Sophie’s laughter rang through the room, but Andrew glared daggers at his friend. Tristan ignored him entirely.
“That is a very gracious offer, Mr… Shepherd, was it? But I find I am quite content with my choice,” she said, glancing back at Andrew.
Some of the tightness in his chest lessened with that declaration.
“All the better,” Tristan said, releasing her hand. “He is a far better man than I.”
“I am sure you are wonderful, Mr. Shepherd. Oh, drat, now you’ve all made me blush. I think I shall just find my book and leave you to the celebrations.”
“I will help you,” Andrew said. “You lot just try not to cause any mayhem for a moment,” he directed to his friends. Charles saluted, falling back into his chair. The rest followed suit, taking up their seats as Andrew and Sophie crossed to the shelves.
“Anything you are looking for in particular?” he asked, eyes on hers while hers were on the tomes in front of them.
“Yes. I was… oh, and there it is.” She grasped the book that was, unsurprisingly, on mathematics, from a shelf just above their eye level. She spun to face him, a smile lifting her lips. “I will leave you men to it.”
“Take me with you?” he begged.
She shook her head solemnly. “I am afraid you must face your friends on your own.” Her smile turned into a grin as she nearly skipped around him, addressing her final comment to the group. “Do not get my husband too foxed, please.”
A sea of affirmative responses met her request, and with that wide grin still on her face, she danced from the room.
Andrew watched her go.
“Lovesick puppy,” Charles murmured. He’d stood; he never could stay still.
Andrew groaned. The man definitely had the right of it.
“So, you’re courting her,” Ambrose said, crossing his legs. “Good. What are you doing?”
Andrew stretched his fingers. “I walk her home from work. I took her to church today. We hope to have lunch every day. And dinner, of course.”
The men stared at him, waiting for more.
Andrew lifted his hands. “I can’t very well write her poetry.”
“Why not?” Rowan asked. Trust the Shakespearean to think he should.
“For one, I am no good at it. For another, that is not the nature of our relationship. I have to be careful—I do not want to make her uncomfortable in what should be her own home.”
The men nodded.
“You make a fair point,” Rowan said.
“The devil he does,” Tristan said. “Flirt with the woman. Take her to the theater. A ball. Ices—”
“In this weather?” Charles cut in. Tristan gave him awithering glare.
Andrew ignored the sibling squabble that might erupt, pressing fingers to his forehead. “But that is what I was saying. She does not care for those things. I mean, yes, maybe she would enjoy the theater or a ball every now and again, but her true interest lies in mathematics. In books and lectures.”
“Then take her to a museum.”
“A lending library.”
“A bookseller.”
“The Royal Institute."
“The Mathematical Society hosts lectures,” Ambrose noted.
