Eliza imagined Mark’s dark head resting on her lap as she turned the pages. She dreamed of drowsy afternoons reading poetry in the garden or spending the quiet hours after dinner enjoying some thrilling noveltogether.
It had been her fantasy from the very start, though a relationship with Mark had seemed so far from reach on that first night he’d brought her into his home.
She pushed the notion aside. It was too dangerous to lose her heart when security and independence were finally within her grasp.
“I keep up with my magazines to stay informed,” Eliza explained as she crossed the room to put the book back on its shelf. “I’ve been writing letters to their editors. Londoners are so keen to send soldiers to South Africa, yet they ignore the rampant poverty at home. What will those enlisted men return to, sickly wives and starving children, and everybody out of work? They’ll be lost and forgotten soon enough, but I shall provide a voice from the streets to remind readers of their struggles.”
She settled back into her seat by the tea tray and smoothed her yellow skirts into place. She raised her cup to her lips, saying, “I’m in a unique position to do something useful. The editors ofThe SphereandThe Illustrated Mailput patriotism over practicality, and London’s poorest are the ones who suffer most. If readers would remember to be kinder to their neighbors rather than seeking vengeance against their enemies, the world would be a kinder place.”
“You do have a point, Eliza, but I’m afraid that social consciousness won’t win you many friends in Mark’s circle. In fact, Hilda Prevost’s mother—whose husband will someday be Governor of the Bank of England—told the Duchess of Bodlington all about your scrape with Scotland Yard. Financial circles thrive on gossip, you see. There isn’t much that the Court of Directors cannot discover, and their wives are worse than bloodhounds when it comes to sniffing out a scandal.”
It was a warning, though kindly meant. Eliza ought not to stir up trouble while under Mark’s protection. That run-in with the Metropolitan Police at Bow Street had been a blemish against his spotless record, and coming to the aid of a thief outside of the Lyric Theatre had brought their friendship under further scrutiny.
Eliza dipped her head to contemplate her teacup. Her cheeks flamed with the memories of that night, and of the passionate exchange that had followed.
Ann touched her sleeve, mistaking the hot flush creeping across Eliza’s face. “You’ve found an ally in Hilda Prevost, at least. She adores your courage and your candor. She yearns for a young friend who isn’t a debutante and feels she’s found a confidante in you. Her mother might not approve, but I suppose that’s all the better in Hilda’s mind.”
She smiled. “I reckon I make a better friend than some duchess’ dull daughter.”
“How odd that Her Grace mistook you for one of her own girls… You’re a few years older than Lady Ermentrude Prendergast, but I can see the resemblance in your coloring and perhaps in the way you carry yourself.” Ann pondered that prospect for a moment, and then shrugged. “At any rate, you looked utterly at home on Mark’s arm. I suspect he’s rather smitten with you.”
Eliza’s smile turned into a wide grin. “I’m smitten with him, too.”
He was handsome, elegant, and intelligent. He’d taken her into his home, accepted her as she was, and longed to show her off to the world. He admired her social-mindedness and didn’t care that she couldn’t read books. He posted her letters to the editors, though he didn’t share her criticism of the war. His conservative friends would likely shun him for sheltering and supporting a petty criminal, yet Sir Mark van Bergen didn’t care.
He loved her, just as she loved him.
There could never be anything shameful aboutthat.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Mark sat hunched over his desk at Threadneedle Street. With the Boer War growing costlier by the day, pressures on the Bank were mounting. Sending troops, horses, artillery, medical supplies, and provisions required a fortune, and such expenditures made the government nervous. Her Majesty’s treasury required more funds, and it fell to the Court of Directors to find the money.
He looked forward to leaving the pressures of his workday behind and longed for the moment when he returned to Eliza. Her pretty presence and charming conversation never failed to ease his troubles. How could a fellow be weary with a woman like Eliza welcoming him home?
A knock sounded upon the open doorway of his office.
Mark looked up to find a clerk standing at the threshold. “Yes?”
“I do beg your pardon, Sir Mark, but you have a caller,” the man explained. “Your sister, Mrs. Cooper, begs a moment of your time.”
He closed his ledgers, removed his reading spectacles, and moved to stand. “Send her in.”
After a moment, Ann arrived from the waiting room. She appeared businesslike in her navy blue skirt-and-jacket and a smart, veiled hat. She was suitably attired for an appointment in the City, and he wondered audibly what errand had brought her so far from home.
She put two gloved hands on his polished desktop as if bracing herself for battle. “I’ve just come from visiting Eliza,” she said. “I won’t let you take advantage of her—she’s been used enough by men. Youmustfix this!”
“Fix what?” He blinked up at her. Mark’s mind raced toward one hundred different possibilities, and his heart began to beat in his chest as he groped toward a conclusion. Eliza’s past was shocking, yet their most recent developments were scandalous indeed. Surely, Ann did not know about their fornication in the landau. “What has Eliza told you?”
“Enough to know that she is in love with you!”
He’d suspected as much. Indeed, his heart soared at the revelation, but he ought not to get his hopes up regarding their future together.
“She is young,” he said, flippantly, “and I’ve been kind to her. These feelings will pass once she’s back on her own two feet. She’ll be occupied and independent, and she shan’t think of me anymore.”
Ann didn’t seem to be listening. “It’s abominable that a man can sire and discard a child. What if it was Geoffrey born out of wedlock, and Sid had abandoned us? Would you not fight for your nephew’s birthright? Will you not fight for Miss Summersby?”
“I beg your pardon, but I fear we’re discussing two different things. Has Eliza spoken to you of her father?”
