Her eyes burned.
“Goodbye, Mother.”
Chapter Twelve
Tucked into the warmth of his family’s library, Andrew stared out at the south lawn. The Renards lived just beyond the copse of trees dotting the hillside.
Despite a close association with the family, Andrew did not really know them particularly well, outside of Sophie. Her two older sisters had been several years his senior, and he’d not found occasion to spend time in the parents' company longer than to notice that they were rather stiff and proper. He’d never been able to countenance why his parents—ever effusive and kind—had struck up a friendship with them. Honestly, he’d assumed it was simply a situation of proximity. They were the closest family to their own, both in physical proximity and station.
Regardless of his lack of intimacy with them, he’d heard enough from Sophie growing up to have an idea of how the couple was receiving her now. They had vacillated between uninterested in her and strict to a fault, as if she’d been beneath their notice until she did something incongruent with their image.
But to go so far as to create a false marriage for their daughter? It was inconceivable. What had they expected to occur when Sophie returned home? What would they do now that she had found them out?
Something akin to a growl sounded in the back of his throat. He shouldn’t have left her.
The view only added to his frustration. The reminder that soon, she would always be as far from him as she now was. In some London hotel… and then in Durham with the Whitcomb project.
He ought to quit the large window and find solace elsewhere. His mother had a painting room in the house, and he was certain it had not been altered. That was where he was most likely to find peace. If only the woman herself were here to advise him.
“Tolland says you’ve brought Bess back with you. Did you require her services?”
His father’s question brought Andrew round. Both Father and Geoffrey were watching him from the doorway with near-identical raised brows. Andrew’s elder brother always had taken after Father with his black hair and dark eyes, his younger after their mother with her light features, and Andrew was a sort of mix of the two with dark hair and light eyes. The mutt of the family.
“No. I escorted Sophie Renard from London and brought Bess as a chaperone of sorts.”
Those brows rose again.
“Is that the youngest of the Renard girls?” Geoffrey asked.
Andrew nodded, glancing back out the window.
“Pretty thing, if I recall. Married some years ago, wasn’t she?”
Andrew ignored Geoffrey, turning to Father.
“Is Mother’s parlor still available?”
Father’s look turned grim. “No, actually. There was an accident—a window left open before a rainstorm. We are having it renovated.”
“Were her paintings harmed?”
The man’s countenance lightened. “Thankfully, no. It is only the floors, but we’ve put everything else up in sheets while we remedy the issue.”
That was a relief—about her art. But a disappointment that he would have no escape. He tried another tactic. “Would you lend me a hunter, Father? I thought to go for a ride. I’ve missed the country.” He said the words as an excuse to avoid talking about Sophie’s highly questionable marital status, but it actually sounded rather nice. He’d not had the time for a good ride in ages.
“You ought to stay a week or two, you know,” Geoffrey said, settling himself in a chair by the fire. “Then you can return to London with us.”
“No, I am expected back at the bank tomorrow.”
Geoffrey chuckled. “I imagine they will not have to close their doors should you take a leave of absence.”
“I am sure Andrew has clients relying on him,” Father said, ever the arbiter between his boys.
“Thank you, Father. Yes. It would not be honorable of me to return any later than promised.”
“Very well.” Geoffrey picked up a book that lay on the table beside him, and silence blanketed the room. If only Edmund was here. He and their mother had been the life of the household. The three men present now were no better conversationalists than the books on the shelves around them. Worse, some might argue.
“Do I have leave to borrow a horse for the evening, Father?” Andrew asked again.
