Eliza laughed. Mark offered her his hand.
She stood, dressed in nothing but her bindings, drawers, and woolen stockings. How tiny she was without layers of skirts, blouses, and jackets.
“How old are you?” he asked, unable to bite back his curiosity.
“Twenty. How old areyou?”
“Thirty-eight.” Nearly twice her age.
“Ancient, then.” She smiled.
Some days, he felt every minute of it. He turned from her. “Through here is the bath.”
She limped to the adjoining bathroom. When she saw the gleaming, tiled space, her bruised face lit up. He supposed for a girl accustomed to living on the streets, a modern bathroom was a marvel.
“Do you…know how to work everything?” he asked, trying to be delicate.
Eliza shook her head.
He showed her the basin, the toilet, the tub. He taught her how to operate the shower-bath—where she could stand and wash, which might be gentler on her battered body.
“I never imagined people really lived like this,” she said, fussing with the knobs to heat the spray.
Mark had never lived in a house without lighting, or heating, or plumbing.
“There are plenty of clean towels and flannels in the cupboard. Help yourself to whatever you need. Do you want me to send up a maid?”
“Thanks, but I’d rather be alone.”
“Of course. Take your time, Eliza. I’ll see there are clothes laid out for you. If youdoneed help, there’s a bell pull by the mantel.”
She nodded.
Mark excused himself from the bathroom and closed the door behind him. While Eliza bathed, he rifled through the box rooms and attics for Ann’s cast-off clothing.
His sister had taken everything she wanted when she’d married. Her husband had seen to it that she received a new wardrobe. Anything packed away was unwanted and forgotten. She wouldn’t mind Eliza putting them to use.
He and a footman dragged it all into the blue bedroom. Mark sifted through nightdresses, dressing gowns, dinner frocks, hats, gloves, and shoes. He left it all for Eliza. What didn’t fit could be taken in, and altered as needed. If nothing suited her, he’d ensure she received new clothing of her choosing.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Alone in the bathroom, she felt free to inspect everything. She lifted the toilet lid and tugged the chain. She snooped through his cupboards filled with flannels, towels, and toiletry items—his shaving tackle, combs, hair brilliantine. Bottles of expensive cologne.
Manly things for a man’s life.
On the basin, sat his toothbrush and toothpowder. She’d not had the luxury of cleaning her teeth since her mother died. Even if she had been able to afford the soft-bristled brushes and carbolic paste, any water she might have come upon would have killed her.
Eliza shook a bit of the powder into her hand and used her finger to scrub her teeth. Not the most hygienic practice, but her mouthdidfeel cleaner.
Then, she stripped off her bindings, drawers, and stockings. She unpinned her hair, shaking it free. It fell down her back in ratty, tangled knots.
Pushing aside the shower curtain, she stepped into the tub. Eliza had never taken a shower-bath before. She had never heard of such a thing until Mark explained how it all worked.
She had felt humiliated at her ignorance, yet he had not mocked her.
He was patient, understanding. Generous and kind. Devastatingly handsome, whether in white tie and tails for evening or dapper morning clothes.
He had stormed into the police station to rescue her, even though they’d only met last night. She had no reason to seek his help when he’d done so much for her already, but she had called him, and he had come.
