That insult made a direct hit. She had given of her life for nearly six years to avoid any sense of mediocrity. And she knew she was more capable than this—she truly did. But the work was so painstakingly boring that focus seemed more difficult to come by.
She should not make excuses, though. The man was right. She needed to do better, and that was the end of it.
“I understand. Is that all?”
“Yes, you may go.” He began perusing something in a notebook on the desk, but paused as she rose from her seat. “Tomorrow, I require you here at 8:30.”
She bit back any disagreement or request for an explanation of why, when he’d never needed her in the morning before, he suddenly did. “Very well.”
He did not respond, nor did he open the door for her. Meekly, she returned to her desk and gathered her things. Something would have to change, if not in the subject matter of her work, then in her performance. She could not continue to fall short of the mark.
Chapter Eighteen
The next day was meant to be Mrs. Haverwick’s party, but both Andrew and Sophie had sent their regrets that they would be unable to attend, certainly putting off the inevitable with the woman discovering their farce. But the more time they put it off, the less likely it would be as detrimental a revelation. They only had to wait until they were officially married and Sophie relocated to Durham.
Sophie’s work schedule had seen a change that day as well, which she told Andrew of at breakfast.
“When do you need to be there?” he asked, unable to keep from bouncing his knee beneath the table. He’d not slept well, his mind working away at the plan his friends had helped him compile. He would prove his worth to Sophie in the same logical way he’d been proving his worth to society for years.
Why did this feel far more high-risk than his career or life aspirations?
“Half past eight.”
Andrew checked his watch. It was a quarter to. “I need to be at the bank by nine. I will walk you.”
Sophie nodded as she took a bite, and he thought he saw her lips tug upward at the edges before she lifted her drink to her mouth. A success in the way of courtship or simple happiness?
He gathered his things for the day and met her in the entrance hall.
“Your friends are characters,” she stated as they traversed the steps outside.
“That is certainly one name for them.”
Her lips quirked. “Have you known them long?”
“We met in school. I have been chained to them since.”
“I have often wondered what it would be like to have many friends,” she said in that frank way of hers.
“Were you close with any of the teachers at the Seminary?” he asked, using a passing couple as an excuse to walk even closer to her.
“I liked the vast majority of them, and I should think they liked me as well. We enjoyed a good camaraderie, but nothing deeper than that. Even in our neighborhood growing up, I never managed to grow close to any of the other young ladies. And my sisters were both a great deal older than me.”
Andrew found himself wishing he had female acquaintances whom he might introduce to her. Certainly, she would not have many at the Whitcomb project.
“I suppose that is what comes from immersing myself in a man’s world,” she added, one of her shoulders lifting. He was coming to believe that affectation of hers was not so much a movement of nonchalance, but rather one to cover her true feelings on any given subject.
“Well, it is they who are missing out,” was all Andrew could say; he hadn’t a great deal of wisdom on the subject. His friends had actually adopted him in a way, as one might adopt a forlorn puppy. Except this puppy had been less forlorn and more too immersed in his studies to think of socializing.
London’s streets had not truly grown busy with shoppers, though there was bustle enough. The fashionable hour was yet to come, so this was mainly the movements of shopkeepers, men of work, staff running errands for their households, and only the occasional gentleman or lady. It was a bustle he usually partook in, his head down, and his movements moving him quickly to his work. But with Sophie, he found himself slowing his stride, more to spend time with her than to allow her to keep up. When should he broach the subject of an outing? He thought a museum or lecture might be best. Something to ease her into the idea of spending extraneous time with him.
A familiar face appeared not two shops down, and Andrew stiffened. Mrs. Haverwick. If she waylaid them, their story was apt to fall apart under her probing questions. He thought in an instant, maneuvering himself and Sophie down a narrow street just beside them.
“What—” Sophie began, but a look at Andrew’s determined expression snapped her teeth shut. She allowed him to haul her down the still-shadowed alley. The sun had yet to reach enough height to invade this space. He hurried them several yards in, far enough that anyone at the mouth of the alleyway would be hard-pressed to see them, then set Sophie’s back against a bricked building, watching the entrance over his shoulder. At any moment, Mrs. Haverwick would pass by.
“Am I to be informed of just why I’ve been secreted away?” Sophie whispered; he had situated himself near enough to her that her breath tickled his cheeks.
He glanced at her and that charming grin and sparking eyes. “Mrs. Haverwick.”
