He found the duke in one of the quiet antechambers of the club. A brace of upholstered easy chairs clustered around a small, walnut table was his usual haunt, for the man was rarely at home. He drank brandy in the dim lamplight while puffing from a fat cigar.
Mark approached the fellow. He searched for any hint of a family resemblance, but the medium brown coloring of His Grace’s hair and the clarity of his blue eyes were common enough among Englishmen. He didn’t want Eliza to look like this fellow. He wanted Ann’s suppositions to be wrong, and Eliza’s recollections to be mistaken.
He wanted the entire bloody idea to be nothing more than an embarrassing gaffe.
“I shall only beg a moment of your time,” he said, sliding into the cushioned seat across from His Grace.
The duke grunted. “If it has anything to do with this damned war…”
“No, nothing like that.” The intensifying conflicts with the Boers were all anyone spoke of these days. Many peers were in favor of the war—for the glory of the Empire and the lining of their aristocratic coffers—but a vocal resistance was growing among the general public. “Although you may wish it was when I am finished.”
“Eh?”The Duke of Bodlington sucked his cigar.
Mark leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. He clasped his hands to steady them, steepling his fingers in the space between his knees. It was a firmly aggressive stance and forced his opponent into a back-footed, passive posture. “Does the name of May Summersby mean anything to you?”
His Grace’s eyes flashed. “Never heard of her.”
Mark gritted his teeth. He fought to remain even-toned and steady-tempered in negotiations. “And your daughter, Elizabeth? Have you forgotten about her, as well?”
“My daughter’s name is Lady Ermentrude, and she is at home with her governess until her come-out. Believe me, Sir Mark, when a man has a debutante daughter running up bills on Bond Street in preparation for her presentation, one doesn’t tend to forget that fact.”
While Lady Ermentrude lived in comfort and ease, Eliza had been starving and stealing, and pawning everything she could pinch. The realization made Mark’s blood boil.
“Have you no desire to learn anything about the child you sired? Don’t you care what happened to Eliza and her mother when you cast them out on their ears?”
“I did everything I could for them,” argued the duke. “There was no guarantee that the child was mine. Certainly, her mother couldn’t prove paternity. I provided more for them than I ought to have done until the girl was twelve years old and could enter the workforce.”
“You would send achildto work in support of herself?”
“I’ve skivvies in the scullery and hall boys in my employ,” said the duke, smugly, “recruited straight from the school room. I know the value of cheap, ready labor.” His Grace cast an eye in Mark’s direction. “Don’t you?”
Thankfully, a waiter arrived to refresh the duke’s brandy. The man produced a snifter for Mark and liberally poured the drinks before leaving the two illustrious members to their conversation.
The brief interruption allowed Mark to gather his thoughts. He contemplated the quality of his brandy in the lamplight. “Eliza didn’t find work. She and her mother moved to Seven Dials where their lives took a tragic turn. Yet she endured every hardship with steely nerves and bold determination. Her survival speaks to her intelligence, tenacity, and grace under fire.” He smiled at the memory of their first meeting. He warmed at the thought of their passionate exchange after attendingFloradora.“She’s wonderful. Whip-smart and beautiful. A strong-minded young woman who would’ve been a credit to you, had you done right by her.”
The Duke of Bodlington remained impassive. He lingered over his cigar and brandy while the club grew busier around them. “It sounds as though you’re fond of the girl.”
“Oh, I am. She is lovely. I’m told she’s very like your other daughter in both coloring and bearing, and I see that she shares your obstinacy, as well.” Lowering his voice to a growl, he moved in for the kill. “What you did, Your Grace, was caddish and cowardly. Unforgivable.”
The duke’s face reddened with anger. “I loved May Summersby! I would’ve loved her child too, but I needed capital. I had to marry accordingly, and my duchess took offense to spendingherdowry supportingmyby-blow.” He stubbed his cigar into the crystal ashtray. “I was warned that you were making inquiries at Farrer’s and Stannard-Hopeley. I trust my solicitors and bankers were helpful…”
“They were discreet.”
“But you are a director of the Bank of England. They must’ve been suitably impressed.”
Mark lifted his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. “My position opens doors.”
“Mine closes them,” warned his opponent.
The duke reclined in his easy chair. He was a haughty, arrogant man, and Mark despised him. Siring illegitimate children was not unheard of among the upper class, though most fathers did the decent thing and set their offspring up for some manner of success. Only a blackguard would sentence an innocent girl to a life of penury.
Mark wished only to make things better for Eliza. He wished to love and care for her, to give her a position and an honest life. He’d never do anything to harm her chance at happiness.
“I mean you no trouble,” he assured the duke. “In fact, I intend to make your daughter a good husband. She’ll want for nothing within reason. I simply thought you should know.”
His Grace’s eyes narrowed. “Do you seek my blessing, then?”
“No. My sister believes that Eliza will never move forward without knowing her past, yet I feel that Eliza’s parentage is inconsequential to the woman I know and love. Yet I must tell her what I’ve discovered, and shall leave the truth of your identity in Eliza’s capable hands.”
