She found herself speaking without any prompting, “Before the cheques quit coming, we lived in a tidy flat in Gloucester Place—Marylebone, you know. Mother and I would walk to Regents Park sometimes.”
Mark lifted her hands from the water and held them. “You do fancy parks and gardens, then?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m drawn to anything green. It reminds me of those happy times.”
On their walks, her Mother had spoken fondly of the countryside where she’d spent her youth. Those soft green fields and clear blue skies—so different from the filthy façades and soot-choked atmosphere of London—were built up in her mind like Heaven on Earth. Eliza imagined that her father was a great country gentleman on some spacious estate, but Mother never revealed the man’s name. Even on her deathbed, she’d honored her vow of secrecy concerning the fellow who’d ruined both of their lives.
“After the money stopped, we rented a single, squalid room overlooking Little White Lion Street,” she told him. “It was the cheapest place we could find. Our landlord was heartless and exploitative, and our neighbors were selfish and vicious. We were burgled so many times that I lost count, and whenever our windows were shattered, Mother stuffed rags in the shutters to keep out the vermin.”
Mark grimaced. “I am so terribly sorry, Eliza, for everything you suffered before we met.” He brought her knuckles to his lips, pressing kisses on each knobby rise of bone as if he could brush away her sorrows with his mouth. “These payments you received—how were they made? In whose name were the cheques written and where were they deposited?”
“I don’t know. Any payments were made to Miss or Mrs. Summersby. Mother was always called ‘May’, though her Christian name may have been Mary. I never quite knew the truth.”
“That’s alright. Does the name Farrer mean anything to you? Might it have been written on any cheques or paperwork your mother received?”
She racked her brain, and then shook her head. Much of those dark days had been erased from her memory. She didn’t want to return to the blackness of her youth. She yearned to bask in the brightness of the present. “I do recall a gentleman… His name was Mr. Jarvey, and he was my father’s legal representative. He delivered the money. I remember he asked about my schooling and all those dull things that little children hate to talk about.
“We gave Mr. Jarvey tea—formally, with cakes and sweets—because Mother wanted him to know how well we were doing. I had to be on my best behavior, in my prettiest and cleanest pinafore, so that he would give a good reporting to my father. Every year, I received a present for my birthday. Once, I got a fine bisque doll and all the lovely little frocks in which to dress her.”
Eliza pulled her hands away from the comfort of Mark’s touch. “I sold Dollie and her wardrobe to the pawnbroker when we moved to Seven Dials. My favorite fence still trades in an alley just off Drury Lane.”
“You were a long way from home,” he mused, “when you picked the pocket of that Piccadilly toff.”
“Sometimes the ‘take’ is worth the wander.”
“Then I’m glad you hopped intomycarriage,” said Mark. He smiled and stroked her cheek with the soft pad of his fingers. No scars or callouses marred his hands. No chapped or blistered palms. “I am grateful that you burst into my life with your color and your vibrancy.”
They kissed quickly, a brief peck before any of his neighbors saw. He must’ve sensed that she did not wish to discuss her past any further. Eliza cared only for these precious stolen moments with the man who’d given her so much. She didn’t want to resurrect any memories of the man who’d taken everything away from her.
Eliza wanted a future that would never be found returning to Seven Dials, even in her memory. Those smokey, narrow, putrid streets were haunted and hideous, and she turned her mind from them. She recoiled from them.
She tucked her arm through his, and then rested her head on his shoulder. “Shall we go back inside for tea, Mark? It must be half four by now, and I heard from Jenny that cheese and pickle sandwiches were on the tray today.”
Eliza had grown fond of the thickly sliced cheddar and liberal smearing of chutney on freshly buttered bread. There would also be profiteroles filled with cream and covered in chocolate. With Mark, everything that had once been a rare treat for her had become an everyday delight.
Their life together was very rich, indeed.
He nuzzled her temple, fanning his warm breath over her skin. “I have to go out tonight,” he said, “not a Bank dinner, thankfully, but I’ve been neglecting my club lately. Would you mind terribly if I dined out?”
“Of course not,” she answered truthfully. Although she would miss having him at home, she could practice her reading of the Raffles stories and gather her thoughts for a particularly scathing response to an article published inThe Gentleman’s Gazette.“I shall miss you, though I understand that you must keep up your social connections.”
“There is nothing sociable about what I must do tonight. I’m venturing into the lion’s den to do battle with embittered old men, drinking too much whiskey and gorging themselves on mutton chops and joints of beef.” His tone was light and playful, though his eyes seemed shadowed and dark. “Thank you for telling me something of your past. Your mother would be proud of you—and if Mr. Jarvey reported half of what he witnessed when he visited your home, then your father must regret the day he lost you.”
She felt her cheeks flame at his sweet words. “He never lost me, Mark. He let me go.”
“Any man who letsyougo is a damned fool.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
He would rather have stayed home with Eliza, where he belonged, yet Mark climbed the stairs of the Carlton Club dressed in his finest evening clothes. For years, he’d taken supper once or twice a week in the member’s dining room, yet he hadn’t crossed that threshold in weeks—not since Eliza had appeared in his life, enriching his days in ways that he’d never imagined.
His footsteps echoed on the polished marble flooring, which gleamed in the glow of crystal chandeliers overhead. The broad, carpeted staircase led to the first-floor smoking room, reading room, and dining room. As he ascended, Mark nodded to men he knew and even stopped to speak to a few friends he met on the landing.
He’d gone to school with scions of noble houses and sons of Tory politicians. In many ways, he was as well-connected in society as Ann, though he spent more time cultivating his colleagues than keeping up with his diary. His work at the Bank had been his entire existence, yet now he risked it all—for Eliza.
Mark doubted the news of her identity would be celebrated by her father.
Finding oneself on the wrong side of the Duke of Bodlington was a dangerous prospect. The duke and duchess did their banking at Stannard-Hopeley, where Sidney worked. Their Graces were friendly with Augustus Prevost, who sat across from Mark in the Court of Directors. They were Ann’s neighbors, for Heaven’s sake! Could he really risk his sister being snubbed on her own doorstep?
