The Gentleman and the Thief (The Dread Penny Society #2) - Sarah M. Eden

London, 1865

Hollis Darby learned two things at the knee of his not-so-dear, long-departed, low-life, scoundrel of a father: how to gamble beyond what was advisable and how to be an utter disappointment to his family. He’d long ago given up cards. But, if his brother’s ongoing rant was any indication, he continued to excel at being a disaster of a relative.

“Even in the leanest of times,” Randolph continued, “a gentleman does not sink to some levels.”

“Would those ‘levels’ exclude things such as having food to eat, clothing to wear . . . unacceptable behavior like that?” Hollis’s brother had been harping on this particular topic from the moment they’d climbed into the carriage together.

Randolph’s face twisted into the patient expression he’d perfected in their childhood. “I am not suggesting you cannot find means of supporting yourself. But there are some methods of doing so that would not bear scrutiny.”

“Such as?” Hollis drawled a touch too innocently, but he’d found playing the fool made his brother’s posturing more bearable.

“Do you truly need me to delineate the acceptable professions for a gentleman?” Randolph skewered him with a look of utter annoyance.

Hollis popped up his gloved fingers, counting off options. “Making speeches in Parliament. Firing cannons during war. Something to do with horses.”

“Do not be obtuse.” Randolph swayed with the rattling of the carriage. “You receive no subsistence from the family coffers—those have been empty all our lives—and Society knows you haven’t been secretary to Lord Whitley for at least a year now.”

Two years, actually. The offer to come to London with Lord Whitley ten years earlier had been a godsend. Hollis had been nineteen, with no money for Cambridge, no place to go to escape his broken family, no desire to keep gambling for money to live on. Dogging Whitley’s heels, Hollis had made connections and avoided starvation, all while keeping himself away from the card tables.

“Whitley has a secretary,” Hollis said. “I believe his name is Carlton or Hepsworth or Nithercott. I can’t ever keep those three straight.”

“Those names are nothing alike.” Randolph’s gaze narrowed a moment before understanding filled his eyes and he shook his head. “Why do you always insist on jests when I am attempting to have an important discussion?”

“My apologies.” He held back the bit of theatrical puffery he’d have liked to have tossed in.

“I have reason for concern regarding your public activities,” Randolph said. “This family’s name has not precisely been free of stain these past years.”

“These past generations,” Hollis corrected.

Randolph ignored him and pressed on. “I am attempting to restore it and our fortunes at the same time. I cannot have even the slightest hope of success if you are undermining my efforts.”

“Have you heard even the quietest whisper of scandal around me, Randolph?”

“I’ve heard plenty enough speculation.” Randolph pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket. “I’m to have luncheon with Barty Simmons at our club. He has the ear of a great many in Society. Wouldn’t hurt the family cause to have you join us.”

Hollis shook his head. “I have other obligations this afternoon.”

“Why is it you always have other obligations when I’m going to the club?”

“Why is it you’re always going to your club when I have other obligations?” He asked the question as if he were entirely in earnest.

Randolph was not put off his topic. “We’re a legacy family at White’s.”

“Not all legacies demand preservation.”

The carriage slowed, though not, as far as Hollis could tell, because of the press of traffic. “We must be approaching Hatchards.” He snatched his hat from the bench beside him. “A thousand thank-yous, dear brother, for dropping me here.”

“You would prefer an afternoon at a bookshop to one at a gentlemen’s club?”

“Infinitely.” Hollis moved to the end of the bench just as the carriage door opened. “Enjoy your very important luncheon.”

“At least consider helping me restore this family’s good name and standing,” Randolph said as Hollis stepped down onto the walk. “My children’s future depends upon it. All I ask is that you not do anything for which Eloise or Addison will suffer.”

“I would never do anything to hurt my niece and nephew; I think you know that.”

Some of Randolph’s bluster died down. “I’m fighting an uphill battle; I think you know that.”

Hollis popped his hat on his head. “I’ll be the very portrait of propriety.” As tedious as that would be.

Randolph looked the tiniest bit mollified. “You’ll come take dinner with us soon?”

Hollis dipped his head in acknowledgment before motioning for the carriage door to be closed.