And soon he would do so again. For the rest of their lives.
Her mother’s reprimands and hysterics, delivered from the woman’s dressing table in boundless quantity, washed over her. Sophie nodded, smiled, was outwardly repentant, and did not care in the least what the woman said.
Andrew loved her. She had stumbled back into his life, made a mess of both of theirs, and somehow, seemingly against all odds, found the most blissful of happiness.
And today they would be married.
Goodness, but it felt like she was in a dream from which she might wake any moment.
As she returned to her bedchamber following Mother’s set down, to gather her things for the journey to Weybridge, the door beside her own opened. Andrew appeared in the doorway, adjusting the sleeves of his coat, but when he glanced up at her, he froze.
“Devil take it,” he muttered.
Sophie laughed. “Good morning to you, too?”
He closed his door, wary eyes on hers. “Do not smile at me like that.”
“I am just smiling, Andrew,” she said on another laugh, tempted to close the space between them. To finger the edges of his coat and adjust his cravat.
He must have seen some of her intent in her gaze, for he raised his hands in a warding-off gesture. “I did not sleep a single minute, Sophie. My self-restraint is essentially nonexistent.”
“I slept wonderfully,” she teased.
His eyes burned as they watched her, but then he closed them tightly shut. “Blast it, woman, I cannot wait to marry you.” They opened again, a tenderness in their depths that warmed her through.
“And I you.”
His smile arrived then, and after a deep breath, he held out his arm. She shook her head.
“Just a moment, I need to gather my bonnet and check my trunk.”
He let his arm drop, turning to watch her as she entered her room. She left the door ajar as she spoke over her shoulder. “Mother insists we leave directly from breakfast this morning. Which is well enough, as I need to be back on Monday.” Something in her stomach twisted sourly at the thought of returning to this position she had been fighting tooth and nail for, but she pushed it aside. It was likely just that she did not want to think about work when she had far more pleasant things to ruminate on. She scooped up her bonnet, turning to face Andrew, who stood warily in the doorway.
“I am sorry we will not have a true wedding trip, or even a moment to ourselves before we must return,” he said.
Despite her laissez-faire facade, her chest burned with the reminder of his kisses and the promise of more to come. The thought of a moment to themselves after their wedding set the flames scouring ever stronger and brought color to her cheeks. She looked around for something to do to keep from meeting his eye, crossing to her dressing table. “It is the nature of our situation. We will have time enough later.”
“In Durham, as soon as next week, actually. Depending on your schedule, that is,” he replied.
Again, her spirits sank. She had thought she could not stand the idea of him following her to Durham when her love was unrequited, but that was the furthest thing from the case now. Perhaps the thought of him abandoning his goals was what weighed on her. Yes, that must be it. They would need to find some sort of middle ground. A compromise where they could both have what they wanted. He his dreams and her, her own.
Something twisted in her stomach yet again. She ignored it, dabbing rose water perfume on her wrists and neck.
When she turned, it was to find Andrew watching her closely.
“What?” she asked.
“You are unsettled. Why?”
“Drat, this ability to read my emotions like a book is not going to serve me well, is it?”
His eyes did not lose their intensity. “What is it?”
“Not you,” she assured, crossing back to him. “Not us. The future. I still do not know what to do regarding Durham.”
He frowned. “You cannot think I would permit you to leave me now that I know your true feelings? Sophie, I can hardly handle seven hours without kissing you—I cannot manage weeks on end.”
“I am starting to think you only like me for my kisses.”
