Although… a small part of him suddenly wondered if her husband might have left her a widow. That would explain everything… Her dress was a dark lavender, which was appropriate for mourning. But that line of thinking brought a jolt of longing that scared him in its intensity, so he pushed it aside. He needed to be helping his old friend just then, not losing himself in pointless fancies.
He sought about for options. Could he front the cost of a hotel for the night? Except she wished to stay for a fortnight, and he could not spare those funds just now. If any of his friends were in town… But would Sophie feel comfortable staying with their families when they were unknown to her?
The clock chimed the coming lateness of the hour.
There was only one thing for it. For tonight at least.
“Well, you must stay here tonight.”
“I couldn’t—”
“You are an old friend, Soph—” He cut himself off and lowered his voice. “An old friend. And it is only one night, until we determine how best to proceed. No one needs to know that you stayed here alone. Besides, my father would be sorely disappointed if he learned I’d not helped you.” It was horribly improper, but there was nothing for it.
Air rushed out of her with a whoosh. “Thank you, Andrew,” she murmured, and for the first time, he truly saw the exhaustion and disappointment that weighed heavily on her. Confirmation that this was the right thing to do flooded him. So long as neither of them said a word, and the staff kept the information to themselves, they should manage unscathed. Mostly.
“I am happy to do it.” He stood, pacing to the door. “I will have a room made up for you.” As far from his as the townhouse would accommodate.
Andrew left the servants to the work of seeing his guest settled and returned to the dining room to gather up his papers before bed. Perhaps he would do a bit of painting; the action often settled him… but with how muddled his thoughts were, he doubted he could focus.
Spencer met him in the entrance hall. “Sir, I apologize, you had a letter this morning that the footman just provided me.” He offered a small letter.
Andrew took it. “Thank you.”
Spencer bowed and left, leaving Andrew to look at the scribbled address on the missive. Denby? Andrew hadn’t heard from the man in years. Nearly as long as he’d gone without hearing from Sophie—not since their school friends had been on the Grand Tour together. He saw several of his friends often, but not Thomas Denby.
Curiosity overcoming him, Andrew broke the seal then and there.
The letter was short... and salt to his wound.
Langford,
I regret to inform you that I have married. Alas, you might have thought yourself the sure winner of our little bet years ago, but I have come out on top of all you fellows. As such, I find myself eager to accept my wedding present of 100 pounds from whichever of you fails to come up to scratch by the time the rest of us have.
Have at it, chap. Get married… or pay forfeit.
Yours, etc.
Thomas Denby
Andrew stared down at the little scrap of foolscap. Blast, of all the times to be reminded of his failed marriage attempts, it had to be half an hour after the woman he’d hoped to marry walked back into his life?
And truly, who would have consented to marry Denby? Andrew liked him well enough, as a man. As a husband, though? The man was indecent at best. Andrew rather thought that it was Denby’s wife, truly, who had lost this wager.
But gads… the bet? A little joke among friends, had it not been? And yet… his honor tightened about him like a noose. Jest or not, he’d given his word freely enough. If Denby really was reminding them of the wager, Andrew would be required to fulfil it.
At one time, that would not have seemed so bad. He did intend to marry, after all, and he had five other friends who would be getting some version of this letter—it was not as if he needed to jump into action that precise moment. For each of them to find a woman, court her, and marry her would take months.
Yet he felt as he had any time in school when he did not instantaneously grasp a new subject: behind before he’d even been given the chance to begin.
Not to mention that the one woman to ever turn his head was now upstairs, settling herself for the night, and yet as far from his grasp as if she were dead.
Chapter Three
The Langford servants brought in her cases and had her set up in her own room with a tray for dinner within the hour. Sophie forced herself to remain upright throughout, overseeing the endeavor and giving her thanks, but she was very nearly ready to collapse into that delectable, plush bed. After the travel and emotional turmoil of the day, she was spent.
Andrew—dear Andrew, whose offer had been like a lighthouse in her storm—had disappeared during the chaos, which was likely for the best. He’d seemed entirely uncomfortable after agreeing to let her stay—did he regret it? She was very aware of how improper it was for her, an unmarried woman, to be here when he was the only person in residence. While she didn’t care a fig for her own reputation—after all, she was here seeking employment with an evidently all-male project—she would hate to hurt his. Yet it was only for one night. And they would not breathe a word of it to anyone.
And then what would she do?
