“But he was titled, was he not?”
“You and I know the nature of rumors. How many estates can there be in Croydon that are available to purchase with a man seemingly on the precipice of moving in? Andrew… I think my mother was attempting to marry me off to you, without even knowing it.”
He chuckled. “It would seem the universe was working in our favor, after turning on me five years ago. Should we tell your mother? Perhaps she will approve of me now.”
She shook her head. “I think I rather like your plan of limited contact. I… do not like how I feel around my parents. It is more than simply uncomfortable… I feel unimportant.”
He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. Her bonnet dug into his neck, and he leaned back enough to pull on the strings tying it on, then he pulled it from her head, pressing a kiss into her hair. His heartbeat thudded at just that.
“Do you have a good relationship with your sister?”
“Both my sisters are far older than I. I knew their children better than I knew them. But it has been years.”
“I have some clients who might remain with me if I seek to open a bank even closer to London. We might find a teaching position for you, and work my plans around that?”
“You do not mind?”
“If it means having you by my side? Not a whit.”
The rector was in residence, and the curate and his oldest son consented to act as witnesses to their small wedding. Once all was in order, Andrew went to fetch Sophie from the curate’s house. His hands felt strangely tingly, and he shook them out before opening the door.
There Sophie sat, alone, a cup of tea in her hands as she waited in the small parlor. She turned, coming to a stand when she saw who it was.
His. She was soon to be his, and he would fight every day to deserve that title. Succeeding at being a good husband to Sophie Renard was far more important than the successes he had been doggedly attempting over the last half a decade.
“Ah, are you ready for your intended?” Mrs. Morley, the curate’s wife, asked, coming through the back door.
He did not trust his voice and nodded.
The woman crossed to Sophie, taking her cup and saucer with a kind smile. “May all the love and blessings rain down on the two of you.”
Sophie smiled back. “Thank you, Mrs. Morley, and thank you for allowing me to freshen up in your home.”
“I hope you will return to visit soon.” With a pat to her forearm, Mrs. Morley exited the room.
“Are you ready?” Andrew asked her.
Sophie’s open expression radiated beauty and happiness, but there was a devious glint in her eyes. “I assume it is too late to back out now?”
“Entirely,” he said, grasping her hand and tugging her forward.
She fell against him, laughing, and when she tried to pull away, he snaked his hands about her waist and held her close. “I am afraid there is no getting rid of me now,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
Her hands gripped his forearms. “Very well. I suppose we shall muddle through then.”
“That we shall.”
He offered his arm, and together, they crossed the churchyard to the chapel. A light dusting of snow covered the shrubbery that would flower in spring. It sparkled with the heat of the sun. The sky was a crystal blue, without a cloud in sight. And Sophie, in her pale-yellow dress, outshone them all.
They entered the quiet church, meeting the rector in front of the years-old pews. Sunlight glinted through the stained-glass window behind the clergyman, sending colorful light splashing over them.
They spoke their promises and agreements, and then, after what felt like an age, Andrew kissed Sophie again. Several times, actually.
Epilogue
Sophie stood in the middle of the dusty, half-finished room, slowly turning in a circle and inspecting the quality of the craftsmanship.
The workers were doing a fine job, though they were a long way off yet until she would have her school.
