then took her small hand, completely covering it with his own.
“Sophie, coming to know you and your da… ’tis like having part of my family again. A blockhead like me couldna ask for a better friend.” Sophie’s heart thudded against her chest and her eyes searched his, willing him to say more. “You so put me in mind of my sister, Megan,” he added slowly. “She was such a sprite, like you… a little elfin creature who made you glad just to see her smile…”
“Where does she live?” Sophie ventured tentatively.
A look of bitter sadness flooded his eyes. “She died,” he replied, retracting his hands from hers and balling them into fists, “when she was still a bairn.”
Sophie waited patiently, but Hunter offered no more information on the subject. His gaze had taken on a faraway look, as if he were viewing a scene of absolute desolation.
The moment of closeness between them had ended even before Boswell sauntered through the front door of the book shop and issued his invitation for Hunter to join him at the Netherbow Coffeehouse. Hunter swiftly agreed.
“Farewell, pet,” her pupil said with a breezy wave, his former cocksure demeanor reasserting itself. “Tell your da I may want a new playbill printed if Comely Gardens will sponsor a concert in August.”
“Aye… I’ll see he gets your message,” Sophie replied, falling in with the subterfuge. She was eager to specify their next appointment, but merely bid the two young men adieu, not wanting to reveal Hunter’s secret intention to learn to read.
Hunter failed to return for another reading lesson for more than a week, although, a few days later, Sophie caught a glimpse of Hunter and Boswell entering the Pen and Feather across the road, accompanied by two voluptuous-looking actresses from the playhouse. In the days that followed, Sophie was filled with a sharp longing to see that cocky grin and experienced deepening anxiety over the deplorable state of their family finances. McGann’s had received a few printing commissions but nothing that would earn them enough to order more books from London and abroad to replenish their woefully depleted shelves. Without the enticement of new wares, business had fallen off dramatically. Sophie’s father grew even more disheartened as the week wore on. The only thing Sophie could suggest was that he seek the same diversion Hunter and Jamie Boswell had indulged in at the Netherbow Coffeehouse.
“’Tis like a tomb in here,” she commented, glancing around the empty book shop. “I’ll finish up the placards for the wigmaker and keep on the lookout for a book buyer with blood in his veins and a few coins in his pocket.”
Daniel offered a wan smile in response to her attempted levity and drifted off to the coffeehouse.
Every time Sophie heard someone come in the shop, she raced past the wooden hand press to see if it was Hunter, but the few customers who did stop by were neither six feet tall nor blessed with a smile that could make Sophie forget everything but its engaging warmth.
She pulled the handle of the wooden press with an angry jerk. For some reason, Hunter seemed to regret having almost kissed her, and now he was keeping company with that doxy at the playhouse! Why, she wondered peevishly, did he continue to treat her as if she were a mere child? Lord Lemore was practically in his dotage, but even he had viewed her as an object of desire.
Before Sophie could ponder this riddle further, she heard the door open and a cane thump smartly three times on the floor, a signal that demanded immediate attention.
She jumped down from her composing stool and rushed into the other chamber, halting abruptly at the threshold. As if materializing from her thoughts, Lord Lemore stood leaning against a silver-headed walking stick, his thin-lidded eyes gazing at her like a lizard at a fly.
“Is your father available?” he asked. “I’d like to discuss ordering several new engravings from your agent in
“Sophie, coming to know you and your da… ’tis like having part of my family again. A blockhead like me couldna ask for a better friend.” Sophie’s heart thudded against her chest and her eyes searched his, willing him to say more. “You so put me in mind of my sister, Megan,” he added slowly. “She was such a sprite, like you… a little elfin creature who made you glad just to see her smile…”
“Where does she live?” Sophie ventured tentatively.
A look of bitter sadness flooded his eyes. “She died,” he replied, retracting his hands from hers and balling them into fists, “when she was still a bairn.”
Sophie waited patiently, but Hunter offered no more information on the subject. His gaze had taken on a faraway look, as if he were viewing a scene of absolute desolation.
The moment of closeness between them had ended even before Boswell sauntered through the front door of the book shop and issued his invitation for Hunter to join him at the Netherbow Coffeehouse. Hunter swiftly agreed.
“Farewell, pet,” her pupil said with a breezy wave, his former cocksure demeanor reasserting itself. “Tell your da I may want a new playbill printed if Comely Gardens will sponsor a concert in August.”
“Aye… I’ll see he gets your message,” Sophie replied, falling in with the subterfuge. She was eager to specify their next appointment, but merely bid the two young men adieu, not wanting to reveal Hunter’s secret intention to learn to read.
Hunter failed to return for another reading lesson for more than a week, although, a few days later, Sophie caught a glimpse of Hunter and Boswell entering the Pen and Feather across the road, accompanied by two voluptuous-looking actresses from the playhouse. In the days that followed, Sophie was filled with a sharp longing to see that cocky grin and experienced deepening anxiety over the deplorable state of their family finances. McGann’s had received a few printing commissions but nothing that would earn them enough to order more books from London and abroad to replenish their woefully depleted shelves. Without the enticement of new wares, business had fallen off dramatically. Sophie’s father grew even more disheartened as the week wore on. The only thing Sophie could suggest was that he seek the same diversion Hunter and Jamie Boswell had indulged in at the Netherbow Coffeehouse.
“’Tis like a tomb in here,” she commented, glancing around the empty book shop. “I’ll finish up the placards for the wigmaker and keep on the lookout for a book buyer with blood in his veins and a few coins in his pocket.”
Daniel offered a wan smile in response to her attempted levity and drifted off to the coffeehouse.
Every time Sophie heard someone come in the shop, she raced past the wooden hand press to see if it was Hunter, but the few customers who did stop by were neither six feet tall nor blessed with a smile that could make Sophie forget everything but its engaging warmth.
She pulled the handle of the wooden press with an angry jerk. For some reason, Hunter seemed to regret having almost kissed her, and now he was keeping company with that doxy at the playhouse! Why, she wondered peevishly, did he continue to treat her as if she were a mere child? Lord Lemore was practically in his dotage, but even he had viewed her as an object of desire.
Before Sophie could ponder this riddle further, she heard the door open and a cane thump smartly three times on the floor, a signal that demanded immediate attention.
She jumped down from her composing stool and rushed into the other chamber, halting abruptly at the threshold. As if materializing from her thoughts, Lord Lemore stood leaning against a silver-headed walking stick, his thin-lidded eyes gazing at her like a lizard at a fly.
“Is your father available?” he asked. “I’d like to discuss ordering several new engravings from your agent in
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