Mark liked to be clear-eyed in the mornings. A late night might make him sluggish, yet Eliza’s happiness was worth a shaking up of his schedule. It was his responsibility—and his honor—to make her feel special, wanted, and welcome. Ifhedidn’t escort her to the theatre, someone else might!
They drove from Park Lane to Piccadilly. The horses clipped along at a brisk pace, and Eliza sat forward to watch the lampposts, shopfronts, and pedestrians pass by. She had ridden in so few carriages that the sight of London from such a high perch remained a novelty.
The Lyric Theatre stood on Shaftesbury Avenue—a stone’s throw from Piccadilly Circus, that bustling hub of activity. Carriages halted, hesitated, and grew jammed-up in the traffic attempting to deposit their passengers at the pavements.
Fashionable ladies lifted their hems to navigate the London muck. Men in tall hats, wearing opera capes and white scarves draped over their shoulders, stood in the halo of the electric lights. These chaps smoked their last cigarettes before joining the women in the box office queue, ready to escort their wives, daughters, mothers, and maiden aunts to see the most popular show in town.
There would be champagne in the refreshment room and swigs stolen from silver flasks between the acts in order to make the night bearable for gentlemen who’d rather be spending the evening at their clubs, but there was nowhere else Mark wished to be.
His coachman steered the landau toward the kerb, and then pulled the high-stepping pair of matched greys to a smart stop. The paneled door swung open to reveal a crowd of wide-eyed theatergoers converging on the avenue. In a world of hansom cabs and hired hacks, the arrival of an elegant private conveyance always drew attention.
For once, they might witness the arrival of a beautiful princess or even a bachelor duke!
Mark heard their whispered wonderings and giddy gossiping as he stepped from the carriage. He was attractive and handsomely dressed. His features were fine and his eyes were sharply intelligent. Although he wasn’t a peer of the realm, he trusted that his appearance was not a disappointment to these eager onlookers.
Indeed, the ladies‘oohed’and‘ahhed’and giggled over the good-looking guvnor. Yet when Mark helped Eliza alight from the landau, an awed hush fell about the paving stones. The trumpet-shaped hems of her blue velvet gown whispered over the carriage steps. The beaded cloak billowed around her, and she offered one small hand encased in the softest doeskin leather out to her escort—him.
The menfolk groaned with envy. Women sighed worshipfully at Eliza’s pretty clothes and high-piled hair as though an illustration from a fashion plate had stepped from the page. Of course, Eliza was no living doll. She was a young lady on her first night out—her first night anywhere—and she basked in the admiration of these strangers.
“A week ago,” she said, smugly, “this lot wouldn’t have given me the time of day.”
“Now they cannot get enough of you.” Mark led her through the crowd, approving of her lifted chin and her straightened spine. Her posture was smart and square without being arrogant. Though her fingers trembled ever so slightly in his, he felt certain they shook from excitement rather than nerves. “Come and let me show you where you can store your cloak.”
Inside, the lobby of the Lyric Theatre boasted paneling, gilding, and brightly polished fixtures. Beneath the buzzing glow of electric bulbs, patrons utilized cloakrooms and lavatories, and then milled about in little groups making light and lively conversation.
Mark and Eliza paused near the staircase where they might be easily seen.
“We’ll wait here for Ann and Sidney,” he told her. He checked his gold pocket watch, noting the time. “Hopefully, they’ll be along any minute.”
Eliza smiled and nodded to the couples and families who passed them by. Without her cloak, the wide, swooping neckline and sagging pigeon-puff bodice of her frock were shown to advantage. Her waist was nipped and corseted, and her velvet skirts flared over hips, petticoats, and underpinnings to form the chic silhouette that fashionable society demanded.
He didn’t remember Ann ever wearing this particular evening dress, but then again, Jenny, the housemaid, had done wonders in alterations and innovations. She’d brought a second-hand wardrobe into the twentieth century. Indeed, Mark couldn’t imagine a Bond Street modiste doing any better.
“You must know that you look exquisite.”
Eliza grinned at the compliment. “Thanks, I do!”
He laughed, for she wasn’t missish or shy. He was glad to have purchased the tickets and given Eliza an outing. She deserved to be shown off, supported, and encouraged in her new identity. She wasn’t an indigent girl any longer. She was a lady of means and opportunity, and she ought to become accustomed to theatre jaunts, dinner parties, and after-work entertainments.
She must learn to move in society as if she had always belonged to it, and come to enjoy the respectable existence of which she’d been most cruelly and callously robbed.
“Cooie!”A voice called through the lobby. The crowd parted to reveal Ann and Sidney Cooper, who’d just deposited their coats, and now made their way toward the staircase.
“There you are, Mark!” said his sister, swathed in silk and chiffon. “Good evening, Miss Summersby! I do hope we haven’t kept you both waiting.”
“Not at all,” he replied, producing the packet of tickets from the breast pocket of his black evening jacket. He handed two stubs to Sidney and kept two for himself. “I’m surprised you were able to slip away so quickly after supper. I take it Geoff behaved himself. How is the little lad?”
“Wonderfully doted upon.” Ann smiled warmly at the thought of her son, snug and safe at home. The infant boasted a night nurse, a nanny, and the entire third floor of the Coopers’ comfortable townhouse. “Though I do keep telling Sid that we ought to give Geoffrey a sibling so he won’t be spoiled.”
Sidney flushed to the tops of his ears. He was an admirable, decent fellow, and terribly practical. “And I keep telling Ann that supporting a wife and two little ones on a junior officer’s salary—especially at Stannard-Hopeley—would make for a lean life, indeed.”
Mark sympathized, but there was nothing he could do, for career advancements in the world of finance were currently hard to come by. Even at the Bank of England, there was a long line of men champing at the bit to takehisjob…
Eliza said, placing her gloved hand on Sidney’s sleeve, “Let’s not worry about work tonight, Mr. Cooper.” She gave him her best smile as the foursome climbed the stairs. “But I’d love to hear about your little ‘un!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Most people enjoyed talking about themselves, but theylovedtalking about their children. In the old days, when she’d robbed for her rent money and stolen for her supper, Eliza had discovered that the best way to distract somebody was to get them talking. Engaged in conversation, they mightn’t notice a stray hand in their pocket or a gradual loosening of their purse strings.
