Hannah winked. “Well, then, I guess I’ll need to employ even more cheekiness, won’t I?”
This time, Eoin only managed to nod in response. He half hoped, half feared that she would continue this flirtation—confident on her part, awkward on his.
But she must have taken pity on him as she nodded toward the pile of books. “If I help you review those, would you be able to investigate later this evening?”
“You want to assist with the accounts?” Eoin asked in shock. When he’d agreed to Hannah living in his home, he’d never expected that she’d hole up with him in his dreary study and review ledgers.
“I am very good with numbers. I keep all the books for the Black Sheep. My mother—who used to handle them—was exceedingly happy to hand them over to me when I showed an interest. I started helping her when I was about ten or eleven.”
“Are you certain that you wish to assist? It is not precisely a stimulating activity,” Eoin said. He himself had never particularly minded it, but his grandfather had always viewed accounts as a necessary but irritating burden.
“Figures have always fascinated me. They can convey so much in a few short strokes of the pen,” Hannah explained.
Eoin understood the sentiment, but he found people and their diverging motivations more intriguing. Perhaps it was because he was so restrained that he liked observing others’ emotions.
“If you want to help, then this is what I’m looking for.” Eoin turned the ledger he was reviewing in her direction. He explained how he was not just scanning expenditures and profits but searching for redundancies and other ways to cutexpenses to free up funds for improvements. As Hannah had boasted, she understood the complicated task immediately.
A hush settled over the room, and just like when Eoin’s grandfather was alive, the silence was broken only by the sounds of breathing, the flipping of pages, and the scratching of pens. But this was a pleasant kind of quietude—one free of all tension. It felt almost companionable as he and Hannah worked toward the same goal. When they paused for Hannah to report what she’d gleaned, Eoin was impressed by what she’d observed.
It was as if he had finally found a partner. But Eoin knew it was just a temporary façade. Once he reunited with his mother and his sister—or when it became obvious that they couldn’t be found—this mirage of a connection would end, and Eoin would once again be left alone in his grandfather’s oppressive study.
“The way your eyes keep darting to and fro, it’s like you’ve never been to Covent Garden,” Hannah said as they hurried down a narrow passage that reeked of smells that Eoin would rather not identify. Throaty laughter and raucous chatter poured from the hodgepodge of buildings stuffed together along the refuse-filled street where, according to Hannah’s informants, the Horse and Hen was located. Judging by the scantily clad women and the ruffled men with coats and coiffures askew, many of the enterprises were brothels, but some were mere taverns.
“I’ve been to the Theatre Royal and, of course, the Black Sheep Coffeehouse,” Eoin said as he pressed against the wall of a building to avoid a stumbling drunk. Eoin started to pullHannah to safety, but she’d already nimbly avoided the bumbling human obstacle.
“Yet not a section like this?” Hannah inquired.
“No,” Eoin admitted. “I have mostly just been to the two places that I mentioned.”
“You haven’t been in even a tavern in Covent Garden?” Hannah asked, her disbelief palpable. “Or another coffeehouse?”
Eoin shook his head, not blaming Hannah for her shock. It was unusual for a man of his wealth and age not to have visited at least one place of ill-repute. “I frequented the Elysian Fields Coffeehouse with my grandfather, but it’s in Mayfair. And I think he only went there because it was so famous among his fellow antiquarians.”
“I believe you may be as sheltered as Charlotte was before she invested in the Black Sheep,” Hannah said, her words containing no malice but simply surprise. And since her observation carried no sting, Eoin felt none.
“Perhaps I am more closeted. Your cousin did help her mother run a salon, and according to rumor, she was very close to your mutual great-aunt, who was known for her frankness,” Eoin said.
Before Hannah could answer him, Eoin felt a tug on his lapel. He turned to find a woman—with a bodice so low cut that she might as well have been bare chested—hanging half her body out a window. Her thin arm was extended as she held on tight to Eoin’s workingman’s attire.
“Come inside, lovey!” the woman hollered.
Another female popped out of a window from across the way. Due to the extreme narrowness of the passage and the breadth of Eoin’s shoulders, her fingers also snared Eoin’s sleeve. “Don’t listen to her. I’m the better choice. I know how to handle a man of your girth.”
“My apologies, but he’s with me!” Hannah called out gaily as she snaked her arm around his middle. She nestled against him, and even through the layers of material that he wore, he could feel her warmth. She leaned farther into his side and gazed up at him with an expression that he could only call adoring. “Isn’t that right, my love?”
His throat seized, and Eoin could only nod. He knew she was playacting to save him from a great deal of embarrassment, but he could not help reacting to her nearness.
The women pouted, but he knew it was also a charade. This was the London that reformers hoped to improve. If Eoin’s father had met his mother while she was working in a tavern among such desperation, no wonder he’d advocated for change.
Eoin finally spotted a sign of a horse with a pair of chicken feet sticking out near its middle. He assumed at one time it showed a fowl nestled against an equine, but the paint had long since faded away. The weathered wood had cracked between the horse’s ears and along its back. The building looked just as tumbled down—and certainly not as neat and trim as the outside of the Black Sheep. Daub had fallen away to reveal the wattle beneath it, and several shutters hung askew. Eoin had no idea what the establishment had looked like twenty-odd years ago, but his heart twisted at the thought of his mother working here. Yet what had he expected? He knew she was a poor Irish immigrant who’d somehow stolen the heart of an heir to a dukedom. Even more worrisome, how had she and Eoin’s sister managed to survive after the death of Eoin’s father?
He dreaded that answer most of all, but he still had to pursue it—even if there was only pain at the end.
“Oi!” Hannah’s sharp voice broke through his reverie.
Blinking, Eoin turned to find Hannah holding the wrist of a slender waif. At first glance, Eoin thought the child to be abouteight or nine years of age, but his features weren’t soft enough. Although thin and undersized, the boy was more likely thirteen or fourteen.
“Give it back,” Hannah demanded, stretching out her other palm.
