Penrose shot Frederick what could only be described as a triumphant smirk. “Thank you so much for your hospitality, Mr. Weiss,” he said.
“The pleasure was all mine.” Frederick gave the man an impeccable, dignified bow, before turning back to his sister. “I do hope to see you both at the opera next week.Ifyou’re attending.” The hopeful smile on his face made him look at least ten years younger than his six and thirty years.
“Oh yes.” With renewed enthusiasm, she turned to her brother and clasped her hands together, crushing her fluffy white muff. “Please? I would adore hearing Mr. Weiss’s opinion of the production, from our box.”
“That would be lovely,” Penrose said, his words a touch forced. “Until then. Mr. Weiss, Mr. Weiss, Mr. Ellenberg.” He gave them a tip of his hat and quickly marched from the building, nearly shoving his sister out in front of him.
“New friends?” Sol spoke first, breaking the rather heavy silence in the parlor.
Frederick, however, ignored the remark and brushedpast him to glare directly at Aaron. “Don’t you have a floor to sweep somewhere?” He wrinkled his nose. “Outside my house?”
Sol winced. Oy. His brother really didn’t intend to be unkind, though given the expression on Aaron’s face, he’d have some smoothing over to do.
His friend folded his arms across his chest. “I was just leaving,” he growled, reaching out to grab his coat from Martin.
But Aaron couldn’t leave. At least not just yet. Not without telling him about her—the woman, his rescuer.
“No, you were not.” Sol grabbed his arm. “You have information to give me.”
Frederick released a huff from the other side of the room. “Can it not wait until tomorrow? Athishouse. Or should I say, his wife’s?”
Rolling his eyes, Aaron gave Frederick another sharp frown. “Why don’t you walk me to the door, Sol?”
An excellent solution. “I’ll be right back,” he told Frederick, but his brother had already turned his back, retreating into the parlor with a dismissive wave over his shoulder. Sol strolled quickly after Aaron, working to outpace him in the event the other man decided to leave without giving Sol answers.
“Rebecca said you should put more salve on your side,” Aaron told him when he had caught up. “You’ve been rubbing at it, and I asked,” he added before Sol could inquire. “And Isabelle thinks you should get more sleep. You’ve been working stunningly long hours as of late, between the sureties’ company and the bank. She’s concerned about your health.” He raised a brow, not needing to sayand I don’t like my wife to be upsetout loud.
Sol frowned. “I’m perfectly fit.”
“You nearly nodded off this morning, and I’ve found you sleeping at your desk too many nights now,” Aaron said. “Andyou risk hurting yourself in exhaustion. Look at what happened at your morning ride.”
“I fell asleep once. And the incident with the horse wasn’t from exhaustion, I just haven’t been riding in some time. I should’ve practiced more.” He’d loosened his grip too much on the reins in a careless act that Frederick had berated him for—rightly so, as he had more important things to worry after than his foolish brother’s inattention.
Aaron straightened a fringe on the rug with the toe of his boot. “We just worry and care about you.”
Which was touching. More than touching. The other man was truly kind. Annoying at times, like now when he was discussing things Sol felt no need to dwell on, but very, very kind. Sol ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry about Frederick. Penrose is an arse, and it can’t have been easy holding back in his presence.” He sighed. “Please understand—he holds a grudge for a long time and his behavior is because he is unduly outraged on my behalf as you bested me in the quest for Isabelle’s hand. I’ll talk to him, I promise.”
His friend’s lip twitched. “I’ll keep my comments regarding your brother to myself, and I don’t hold you accountable for what he does so you need not apologize.”
“Good!” Sol exclaimed, glad to have cleared the air so quickly. He moved to physically block the door. “Now, before you leave, you have to tell me: who is she?” Aaron might be a hair taller, but Sol was broader and would use that bulk to his advantage if needed.
“I appreciate the directness,” Aaron said.
“I thought you might.” Sol folded his arms. “Especially as my charm doesn’t typically work on you. Must be the lack of refinement on your end.” He couldn’t help teasing with a wink.
Aaron coughed into his hand. “No comment.”
“Then I’ll repeat my question—who is she?” Sol asked again as Aaron buttoned his overcoat, pausing only to bite his lip.
“Her name is Hannah Moses,” he finally answered.
Hannah.Her name was Hannah. She seemed like a Hannah. Bold but graceful and—
Sol wrinkled his nose as the back of his brain prickled. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“Because it’s infamous. At least her parents are.” Aaron glanced over at the parlor before lowering his voice. “It happened about a dozen years ago, when we were practically still boys. She—Hannah—wasn’t that much older, probably no more than nineteen or twenty. Her parents were notorious fences, ran a pawnshop at the edge of Whitechapel.”
Sol swore under his breath. If there was ever a person he should stay away from, it would be one who engaged with the seedier parts of London, feeding into the gentiles’ worst imaginings of their ilk.
