He looked a bit distressed by that thought, and Thom hurried to reassure him. “You needn’t worry that I will tell anyone that I saw you here. You will, of course, have to replace those items you took, but I can see that you aren’t a terrible person.”
“Thank you,” he said gravely.
Thom gestured to the bag. “May I?”
He handed it to her. She set it on a nearby desk, opening it, extracting from within it a set of gentleman’s evening wear, and a pair of highly glossed shoes. She stared at the clothing for a moment, sympathy for him welling up inside her as she moved her gaze to his laughing gray eyes. “I have ten guineas.”
The laughter within them died as he watched her. “You do?”
“I do.” She nodded and put the clothing back into the bag, handing it to him. “My aunt’s husband gave me a quarterly allowance of twenty guineas. I can only give you ten, though, because I promised the children to treat them to Astley’s and the toy shop.”
“You did.” He still looked a bit surprised.
“Yes, I did, and I would hate to disappoint them. They get very inventive with their revenge if you disappoint them. When it rained two weeks ago and we couldn’t go on a picnic, they filled my bed with slugs. If you give me your direction, you may have the ten guineas.”
Nick considered her for a long moment before replying. “Do you offer money to every burglar you meet?”
“No,” she said, smiling. She couldn’t help herself, he was a very charming burglar, one who seemed to deserve smiles. “Only those who need it. Your direction?”
He looked confused as he slowly said, “A message to The Tart and Seaman will reach me.”
“The Tart and Seaman?”
“It’s an inn near the docks, but Thom, don’t send me your money. I can’t—” Nick’s head snapped up at the sound of voices outside the hallway.
“Go,” she hissed, shoving the bag into his arms and pushing him toward the half-opened window. “I won’t say anything about seeing you. Go now!”
Nick squawked something as she shoved him out the window, but she didn’t wait to hear what it was before slamming the window shut, closing the curtains and spinning around just as the door to the library opened and her aunt peeked in.
“There you are! We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Oh, Thom, you don’t know how worried I was — never mind, it doesn’t matter now, I’ve found you. Harry, I found her!”
Thom allowed herself to be bustled out of the library, casting a quick glance over her shoulder toward the window. What a very interesting evening it turned out to be. She couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever see the handsome, disreputable burglar again.
She rather hoped she would.
“…and please, in the future, Thom, if you have to disappear, would you have the goodness to tell me first, so I won’t worry?”
“Yes, Aunt Plum.” Thom’s head was bowed. Plum felt a momentary pang of remorse for having to lecture her in this manner, but no one knew better than she just what sort of rakes and rogues lurked in the background, ready to pounce on an innocent young woman.
“You have no idea the pitfalls and traps that lie waiting for an unwary young woman to stumble into them.”
“Yes, Aunt Plum.”
“I don’t wish to seem unreasonable, Thom, but truly, your disappearance worried me half to death.”
“Yes, Aunt Plum. I mean, no Aunt Plum.”
“Even Harry was worried, were you not, my lord?”
“Not in the least. Thom seems a sensible sort,” Harry said. Thom flashed him a grateful smile. Plum could have throttled them both. “Ah. A country dance. Shall we, Plum?”
“I’m sorry, but I have a good seven or eight minutes left of a lecture for Thom—”
“She’ll have to hear it later,” Harry said with one of those persuasive twinkles in his eyes. Plum never could hold out against his twinkles. He added a devilish grin to his twinkling eyes, and she knew she was doomed.
“My spleen will become enlarged if I do not unburden myself of the entire lecture,” she protested, but gently for she knew that her spleen could never win against both the grin and the eyes.
“I will personally guarantee that your spleen will not suffer,” Harry said, bowing low to her as the first figure of the dance began. Plum curtseyed, casting a warning glance over her shoulder to her niece. Thom waved and sat down next to a large matron in a voluminous puce gown. Praying she would stay there out of trouble, Plum relaxed enough to enjoy the lively dance, something she hadn’t done in twenty years.
“I’m surprised I remember the steps,” she told Harry as the dance brought them together. “It’s been so very long.”
“You never looked lovelier,” Harry answered before they were separated to dance with their adjacent neighbors.
Plum glowed at his compliment, knowing that he was deliberately attempting to bolster her spirits in what he realized must be a trying night for her, but still pleased that he took the time to tell her how well she looked. The truth was that she was beginning to enjoy herself. Probably a good part of that had to do with the fact that there were so few people present whom she remembered from her two seasons.
A short, red-haired gentleman with a receding chin was her partner for this turn. As she danced forward to him, she realized with a start that she knew him — he had been one of her first beaus. What was his name? Sir Alan? Alec? Sir something-starting-with-anA didn’t seem to recognize her in the least. He smiled at her as she danced around him, returning to stand as he danced a circle around her.
“This is a very charming ball, is it not?” she asked as they came together.
“It is indeed. Very charming.”
“Are you here with your family?”
“Yes, my eldest daughter is coming out. That’s her near the duchess — Mariah, her name is.”
“She’s very pretty,” Plum answered, noting the resemblance between the short, red-haired girl and her partner. “Is your wife here as well?”
“Yes indeed, Lady Davell is just beyond Mariah.”
Davell — he was Sir Ben Davell, the first man to ever send her a bouquet following her coming-out. And here he was, a middle-aged balding man with a daughter almost as old as she had been when they first met.
And he didn’t recognize her.
“I am Lady Rosse,” she said as they clasped hands and made a bridge for others to pass under.
“Yes, I know, you were pointed out to me.”
“Really?” Plum stiffened, wondering why anyone would point her out unless it was to pinpoint her for rumor mongering.
“My wife pointed you out to me. She said you are newly wed to Lord Rosse.”
“Oh, yes, we are.” He was polite, respectful — everything a gentleman should be. There wasn’t even the faintest whiff of anything condescending or smug about him. Plum relaxed again and danced the rest of the figure in a thoughtful mood, returning to Harry even more grateful than before that she’d found him.
“Happy?” he asked at one point in the dance.
“Ecstatic,” she answered a few minutes later, when they were again brought together.
And she was. Everything Harry had promised had come true — she had met nearly everyone present, from the duchess who was a cousin to the hostess to the Feehan sisters, two very old wrinkled ladies who were said to have been the late George II’s mistresses. The Feehan sisters of Plum’s memory had sharp eyes for scandal, and sharper tongues, and yet when she was introduced to them, they cackled over her newlywed status by making a rather questionable remark comparing Harry to a stallion and her to a mare, but not one eyelash did they bat over her. It was as if the last twenty years were nothing but an unpleasant dream, lingering in the back of her mind, but groundless, with no substance.