Hannah stood in the guest bedroom at the Lira family town house, staring at the mirror at her borrowed gown, a beautiful navy with bold yellow threaded through it. Isabelle’s maid, a woman named Judith, had futzed with her hair, making it, well, appear a great deal thicker and shinier than it was.
She looked… different. Perhaps pretty, even. And not just for her age. No, prettier than she’d probably been at twenty.
She should be happy. Though she still needed additional work on her manners—not to mention her dancing so she could be properly presentable to gentiles before they threw her out of their homes—Mrs. Lira had given her a priceless gift in celebration of her progress.
Tamar was going to have the opportunity to explore futures besides marriage and working in a pawnshop. She and Isabelle were already plotting, looking to place her in a temporary position as a nurse with an influential Jewish family, which would no doubt be wonderful. With an entire new wardrobe to bring along.
However, there was still the matter of Sol. She’d not spoken to him since she’d left his bedside once it wasclear he would recover. And while Mrs. Lira had not so subtly noodged her to call on him—several times—she’d not quite worked up the courage.
What exactly could she say? Especially after the way they’d left things.
A noise at the window made her jump, and Hannah rushed across the room to peer over the sill. For a moment she could only gape. There, clinging on to the building for dear life, was Sol. Dressed in what looked like dark velvet, but without the proper overcoat for the fleetly falling December snow that was drifting over his bare knuckles.
“What are you doing out there?” she called.
“Climbing into your window, if you couldn’t tell.” He glanced up at her and grinned, as if he weren’t completely freezing and slippery and likely cutting up his hands, as if he needed more injuries.
Which she should really warn him about. However, when she opened her mouth, all she said was, “How did you know it was my window?”
“Aaron told me,” he said, as if it were obvious, as if this was something men just regularly discussed, where different guests slept and the like.
“If Aaron told you and the family knows you’re here, why didn’t you just come in the front door?” she asked, because they would have certainly allowed him in and then, well, called her down to the parlor or something if he wanted to see her. “They believe in etiquette and propriety, but not so much that it results in death.”
“I’m not going to die.” He rolled his eyes. “You’ve climbed in my window several times, so I figured it was my turn.” He shrugged as if that made sense, only to sway in the wind enough for her to gasp again.
“I’m quite secure,” he assured her.
It was her turn to roll her eyes.
“You’re dangling. And I only climbed through your window in Aldgate.” She placed a hand on her hip. “It was a much shorter height and there was a trough and a few crates and… are you climbing a lattice?” She squinted down again through the squall, which was now picking up. “You know those aren’t intended to hold people, correct? And you aren’t a small man.”
Not small in the slightest, and it was one of the things she enjoyed most about him, especially given how tall she was. While he was more average in height, his broadness balanced things and… she licked her lips before shaking her head. What was she doing?
“Yes, I’ve noticed,” he responded with another smirk, as if reading her thoughts. Which should embarrass her but instead filled her with heat. Though she was still concerned for his damned safety, even if he apparently was not.
“Don’t forget you’re injured.” She gestured to his body.
“My ankle is feeling much better, actually. As are my face and my tongue.” He stuck out the latter, catching a snowflake with a grin.
“Clearly not your head.” She sniffed.
“I promise you, my brain and my thought processes are just fine,” he said. “Better than fine. Spectacular even.”
“So you say.” She rolled her eyes once more, staring down at him with a smile. The wind gusted again and she shivered.
Sol tightened his hold and grimaced. “Can I, um, have a—well, just a smidge of assistance?” he asked. “I could do it myself, but perhaps, to save us some time…”
Oy, right. He should come inside, appropriate or not, because she could not let him fall.
“Oh, yes, certainly.” Hannah bent over as far as she could, while keeping her hips firmly below the edge of the sill, and extended both arms to him. He grasped them and she pulled, as he climbed from below, using her more for leverage than anything else.
“Thank you,” he panted as he swung his legs over the side of the window and squeezed into the room. He rose and brushed off his garments, straightening his shirt. “Here I was attempting to rescue a damsel in a tower…”
“And she had to rescue you instead.” Hannah snickered as she beckoned him to stand closer to the fire. “Though as I told you before, I’m no damsel.”
“True. But can you at least humor me and pretend I’m knight-like?” He rubbed his hands together in front of the flames. “And as for the rescue, why don’t we call it mutual?”
“I suppose. Though I’m not sure I want to be rescued per se.” She waved around at the rather posh quarters. “After all, I do have a very nice tub in here.”
