Monday.” Something in her stomach twisted sourly at the thought of returning to this position she had been fighting tooth and nail for, but she pushed it aside.
It was likely just that she did not want to think about work when she had far more pleasant things to ruminate on.
She scooped up her bonnet, turning to face Andrew, who stood warily in the doorway.
“I am sorry we will not have a true wedding trip, or even a moment to ourselves before we must return,” he said.
Despite her laissez-faire facade, her chest burned with the reminder of his kisses and the promise of more to come.
The thought of a moment to themselves after their wedding set the flames scouring ever stronger and brought color to her cheeks.
She looked around for something to do to keep from meeting his eye, crossing to her dressing table.
“It is the nature of our situation. We will have time enough later.”
“In Durham, as soon as next week, actually. Depending on your schedule, that is,” he replied.
Again, her spirits sank. She had thought she could not stand the idea of him following her to Durham when her love was unrequited, but that was the furthest thing from the case now.
Perhaps the thought of him abandoning his goals was what weighed on her.
Yes, that must be it. They would need to find some sort of middle ground.
A compromise where they could both have what they wanted. He his dreams and her, her own.
Something twisted in her stomach yet again. She ignored it, dabbing rose water perfume on her wrists and neck.
When she turned, it was to find Andrew watching her closely.
“What?” she asked.
“You are unsettled. Why?”
“Drat, this ability to read my emotions like a book is not going to serve me well, is it?”
His eyes did not lose their intensity. “What is it?”
“Not you,” she assured, crossing back to him. “Not us. The future. I still do not know what to do regarding Durham.”
He frowned. “You cannot think I would permit you to leave me now that I know your true feelings? Sophie, I can hardly handle seven hours without kissing you—I cannot manage weeks on end.”
“I am starting to think you only like me for my kisses.”
He grasped her hands. “I love your kisses, Soph. But I love you more. I love your intelligence and wit. Your backbone and strength. I love how you shrug one shoulder when you pretend not to care, and how your eyes sparkle when you laugh. I love how you do not need a maid, finery, or to win at chess—”
At that, she laughed, and he squeezed her hands, smiling. “I love how you look in an evening gown, and bent over a page with that furrow in your brows. And how your writing becomes messy when you are excited. I love everything about you except, at the moment, your last name.”
It could not be helped; he had to be kissed.
Quickly, because as much as she teased him for his self-restraint, hers was hardly better, she pressed her lips to his.
“I love you, too, Andrew. Your intelligence and determination, and that pretty face.” She brushed back his hair as he affected a grimace.
“With all I am, I love you… But I feel unsettled about Durham. I cannot explain it, but… something does not feel right.”
He nodded, a furrow between his brows. “Then we will discover the concern together. You are not alone in this, Sophie. Never again.”
A throat cleared in the door just behind them, and Sophie’s eyes flew to Mr. Langford’s raised brows.
But Andrew, ever the picture of calm confidence—except when he’d yelled at Mr. Whitcomb, or when he’d kissed her, that was—turned and nodded at his father. “Are we needed at breakfast?”
The man looked between both of them, seeming to measure something in his mind. “No, I had another thought.”
Andrew threaded Sophie’s hand through his arm, a question in his expression.
“I cannot say I agree with how you have handled this situation, Andrew, but all night, I could not shake the thought that… well, that I know the kind of man we raised, and I know you are every bit the gentleman. If you say you acted with Miss Renard’s best interests at heart, I believe you.
” His gaze shifted to Sophie, to nod at her with the hint of a smile in the creases around his eyes.
“And I do not wish her entrance into our family to be marred by bickering parents and pronouncements of shame.”
Andrew’s hand over hers tightened. “What are you saying, Father?”
“Go. Spencer has readied the chaise. If you exit through the servants’ entrance, you will be an hour gone before the remainder of us break our fast and learn you are not here. Go, and be married on your own terms.”
Sophie’s breath seized at that, a weight lifting from her shoulders at the evidence that at least one of their parents did not condemn them for their choices.
Andrew’s voice was tight as he reached out a hand to shake his father’s. Mr. Langford grasped his son’s in both of his own. Something passed between them in that look.
“Thank you, Father.”
Mr. Langford nodded, the action controlled and meaningful, before turning a smile to Sophie. “And welcome to our family, Miss Renard. My late wife adored you, and would have applauded the match.”
For some reason, that caused tears to prick her eyes, and it was all she could do to stammer out her own gratitude.