mine to manage; a woman belonged to Joseph. “And the Bronsons’ salon?”
“If he knows Loneghan, it’s a safe bet he knows the Bronsons, don’t you think? Besides, Loneghan’s got the money for patronage. He’s the more important one.” He leaned his head back, looking dreamily at the ceiling. “I never thought there would be a chance at him. Not in a hundred years.”
“It seems fated, doesn’t it?”
“I told you it would work out, didn’t I? It’s what we’re meant to have. It could be no other way. But now it’s up to you, Soph. You’ll need to reel him in.”
By the time we left for Florian’s, I was well prepared to meet Nicholas Dane. I knew of the cafe, of course; everyone did. It had been there forever, one of those that served the greatest drawing room of all, the Piazza of St. Mark’s, and in the evening it was at its most brilliant. The setting sun gilded the herringbone pattern of the pavement and sent a rosy golden glow over the basilica and the pink and white of the Doge’s Palace. When Joseph and I arrived, the tables crowding the Piazza were already nearly full; the supposedly ubiquitous pigeons had mostly retired for the evening, though one or two strutted about, scattering beneath a careless foot.
There was no band tonight; but it was noisy. Talking and laughing; flower girls calling out; vendors crying, “Caramel! Caramel!” as they bore their baskets of shining candy; boys performing tricks for pennies; a man with an accordion and a ragged girl with a pretty voice singing whatever anyone would pay her to sing. Promenaders circled the square and dodged into the arcades, waiters hurried about bearing ices and syrups, coffee and the occasional chocolate. It seemed nearly everyone in Venice must be here.
Joseph pulled out a chair, then waited for me to sit. “Let him find us. It wouldn’t do to look too anxious, would it?”
I took my seat, but I was never so confident as my brother, and I worried that Nicholas Dane might even now be at another table, waiting the evening away for us. But Joseph seemed perfectly at ease. He ordered a lemon ice for me and a coffee for himself, and when they were brought, he leaned back in his chair, stretching his arm along the back of mine, lounging and looking for all the world like a man at his leisure.
I picked at the ice, taking only the barest of tastes.
“You look ready to shatter,” Joseph said in a low voice. “Shall we give it up for tonight and go back to the hotel?”
Before I could answer, his gaze leaped past me, his worry for me disappearing in a quick smile. “Dane!” he said, rising. “I’d wondered if we’d missed you.”
“Oh, it’s early yet, isn’t it?” said a voice—smooth and British, and I looked over to see two men standing there, one very tall, with lank brown hair, who kept poking at the round spectacles sliding down his long nose, and the other, shorter and more compact and quite handsome, with a chiseled face and wavy blond hair cropped short, a high forehead and very blue eyes.
Joseph said, “Sophie, may I present Nicholas Dane and Giles Martin.”
I held out my gloved hand and smiled. “I’m Sophie Hannigan, and I’m very pleased to meet you both.”
Mr. Martin gaped at me like a fish. “So very pleased, Miss Hannigan,” he said, grasping my fingers a bit too tightly before he released them.
“As am I,” Mr. Dane put in smoothly. “You look very like your brother. Hannigan said you were his twin?”
I said, “Yes, but even so, I’ve never thought we looked much alike. Beyond our coloring, I mean.”
“Fortunately Sophie escaped Papa’s nose. I was not so lucky.” Joseph touched the tip of my nose affectionately, teasing.
We sat again, and Giles Martin looked at me hungrily, but I already knew, given what Joseph had said, that Mr. Martin wasn’t the one I had to charm. Still, I wasn’t certain how important he might be, so for now, I included him in my smile.
Joseph said,
“If he knows Loneghan, it’s a safe bet he knows the Bronsons, don’t you think? Besides, Loneghan’s got the money for patronage. He’s the more important one.” He leaned his head back, looking dreamily at the ceiling. “I never thought there would be a chance at him. Not in a hundred years.”
“It seems fated, doesn’t it?”
“I told you it would work out, didn’t I? It’s what we’re meant to have. It could be no other way. But now it’s up to you, Soph. You’ll need to reel him in.”
By the time we left for Florian’s, I was well prepared to meet Nicholas Dane. I knew of the cafe, of course; everyone did. It had been there forever, one of those that served the greatest drawing room of all, the Piazza of St. Mark’s, and in the evening it was at its most brilliant. The setting sun gilded the herringbone pattern of the pavement and sent a rosy golden glow over the basilica and the pink and white of the Doge’s Palace. When Joseph and I arrived, the tables crowding the Piazza were already nearly full; the supposedly ubiquitous pigeons had mostly retired for the evening, though one or two strutted about, scattering beneath a careless foot.
There was no band tonight; but it was noisy. Talking and laughing; flower girls calling out; vendors crying, “Caramel! Caramel!” as they bore their baskets of shining candy; boys performing tricks for pennies; a man with an accordion and a ragged girl with a pretty voice singing whatever anyone would pay her to sing. Promenaders circled the square and dodged into the arcades, waiters hurried about bearing ices and syrups, coffee and the occasional chocolate. It seemed nearly everyone in Venice must be here.
Joseph pulled out a chair, then waited for me to sit. “Let him find us. It wouldn’t do to look too anxious, would it?”
I took my seat, but I was never so confident as my brother, and I worried that Nicholas Dane might even now be at another table, waiting the evening away for us. But Joseph seemed perfectly at ease. He ordered a lemon ice for me and a coffee for himself, and when they were brought, he leaned back in his chair, stretching his arm along the back of mine, lounging and looking for all the world like a man at his leisure.
I picked at the ice, taking only the barest of tastes.
“You look ready to shatter,” Joseph said in a low voice. “Shall we give it up for tonight and go back to the hotel?”
Before I could answer, his gaze leaped past me, his worry for me disappearing in a quick smile. “Dane!” he said, rising. “I’d wondered if we’d missed you.”
“Oh, it’s early yet, isn’t it?” said a voice—smooth and British, and I looked over to see two men standing there, one very tall, with lank brown hair, who kept poking at the round spectacles sliding down his long nose, and the other, shorter and more compact and quite handsome, with a chiseled face and wavy blond hair cropped short, a high forehead and very blue eyes.
Joseph said, “Sophie, may I present Nicholas Dane and Giles Martin.”
I held out my gloved hand and smiled. “I’m Sophie Hannigan, and I’m very pleased to meet you both.”
Mr. Martin gaped at me like a fish. “So very pleased, Miss Hannigan,” he said, grasping my fingers a bit too tightly before he released them.
“As am I,” Mr. Dane put in smoothly. “You look very like your brother. Hannigan said you were his twin?”
I said, “Yes, but even so, I’ve never thought we looked much alike. Beyond our coloring, I mean.”
“Fortunately Sophie escaped Papa’s nose. I was not so lucky.” Joseph touched the tip of my nose affectionately, teasing.
We sat again, and Giles Martin looked at me hungrily, but I already knew, given what Joseph had said, that Mr. Martin wasn’t the one I had to charm. Still, I wasn’t certain how important he might be, so for now, I included him in my smile.
Joseph said,
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