Two days later, Sol stood at the threshold of Penrose’s drawing room, surveying the man’s guests. With dinner concluded, he could at last discern the true nature of everyone’s relationships without the buffer of assigned seating.
Lady Drucilla had thread her arm through Frederick’s and was in the process of introducing him to a group of ladies, presumably friends, leaving Sol to fend for himself. Or rather, in the words of Frederick, not do anything foolish, as Penrose had yet to give his brother permission to formally pursue Lady Drucilla. The man was doing his best to thrust Stoudmire, the marquess’s son, in his sister’s face every chance he got.
Which meant Sol needed to be in top form with his flattery and guided deployment of mild, genteel questions.
So far, so good. He’d received many of their smiles at dinner. As well as a few compliments.
Not surprising. He’d dressed in his second favorite jacket—the color more muted than the brilliant blue he’d worn to the Great Synagogue. But this was a more useful garment, as it had enough layers to hide the still-healing gash his now former valet had given him during the prior day’s shave.
A little deeper and poor Frederick would’ve been forced to miss the gathering for shiva.
Shame he had such nervous hands, as the man had been quite amusing. Sol had asked his brother to find the man another position, and hopefully whatever he was doing now suited him better.
Sol scanned the room, catching the eye of a woman he believed to be the daughter of one of Penrose’s fellow noblemen. She immediately ducked her head behind her fan and giggled to her friend next to her. Well, if that wasn’t an invitation… too bad there wasn’t dancing. He was good at dancing, as it put people at ease and allowed him to charm them even more easily.
An unbidden image popped into his head. Not of him with one of these women at a gentile ball, but instead, of the last person he should be picturing.
Hannah.
His hand on her waist. And she wouldn’t be tittering. No, her eyes would be merry with amusement, clear and focused on him when he pulled her close—oy. No.
Mercy. That would never happen. Never in a hundred and twenty years.
He had planned to expunge that blast of lust between them earlier, not add fuel to the fire. Yes, she was… well, beautiful. And clever. And perceptive. And loyal, if the way she’d leapt between him and her sister was any indication.
Nothing like the selfish, careless troublemaker she was rumored to have been twelve years ago. But she was still not for him. She’d betrayed the community, and her family and—what was the matter with him? He needed to focus on Penrose’s guests.
No matter how, well, incredible their kiss had been.After all, he’d had to goad her into the act in the first place. Brutal for his confidence and a clear sign that she did not feel the same fascination for him as he did for her—a clear sign he needed to let any remaining interest in her go.
Sol strolled toward the young woman, only to be halted halfway by an older lady in a dark silk gown. “You’re Frederick’s brother,” she practically accused, her face in a distinct frown.
Oy. Time to charm.
“I am.” He gave a slight bow. “Solomon Weiss, at your service. I was just admiring your fan and how well it coordinates with the lace on your gown. I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance…”
“Lady Rochester,” she said, face still stern, before giving a small bob of her head. Not a graying blond strand fell loose from the meticulous styling. “Lady Drucilla is my cousin.” She glanced in the woman’s direction. “She has certainly been spending a great deal of time with your brother since she came out of mourning.”
“Frederick has been most grateful. He holds Lady Drucilla in the highest esteem,” he said with a nod as he focused on assessing what words would appeal most to the woman before him to gain her favor on his brother’s behalf.
“I’m sure he does.” She wrinkled her nose in judgment, as the woman in question leaned closer to his brother, laughing prettily.
“She’s quite lively and cultured, you know? She had her pick of husbands her first season and made an excellent choice.” She raised a brow in challenge. “Even now, she’s still a diamond, with her youth and beauty.And her brother is one of the leading peers of the realm, held byallin the highest esteem.” She emphasized “all” in a distinct contest to his claim.
“Are you aware he’s one of the leading figures in Parliament?” She narrowed her eyes. “Your brother is inbanking, is he not? Such filth in that industry, preying on the innocent.”
Double oy. Time to spin the conversation. He cleared his throat. “As the elder, my brother took on both our father’s business and responsibilities upon his death.” Clasping his hands together and lowering his voice, he leaned forward a touch. “Did you know my brother raised me when our parents died? He was merely seventeen at the time—an age when lesser men are losing family fortunes in card games. Can you imagine?”
“I did not.” And there was reluctant interest in Lady Rochester’s eyes now.
Peeking over her shoulder, he found Frederick watching him, his face unreadable, though his hand was quite close to Lady Drucilla’s as she chatted happily with another woman.
“There is no one more loyal than my brother, no one more willing to sacrifice for those he loves,” he said, his voice speeding up. “And he gets results. After all—”
A large hand clamped down on his back, halting his words. He glanced behind him to see Roger Berab, one of his boss’s two brothers, standing beside him.
“He did so well with Sol, here.” Berab picked up where Sol had left off, his tone smooth. “He works in our family’s business as well. And my brother—who is not an easy man to impress—already trusts him with some of our most sensitive matters.” To Sol’sannoyance, the woman seemed to relax at the mere sound of Berab’s posh accent.
Or perhaps it was the man’s countenance. While his wit had never particularly impressed Sol in the past, he was still undeniably handsome, though certainly not more so than Sol and his brother. Especially as Berab was getting a touch long in the tooth.
