So subtly, he might not have noticed if he was not so very aware of that small space where they touched, she pulled both her hands from his, using them to gesticulate in the air instead. “Who would want a wife with career aspirations of her own? Who wants one that could manage the estate business as well as he, but fails at hosting parties? Who wants one who would choose the library over the ballroom?”
“Me.”
Her face softened, and it told Andrew she thought he was now placating her. Then she shook her head, looking away, and he had the distinct impression she was not seeing the dining room, but rather some scene or thought he was not privy to. “Besides, my parents wish me to marry.”
“And so you do not?” he asked quietly.
“I wanted to prove to them I did not need to marry to impress. I could do so all on my own, without a man.” She lifted a slight shoulder, and when her eyes met his again, she could see apology there.
He’d gone and taken that option from her. To help her, of course, but still. “I am sorry.”
She shook her head. “Life has twists and turns. I do not hate this one.”
What magnanimous praise.
Spencer arrived, announcing their dinner, and Andrew led Sophie in on his arm. It felt like playacting, even in their own home.
Their relationship was not real, and Andrew was beginning to wonder if it ever could be.
The third day was no better than the first. In fact, it was worse. When he and Sophie had returned from church, she’d begged off nuncheon in favor of a cold compress and rest. So now he sat, alone, in his library.
“Mr. Langford, you have visitors.”
Andrew shot to his feet from the chair he’d situated himself in. Blast, not the Haverwicks? It was late, but Mrs. Haverwick had shown herself perfectly fine to visit outside usual calling hours before.
But before Andrew could ask, the door behind Spencer opened again, and a veritable flood of men entered.
Andrew sighed with relief, falling back to his seat. “It’s only you lot.”
“Oh no,” Tristan said, sprawling onto a chair himself. “Did you think it was your wife? Your marriage cannot be so terrible as that?”
Andrew looked around at his friends as they made themselves well at home. He hadn’t known they were all in town. “You have heard then?”
“Rosie told us,” Charles said, hooking his thumb at Ambrose.
Ambrose, in turn, shrugged. “William mentioned it.”
“Your brother knows?” Andrew asked.
“My brother knows everything,” he replied, straightening his already impeccable cravat.
“Congratulations are in order, my man!” Charles called. “Do you have port? Spencer!” Charles beat a path back to the door, reaching his head out. He must have found the butler because he called, “Good man, might we have some libation to wet our tongues?”
“Certainly, Mr. Shepherd, would cordial do?” came Spencer’s trite response.
“Bah, man! Port. At least bring us the Madeira.”
“As you wish, sir.”
Charles came back in, beaming, and took up a place on the arm of his twin brother’s—Tristan’s—chair.
Andrew rubbed his temple. He could not lie to his friends. Glancing at the now closed door, he lowered his voice. “It is not what you all think.”
“I think you took less than a week to find yourself a wife after Denby set that ridiculous wager back into effect,” Ambrose said, folding his arms. “I am rather impressed, myself. It has taken me nearly that long to craft my strategy.”
Andrew shook his head. “No. The thing is, well… I am not actually married.”
All five men fell silent. The door opened, and to the shock of all and the gratitude of Andrew, they remained in their voiceless state until after the footman had left the tray of brandy for them. Then it was Charles who spoke first, after pouring himself a drink.
