Eliza breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re the baby from the painting!”
Ann Cooper startled. “I beg your pardon?”
“There is a family portrait upstairs of Sir Mark as a boy and his sister in her cot. You must be the little one he appears to be so fond of.”
“Oh, yes, that’s me.” Ann settled into an armchair and folded her hands in her lap. She was a true lady, soft-spoken and genteel, though she shared Mark’s sharp features and dark coloring. She had intelligent eyes and a welcoming smile. “I’m afraid I don’t remember sitting for that painting, but it has always been a favorite in our family. Tell me, does it still hang in pride of place above the landing?”
Eliza nodded. “It could use cleaning, though.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
The two women studied one another for a moment. Although Eliza wore a pretty afternoon dress from her second-hand wardrobe, she worried about what Ann thought of her. She fussed with her skirts and shifted in her seat, trying to make herself comfortable. “Sir Mark gave me these clothes. He promised that you wouldn’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all.” Ann smiled reassuringly. “The clothing I left behind is meant for a young woman, not a matron. In fact, that muslin fits so well that I’m surprised it wasn’t made for you.”
“Jenny, the housemaid, raised the hems,” Eliza explained. “She has shortened the sleeves and taken out most of the shoulder puffs, which I’m told aren’t fashionable anymore.”
“Her alterations suit you.” A fresh pot of tea was delivered along with a second cup and saucer. Eliza had the honor of pouring out, and she carefully served Mark’s sister. As she did so, the lady observed, “You’re lovely, Miss Summersby. I can see why my brother is so taken with you.”
Eliza almost fumbled her teacup. “Sir Mark is my friend…”
“Indeed, he is. He has asked me to visit you, for he thought you might be lonely.”
Shehadbeen lonely—but only when he wasn’t at home. Yesterday afternoon had been a particularly weak moment when she’d crawled onto his mattress and napped in his bed. Yet Mark had joined her atop the eiderdown, cuddled her close, and pressed a kiss to her temple.
They’d passed a drowsy day in each other’s arms. Nothing had been untoward, and his behavior was, as always, gentlemanly and affectionate. Eliza had been the one wanting more, though she’d kept her desires to herself.
“I’m not a tart,” she promised, “just somebody Sir Mark is helping.”
A rosy flush stained Ann’s cheeks. “He told me of your story, but I confess I wish to hear more. You sound like such a fascinating young woman, modern and upwardly mobile.” She leaned forward to whisper, “Fifteen hundred pounds is a boon, Miss Summersby. With it, you may forge an entirely new life.”
“Hehastold you everything.”
Mark must’ve trusted his sister, as he’d enlisted her help in launching Eliza into an honest, middle-class existence.
“Not everything,” said Ann. “There are some stories that only women can tell. I should be honored if you would share your origin with me. I’d relish being of some assistance to you.”
“I reckon you want to hear of my birth.” Even a whiff of illegitimacy was shocking to well-bred women of society. Mrs. Cooper leaned forward in her chair, cup and saucer perfectly balanced in her prim, ladylike hands, as Eliza explained, “I never knew my father. He sent money regularly on the condition that my mother never disclosed his identity—to me or anybody else.
“Eventually, the cheques quit being delivered. My mother died, and I searched through all of her belongings trying to locate my father. I wasn’t going to disrupt his life. I only wanted to know why the money stopped because I needed it desperately.”
Ann nodded. “Without funds, you were forced into a life of petty thievery.”
“I would’ve fancied knowing him, though I understand if my existence caused him shame. A pickpocket daughter born on the wrong side of the blanket would be humiliating for any man. But I have got money now. Soon, I’ll have respectable lodgings and perhaps even a career. With friends like you and Sir Mark, I needn’t be embarrassed of who I am and what I’ve done. I can hold my head high.”
“You mean you don’t care to learn the true circumstances of your birth?”
Eliza shrugged. In her experience, wanting too much was dangerous. She ought to be satisfied with the fantastic turn that her life had already taken. Other than to satisfy her curiosity—and the curiosity of others—it no longer mattered who her father was.
She made a great show of tidying up the discarded wrappers from her chocolate box. Belatedly, she offered a bonbon to Ann, but Mark’s sister declined a sweet.
“Those were a gift,” Ann said, “and only someone very special receives chocolates from a gentleman.”
Eliza waved off her words. “I’d never tasted chocolates. Sir Mark didn’t want me to feel left out since I couldn’t attend the Bank dinner with him. I am stuck at home whilst he is out working and keeping up with his connections.”
“A banker’s career is often tedious,” said Ann. “I should know, as my husband is a banker, though on a much smaller scale than Mark’s work. You’d find it all very dull, I’m afraid, if you had to attend dinners, pay calls, and strive behind the scenes for the slightest improvement in one’s circumstances. Men may handle the money, Miss Summersby, but women keep the economy going.”
She smiled in silent rebellion, for no man handledhermoney. Not even Mark van Bergen dared to interfere with her stolen pound notes. He didn’t know where she’d hidden the purse, nor did he seem to care.
