The Gentleman and the Thief (The Dread Penny Society #2) - Sarah M. Eden Page 0,29
to say, he apparently thought better of it. “Do you know where he went this evening—since he’s obviously not here?”
“Odd, Hollis,” Mr. Walker said. “You never told me you were your brother’s social secretary.”
“I can think of no occupation I would rather have,” Hollis answered dryly.
“You two are imbeciles.” Footsteps sounded—frustrated, angry footsteps—fading into silence.
The two gentlemen joined them, Mr. Walker sitting on Elizabeth’s other side, Hollis on Ana’s.
“What is Mr. Headley’s connection to your brother?” Elizabeth asked.
Hollis’s gaze settled on the stage below but didn’t seem to truly focus. “Randolph and Headley have known each other a couple of years, but only as passing acquaintances. Something has changed of late.”
“I don’t like it,” Mr. Walker said.
In a mutter just above a whisper, Hollis said, “Neither do I.”
The curtain rose, but Hollis seemed unable to focus. After a half hour of seeing his distraction, Ana leaned toward him. “Do you need to look in on your brother?”
That seemed to pull him back to the moment. “Forgive me, Miss Newport. I am proving a poor companion.”
She shook her head. “My thoughts are seldom present with me when I am concerned for people I care about.”
“Your students?”
“Always.” They were seldom far from her thoughts, especially those who were struggling in some way. “And my fellow teachers, and my father.”
“Worry over my father occupied the vast deal of my time in the last years of his life,” Hollis said. “I hope yours is less of a weight on your mind.”
Ana never discussed her father with anyone. How odd that she felt at ease doing so with Hollis.
“I would worry less if he needed me less,” she said. “I am not often with him, and he is alone much of the time.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” he said. “Is your father ill?”
“Ill of heart.”
Hollis nodded. “My late mother could have been described that way. The weight of the world eventually broke her heart.”
“I am sorry to hear that.” She set her hand in his, squeezing his fingers. “Losing my mother was one of the hardest things I ever experienced.”
He wrapped his fingers warmly around hers. “Sometimes I feel very alone in my grief.”
They sat there, hand in hand, as the opera continued. And, as they did, an odd thing happened. Ana’s heart rested in a way it hadn’t since before Father had told her his business had failed, all their money was gone, and he was likely to be prosecuted for fraud. She’d been, to some degree or another, fearful every moment since.
“Sometimes I feel very alone, too,” she whispered.
“If you ever wish for a listening ear or a supportive shoulder, those happen to be my two best features.”
She set her free hand on his arm, keeping their other hands entwined. For the length of this one evening, she would let herself find in him the support and understanding so often lacking in her life.
He was a member of a respected and elevated family, a welcome part of the very Society from which she was distanced. Her poverty and lowered status had created a chasm. The necessity of taking up sneak thievery to regain what had been taken only broadened that gap. There was no escaping that reality.
But for tonight, she would cherish the warmth and kindness of this gracious and considerate gentleman.
Hollis walked down Fleet Street, having given his publisher the most recent installment of “Higglebottom’s School for the Dead.” The tale was doing well, though not on the level of Fletcher or Mr. King, but still, he was pleased.
His spirits were light, but not fully owing to his publishing successes. Ana had sat with him throughout the opera. They’d spoken in intimate whispers about their families and lives. She’d held his hand for hours.
She hadn’t done so on Saturday morning during their ride to and from Randolph’s house. But she had smiled at him in her soft and sincere way. That had done his heart good. The more he knew of her, the more he liked her. He did worry, though, what so soft-spoken and gentle a lady would think if she knew the roughness of his edges.
As he made his way along Fleet Street, he spied Fletcher. Hollis sometimes came across one of the Dreadfuls in this area of London, generally having just handed over manuscript pages. He checked quickly for carriages, then jaunted across the street.
Fletcher gave him a nod.
“Are you delivering your latest installment?” Hollis asked.
“No. Just wanderin’ about, assessing the weather.”