“Yes, those. Do you know anything about them?” George asked the barmaid.
“Well–”
“George, do you really think she knows anything about them? Hardly anyone knows a thing about them right now with how new they are.” Egan thought he heard a sigh from the vision in yellow, but he dismissed it.
“Well, how much do you think I would make if I gave him two hundred pounds?”
“And he’s saying you’ll make fifteen percent the first year?”
“That’s what he say–”
“Thirty pounds,” the sweet voice said just a touch less sweetly.
Egan took a second look at her. He must have been scowling, because really, what other look would he have been giving her?
“It’s correct, isn’t it?”
This voice needed a name. Now.
“What’s your name?”
“Sofie.”
“Well, Sofie, that is correct.” George couldn’t have possibly picked his first beauty with brains, could he? In all the years they had known each other, they had never shared a love interest. Until tonight. Agreeably the most beautiful woman either of them had ever seen. Ugh. And arguably quite intelligent.
“Sofie. You’re a genius,” George finally chimed in, laying it on a bit too thickly for Egan’s preference. Well, really, at this point he had the preference for George to lay it on, precisely, not at all.
“I wouldn’t go that far–”
“I would, and I did. Well done, Sofie.”
Sofie beamed the most beatific smile at George he had ever seen.
Enough withthe mosts he had ever seens. This girl was not a unicorn. There were plenty like her in the world. George could have this one. He’d find another one. And probably tonight.
“I have to use the privy,” Egan rose from his seat. Maybe he’d start the search now and give George some privacy.
“Over there,” the sweet–Sofie–said. She was still smiling at George.
Oh God, this was going to be a long evening if George and this chit were going to make dreamy eyes at each other all night.
***
SOFIE WAS SMILING AT the kind man, who’s name she had overheard to be George, because she was hoping to learn all she could from him. She only hoped he didn’t misinterpret her intentions, like some men had done in the past.
It wasn’t as though she couldn’t handle herself, she had learned how to wield a fork or two over the years, but she never wanted to have to do that. It felt so barbaric to defend oneself with cutlery.
From time to time she considered carrying a small dagger with her, but so far she hadn’t felt a need for it.
Leaving George’s table for now, she would wait to return until the gruff Scot came back so she could listen in on their conversation about the railway. Perhaps she could learn something.
As she bent over to wipe a spill from another table, she really wished she had that hidden but easily retrievable dagger on her person.
“You don’t have to lie down right here, fen. We can go up to my room. There’s plenty of space up there.”
Affronted by the derogatory term implying she was a loose woman, Sofie ignored it and replied with her habitual approach. Usually a simple, “No, my husband won’t like that,” lie would suffice. But tonight the man was too drunk, the crowds offered too much anonymity, or his head just wasn’t screwed on tightly enough, for her words to deflect him.
“He won’t mind. Trust me.” And a hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a haze of alcoholic vapors being emitted from his mouth. She was inches from his ugly lips.
