“Oh, it’s a custard covered in a chocolate shell. You break the chocolate and—to your surprise—discover the filling inside.”
It seemed a lot of work for a sweet. “I’ve never tasted chocolate,” she confessed.
“It’s delicious!
“Must be,” she grinned at him, “to be beyond me.”
“You’re a rich woman, Eliza. You can afford a treat now and then. We must see that you have chocolate for your breakfast and dessert with every meal.” Mark grinned, too. They sat for a moment, simply enjoying one another’s smiles until the hall clock chimed the hour. It was well past midnight. “At any rate,” said he, “I’m glad to be home. Where is everyone?”
“Gone to bed, even the hall boy,” she replied. “He fell asleep at his post, so I told him I’d take over the night’s watch.”
“Brave girl!” He laughed warm and deep. He went all treacly, and slumped a well-tailored against shoulder the wall. “I wondered about you whilst I was away. Did you lounge, and laze, and loaf about like you promised?”
“I finished all the copies of yourGentleman’s Gazette.”
His dark brows lifted. “That’s very clever of you. It takes me a week to get through them.”
Eliza shrugged and propped her chin upon her knees. “What else have I got to do?”
“Once you have healed, we must find you proper lodgings and gainful employment. You’re not meant to be idle. Think about what you’d like to do. You can be anything you wish.”
She snorted. Over the years, she’d inquired about minding the till at a shop, applied to serve drinks in a cafe, and had even tried selling cigarettes in the Strand, but she had no money for boots or uniforms, and it only took one copper recognizing her face to get her banned from the premises. “If I could’ve got a job, I would have done, but blokes want work references and good character, which I don’t have!”
“That’s what they say when they want to put you off,” Mark argued. “You’re not some starving urchin or a desperate indigent anymore. You are an independent woman with a good head on her shoulders who can afford to be selective about her employment. They need you far more than you need them—remember that.”
Eliza nodded. “Alright.”
He grew serious to say, “I mean it. I don’t wish to see you demeaned simply because of your circumstances. You deserve the world, and I intend to see that you get it.”
He heaved himself up from the steps and dusted off his evening clothes. He offered Eliza his hand, and then helped her upstairs. The house was silent and their footsteps creaked upon the treads. Her bruised fingers caressed the banister as they ascended.
She’d come a long way from Seven Dials, yet her journey was far from over.
“Tomorrow is Sunday,” she said. “Nobody does business on Sundays—even the Bank is closed.”
Mark dropped her hand at the landing. He paused at his bedroom door, and she stood at hers. She had been in his room, sat on his bed. She’d watched him dress and was learning his routine. It felt nice to know a man, to be intimate in so many ways, and yet…respectable.
Sir Mark van Bergen was nothing if not respectable.
“You’re absolutely right, Eliza. TomorrowisSunday.” He smiled at her with his hand on the knob. “You never let anything slip by you.”
His eyes were as bright and glinting as two loose diamonds plucked from the paving stones. He shone brilliantly in the darkened upstairs corridor. She wanted to snatch him up with her nimble fingers and pocket him in a flash.
“I’ve an errand to run at midday,” he told her, “then I’m yours for the afternoon.”
He bid her goodnight, but all Eliza heard from him was:‘I’m yours’.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
His midday errand was of a personal nature which he wasn’t quite ready to share. His mission was not secret, nor was he trying to be circumspect. Mark simply did not know how to tell his sister that he was harboring a fugitive from justice. For the time being, he wished to keep those two spheres of his life—the respectable and the renegade—separate.
He called at Ann’s townhouse, just off Piccadilly, as he did every Sunday. It was a modest yet comfortable residence in a desirable part of town that he’d gifted to his sister on the occasion of her marriage to Mr. Sidney Cooper. It was a sound investment, and the perfect home for a young couple starting their life together.
A parlour-maid escorted him into the tidy sitting room overlooking a quiet street. Warm sunshine streamed through lace curtains, casting frilly shadows across the soft pile of the carpets and whispering against the gracefully sloping arms of the overstuffed sofa and chairs.
It was a lady’s space—tasteful and pretty—and hung with panels of Ann’s favorite blue silk. His sister sat among vases of fragrant, cut flowers and polished rosewood furniture. Her smile was reflected in gilt-framed mirrors that enlarged and enlightened the space when Mark made his entrance.
Ann rose from her seat to embrace him. She kissed his cheek and squeezed his neck with an abundance of sisterly affection. The two van Bergen siblings had been inseparable through their youth, and as glad as they’d been to settle into adulthood, both Mark and Ann looked forward to their weekly Sunday reunions. They could catch up and keep up with one another’s doings—and Mark could see the baby.
