Bess helped her dress, then asked if she would prefer a tray in her room or to descend for breakfast. Sophie did not wish for either. Even with the decision made, her stomach roiled nervously; would fate see this as a surrender, and not help her win back Mr. Whitcomb’s respect—if ever she’d had it?
“I have some business to be about this morning and will be back for nuncheon,” Sophie informed her, edging for the door. Her feet wished to be moving—to be in action.
The woman bit her lip, watching Sophie. “Should you require an escort?”
Sophie’s hand was on the door now. “No, thank you. I would not take you from your work.”
The young woman looked relieved but dubious. “If you are certain, ma’am.”
“Entirely.” Sophie slipped from the room, crossing to the staircase that would take her to the family’s bedchambers, then down again to the first floor.
As she traversed the circular steps, though, a familiar face appeared on the next floor.
“Andrew,” she greeted him, smiling, even though there was a twisting in her stomach at the sight of him. It was odd to be in this so very quiet home, knowing she and he were the only ones in residence. She paused her descent a few stairs from him.
He wore a blue coat over a simply-worked waistcoat and buff breeches. His hat was in his hand as he nodded at her. “Good morning, are you going out?” He gestured to her bonnet.
It did not escape her notice that he neglected to use her name. Her stomach twisted again. The years had put a distance between them that, for brief moments, she believed could be traversed; but then he held himself stiffly, like now, meeting her gaze with a level and unaffectionate eye, and she thought perhaps her old friend was lost to her.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve decided to try my hand at speaking to Mr. Whitcomb again, before visiting the employment office.”
He nodded, falling into step beside her. The air about them was awkward. When had she ever felt uncomfortable around Andrew? What could she say to lighten the tension?
They reached the foot of the stairs, and light streamed over them from the windows beside the front door. Andrew bowed before she had time to speak.
“I will hope for your success.”
She gave a small smile. “Thank you.”
His eyes lingered on her for an extra heartbeat before he nodded and left.
The door to Mr. Whitcomb’s townhouse, which served as the headquarters for the project, appeared just as uninviting as the day before.
Three sharp raps to the wood, then she stepped back, clasping her hands in front of her.
The door was opened by Mr. Whitcomb’s secretary, who eyed her suspiciously with beady eyes.
“Miss Renard,” he said, with a haughty look that appeared to be peering down on her despite being several inches shorter. “I do believe we have everything we need from you.”
“I request another meeting with Mr. Whitcomb,” Sophie said, leveling her stare right back at the man. “I will keep it brief.”
The man’s mouth pinched, and for a tense moment, she expected he would reject her. “He has but five minutes.”
“Perfect. I shall only require two.”
He sniffed. “Very well.” Leaving the door open, he left her to follow him back to the office.
Mr. Whitcomb’s reaction to her was far less disapproving. In fact, he appeared apathetic. She did not wait for him to question her presence; she planted her feet and delivered her speech the moment the secretary was gone and the door closed.
“I should like to propose an arrangement, Mr. Whitcomb.”
He quirked a single brow. Encouraging, to be sure.
“I know you are pressed for time to find a replacement, and whilst you do so, I would like to propose that you give me a chance to prove my worth. A trial period, if you will.”
His expression was possibly a fraction less bored than before. A hint of thoughtfulness seemed to have entered those eyes. Sophie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from prattling on with her reasons. The trial period was a good idea, and unless he’d miraculously found a replacement already, she thought, likely to succeed.
Abruptly, he broke his gaze from her, gathering up some papers. “I will consider it.”
