It wasn’t fair!
She blinked back tears she had not meant to shed. “He never cared to know me. I don’t know why I should bother to know him.” Sometimes, the answers to the questions one sought were worse than ignorance. If Eliza learned of her father’s identity, she would never escape him. Her anonymity—and his—was a protective suit of armor. Shielded, he could not reach her. He could not hurt her.
“You have every right to leave the past where it belongs, if you so choose,” said Mark softly “But I want you to know that your mother did nothing wrong. It was your father who acted in bad faith. He is a weak man. He has never been strong enough to stand up for his convictions.” He wiped the hot tears burning a trail down her cheeks. “You inherited that fortitude from your mother.”
Eliza nuzzled his fine-fingered, open hand. “I’m relieved. Thank you for telling me.”
“Of course,” he said. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you, and you must know that your identity means nothing to me. You are Eliza Summersby, the bravest lady I’ve ever known.”
They kissed with the taste of sugar and milky coffee on her lips. The salt from her tears was a tang on her tongue, and she felt overwhelmed by the weight of everything she’d learned.
Her father was a bad man who’d betrayed Mother. Mark knew him well enough to denounce his character, yet the ring remained firmly in his pocket. Fearing the risk of his career, his good name, and his social connections, did Sir Mark van Bergen no longer wish to marry her?
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Eliza excused herself upstairs. She claimed to be tired, and truthfully she looked exhausted. Mark wagered that it could not have been easy to confront the ghosts of one’s past.
The Duke of Bodlington was a villain. Mark was tempted to do violence if he could get away with murder, yet he was no match for an aristocrat, socially or bureaucratically. Feuding with a duke could make things difficult for him at the Bank. Any hint of scandal, or even a question regarding his sense of judgment, could force his resignation from the Court of Directors.
Mark loved Eliza, but he was relieved to banish the Duke of Bodlington to the background, where the blackguard belonged. He regretted learning the fellow’s identity, for he ought not to have given the man any power over them. It was only a matter of time before someone other than the duchess recognized a resemblance between Lady Ermentrude Prendergast and the future Lady van Bergen.
Thanks to him, Eliza’s life would be a lie—no one involved could ever tell the truth. He would always hold that secret over her head.
The wisest course of action would be to let her go. To send her on her way. She had fifteen hundred pounds to her name. She could take her money and live frugally or invest it and live richly. Either way, she was free to build her life as she wished without shame or the threat of scandal. She could pen her letters and publish her pamphlets under her name without the weight of his career dragging her down.
But he loved her. He would risk everything for her.
He adored her laughter, confidence, and her curious mind. Mark admired everything that she’d overcome, and the fact that she wasn’t done fighting, even now. Could he not join her in her bravery? Could he not risk his position in society and his prestigious career at the Bank of England to marry a petty criminal and the illegitimate daughter of a duke?
He had feared that Eliza was settling, that she deserved an exciting, daring, youthful, and hungry man. He thought—wrongly—that she would grow bored with him as her safe and stolid choice. Yet now he realized that joining their hands would be the most courageous thing either of them had ever done.
Love was dangerous, though surely, together, they could withstand anything that life threw at them. If not, they would go down swinging, back to back, in the face of poverty, scandal, and censure.
Mark snuffed the candles and switched off the lights. He quit the drawing room, climbing the staircase toward the upper levels of his home. In the dimness of the skylight overhead, he saw the framed family portrait that had been painted when he was a boy and Ann was just a baby. It hung above the landing, a comforting sight after a busy day in the City.
He was grateful to have his sister as an ally. Ann, Sidney, and even Geoffrey were fond of Eliza, but the riskiness of their relationship meant far-reaching consequences. Mark hoped the Coopers wouldn’t suffer from his choice of bride.
But tonight was about Eliza, and he intended to do what was best for the woman he loved. He respected her decision and would do whatever she wished, even if it ruined him.
He found her lounging in the blue bedroom wearing a frothy, lacy dressing gown. Her hair was loose, and bare toes peeked from beneath the hems of her nightdress.
Gone was the valiant lady in the elegant, copper-colored frock. In her place sat a confused and perhaps frightened young woman. Eliza clung to what was steady, reliable, and what was real. She counted her bundle of stolen pound notes, ordering the various denominations to please her eye. Five-, ten-, and twenty-pound banknotes fanned across the eiderdown in a cascade of riches.
Mark recalled that she preferred her money close at hand where she could touch it, hoard it, and flee with it if necessary.
He wondered whether she was a skilled thief or simply a fortunate one. That she was able to ‘retire’ placed her miles above her fellow delinquents. Mark had never been a rule-breaker. Even as a lad, he’d never seen the appeal in rebellion. He enjoyed the challenge of working within constraints, and every penny—meticulously planned for and hard-earned—had meant success, yet he was proud of Eliza for all her recklessness.
His heart swelled at the sight of her.
She tensed at the sound of his footsteps on the floorboards. “It’s time I ought to move on, guvnor,” she said without looking up. Her voice had changed. She’d slipped back into the rough guise of a street-wise girl. She counted and re-counted her bounty. “I’ve taken advantage of you long enough.”
Did she think that he would give her up so easily?
Mark leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. “I prefer to keep you with me, but I know that isn’t fair. You’re a free woman. You’re not beholden to me and may do as you please.”
He watched her tally her wealth like a miser. Surely, a clerk in a counting house could do no better, for she put his best lads to shame. Nimble fingers flew over the banknotes, never missing a beat.
“I’m glad you’ve your money, Eliza. We are fortunate to meet each other on equal footing.”
