She could never tell him who she was. She could never tell anyone, though she did not know why she still upheld the terms of a long-broken agreement.
“My mother and I were able to scratch out a decent living. Poverty by most standards, but we were happy enough. I rarely went hungry and was able to finish school.”
He took a bite of roast potatoes and chewed thoughtfully. “What changed then?”
“She died. I had no money coming in—leastwise not enough to keep the flat and feed myself. I did what I had to do, and when that wasn’t enough, I took to stealing. Picking pockets is easy for a nimble-fingered girl.”
“You’re not going to be a girl much longer. You are not one now, though you hide your age well. I’d consider it fortuitous that fifteen hundred pounds found its way intoyourpockets.”
She nodded. Thieving was hard for a fully-grown woman. She was blessed to have such a windfall before things turned tragic. “Now you see why I can’t part from the money. I cannot let it out of my sight, even to put it in the bank. It’s all I have got in the world.”
“I understand, and I’ll respect your decision. I shan’t bring the matter up again.”
Eliza was glad to hear it—she did not intend to give up her wealth to help fill others’ purses. No doubt Sir Mark’s intentions were good, but, should her investments fail, he’d still live comfortably with servants, and lamb chops, and fine grey horses, while she would be destitute.
When dinner had been finished and cleared away, the pair of footmen served the pudding. The two young men eyed her like a curious specimen. The butler disapproved of her presence, she knew, but the footmen were harder to read.
Eliza wondered what the gossip was below stairs. Jenny had assumed she was to be Mark’s mistress. The butler likely believed her a hired tart. Although Eliza wouldn’t mind her handsome new friend’s attentions, she meant what she’d said earlier—she would not embarrass herself by making another offer.
He’d declined her. They might be friends, but he did not see her as a lover. To be honest, it was a relief not to fear indecent proposals and untoward advances for once in her life.
She spooned a bite ofcrème caramel. It was rich and decadent, oozing a golden sauce that dissolved on her tongue. How long had it been since she’d tasted a sweet?
Sir Mark van Bergen likely ate such desserts every night.
“If you weren’t so wonderful,” she said, mouth full of custard, “I think I’d hate you.”
He paused, spoon arrested halfway to his lips. “Why?”
“Because you live like a bloomin’ prince.”
“Would it ease your conscience to learn that I’ve worked hard to live so well?” Mark ate his spoonful of pudding and chased it with a swallow of sweet wine. “Mind you, I come from a prosperous family, but did not buy my way into a Director’s office at Threadneedle Street. There are men with far more money desperate for my seat at that table.”
“How does one become a Director?”
“Through connections, naturally—that ‘foot in the door’ cannot be downplayed—but also by distinguishing one’s self in ambition, solid business sense, and financial expertise.
“I come from an old Dutch family of merchant bankers. I know the business, so to speak, and have spent the last ten years working my way up the ranks. I may be a van Bergen, but I was appointed to the Court of Directors owing to my clear vision and steady leadership.”
“So other people chose you because they trust you with their money?”
“Yes.”
She spooned caramel sauce into her mouth. “They respect you?”
Mark nodded. “I believe they do.”
“It’s strange to me, handing someone else my livelihood and trusting them not to cheat me. Must be tempting having access to all that wealth. I’d not be able to resist dipping my fingers into the pot.”
Not just any pot, but a certain pot belonging to a man she once might have called ‘father’.
“Can you look at bank balances?” she asked. “Could you see the cheques folk write, or ones they might cash? Can you track funds deposited into private accounts or money withdrawn?”
“If you’re worried I might discover the fellow you stole from, you needn’t be. I promised I wouldn’t report you.”
She had not considered that, but it did not concern her. Eliza only wanted to know what happened to the money she and her mother had received regularly, and why it had stopped.
“I was just curious how much power you truly held.”
