“But you… you were married.” It was a statement. Because it could not be a question—he already knew she had been married. Had he, in fact, died? The marriage been annulled?
His gut twisted to think of what might have happened to lead to an annulment.
How had she been several days in his home and he’d not known this?
She was shaking her head. Why was she shaking her head? “I have never even been betrothed, Andrew. I do not… where is this all coming from?”
His chin jerked to each side in a near-mirror of her movement. “No. You went to Bristol. In three quarters of a year, you were being courted by a top-lofty lord.” It had been seven months. He remembered the day he’d heard the news, a bleak one indeed. “Within two months, you were… you were married.”
She stared at him, and he felt the need to expound. As if, if he gave more information, some of it would register, and she would declare,Oh, yes! I had forgotten that marriage!“The banns were not read, because you were married by special license. Your parents attended the wedding in Bristol. You went on a marriage tour immediately after.”
“Who told you all of this?” Her eyes were wild, her hands lifted in front of her without purpose.
“Your parents.”
“My parents!” She began to pace, hands fisted and held against her lips. Several tendrils of dark hair broke free of her simple coiffure as she spun on her heel at the sofa and marched back to him. “Andrew, why would they lie like that? I did not… I was not—I was in Bristol to study. To learn. To—” she cut off abruptly, eyes darkening.
“What is it?” Some primal part of him, that he’d buried five years past, itched to go to her. To grab her and hold her because she was not married. Sophie was not a married woman.
And she was staying in his home. With only the barest staff and no chaperone. Whatever liberties might have been given to a married friend of the family were nonexistent now.
Blast. This would ruin her. It could ruin them both. And he certainly could not attempt affection now—not even the hint of it. He must remain proper and careful and… Blast. He stepped back, as if that would erase the days of depravity he’d undergone.
“It is my schooling. They must have been ashamed of me… but such a lie? I cannot countenance it. I must…” Her hands fell to her sides. “Andrew, I must speak to them. There is nothing else for it. Surely there is something we do not see here. Some miscommunication. Perhaps Grandfather said something to suggest, but no—there must be something to explain it all.”
Andrew was nodding. Yes. Good. This was good. She needed to speak with her parents, and he needed her out of his home. Out of his protection, so he could sift through this mass of feelings and information and discover what he was to do with it all.
As if he didn’t already know what he wanted to do.
“We must go then. Weybridge is not far. We can…” His gaze darted out the window, seeing how low the sun hung in the sky, and he shook his head. “No, we cannot tonight. Tomorrow. Wecan be there by midday.”
She was nodding, but the action was rote, and her eyes were far away. Of a sudden, they snapped up to his, understanding lit there. “This is why you asked about my husband. You were trying to understand the delicate situation.”
He nodded, his neck growing hot. They might have avoided all of this had he just asked outright that first night. But no, that would have been uncouth of him, and he could not belittle actions he’d taken when trying to be respectful and courteous.
Sophie pressed fingers to her mouth. “And I said he was elusive!” She laughed, but it did not sound humorous. “I thought you asked in jest! Oh, merciful heavens, my parents had best have a great excuse for this. I cannot… everyone believes me married?”
Andrew hesitated only a moment before nodding. “I will tell you all I know, but it is not much more. I… I do not participate much in the gossip mill, and…”
She shook her head, backing away, though the action did not appear conscious. “No. No, it hardly signifies; I have tangled you in this miscalculated affair enough. Thank you, Andrew. I... I think I will go to bed.”
“I understand.” He watched her leave, following her to the door, rubbing a hand across his brow until at last she disappeared up the staircase.
Sophie was not married.
Sophie was never married.
What was he going to do now?
Andrew had the coach ready by breakfast, a note sent round to Rowan to beg his leave of not arriving as promised the night before, and a valise packed for himself. He might have put her on a coach… but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He felt responsible for her and needed to see her safely to her parents. But more than that, he knew Sophie. He knew her ambitions lay in this job in London, and if her parents did not support her in it, he intended to help her however he could.
There was nothing more duplicitous to it. Nothing to do with the fact that he’d been awake half the night, decidedly aware that he needed a wife, and Sophie had no husband.
Sophie was up no later than he. And by half past nine, they were together in the entry hall as the staff strapped their things to the coach, and the one maid the Langfords kept in London waited inside the equipage. Andrew had no words to calm Sophie’s clear distress. He could only watch her wring her hands, incapable of aiding, and feeling horrendous for it.
Spencer stepped up to Andrew’s side, proffering a letter. “This came just now, sir.”
Andrew glanced at it, seeing Sophie’s name. Only one person knew she was staying here—it was from the Whitcomb project.
