“Is Sir Mark about?”
“Yes, miss,” the maid said. “He is at breakfast.”
Eliza nodded and smiled. “Ta!”
With that, she turned from the drawing room and limped her way through to the dining room. Mark sat at the head of the table. He sipped tea while readingThe Financial Times.
When he saw her, he moved to stand. He was dressed in morning attire, freshly shaven, and the ends of his perfectly combed hair were damp.
He’d be leaving for work soon.
“Good morning, Eliza.”
She grinned. He looked so handsome and well-rested. He looked ready to greet the day.
“Take a plate and serve yourself,” he said, gesturing to the sideboard filled with dishes of eggs, bacon, kidneys, beans, and toasted bread.
Mark sat while she spooned great heaps of food onto her plate. She poured a cup of tea and took the seat beside him. He smelled faintly of shaving lotion and soap.
She mooned at him over her eggs.
He turned a page of his newspaper. Unconcerned, he sipped his tea.
This was Heaven! A quiet morning, a handsome man, breakfast. For Sir Mark van Bergen, however, this was simply another day.
At last, he finished his paper, folded it, and placed it to the side. “What do you intend to do with yourself today?” he asked, topping off his teacup. While they spoke, he stirred in milk and sugar.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“It will take at least a week for your bruises to heal, so I don’t suppose you’ll be doing much of anything until then. Nap, eat, please yourself—just try to stay out of trouble. I haven’t decided how best to address whatever gossip will come of your presence here. I’m sure you understand.”
She nodded, mouth full.
“My house is at your disposal, my servants at your service. Nothing here is off limits to you because Itrust youto behave yourself, and also to not rob me blind.” He smiled.
Eliza smiled, too. Did he even know how wonderful he could be? He trusted her and was giving her free rein to roam his home. She could put her feet up rather than search rubbish piles for something fit to eat.
“I’ll be as quiet as a little mouse,” she said, “and as respectable and well-behaved as any of your neighbors. I won’t embarrass you, Sir Mark, nor give anyone cause to whisper. I swear it.”
She crossed her heart for emphasis, and the corners of his mouth quirked up.
When they’d finished their breakfast and the hall clock chimed the hour, Mark drained his teacup. He helped her from her seat, and, together, they walked the length of the house.
In the foyer, his butler stood with hat and umbrella ready. The front door was open. Eliza could see the black-lacquered landau gleaming brightly in the morning sunshine. The pair of matched greys tossed their heads and jangled their harnesses, eager to begin the journey to Threadneedle Street.
Mark lifted his top hat from his butler’s hands and settled it onto his head. He touched a gloved finger to the brim of his hat and said, “I shall be back in time for tea.”
She smiled and waved him off. He climbed into the carriage and soon disappeared down Green Street, leaving Eliza alone in his elegant townhouse.
The butler closed the door. He frowned down at her, but said nothing. He daren’t offend Sir Mark van Bergen’s dollymop.
Wordlessly, Eliza returned to the breakfast table. She heaped a second serving of eggs, bacon, and buttered toast onto her plate.
A pair of footmen appeared as she tucked in, clearly shocked to see her sitting there.
“Beggin’ your pardon, miss,” one said. “We thought you were finished.”
“That’s all right,” she said, leaning toward them. She lowered her voice to a whisper, as if sharing a secret. “I didn’t want Sir Mark to see me stuffing my gob. But now that he’s gone…might I have a fresh pot of tea?”
