“The parish registry has their marriage listed, though I imagine he used a false name, if you ever want to look at it. But I’m sure your Peelers discovered that since they found me.” Her rocker increased momentum. “What I can’t figure out is how he got the certificate from another parish.”
“Forged it,” said Eli.
She shook her head. “He couldn’t read or write.”
“Then he paid someone, or received it in exchange for some other service.” This conversation was yesterday’s news. He wanted something positive to hold inside, to think back on when he remembered his father, not just the negative.
Then the image of his dying mother, that day in The Dog’s Bone, came rushing back. She’d taken her last breath holding him, hoping to keep him warm and safe. How many times had Ma told him how much she loved him during that last week, trying to compensate for the terrible scene with his father? Assure him he was wanted and treasured. She could have sent him off with his father, fending for herself. Anger curled up his middle as he thought of her, not much older than Miss Alberts when she died. What if some cur tricked her in the same fashion?
He put out a hand to stop his grandmother’s furious rocking. “I want you to understand that if I ever discover my half siblings, and they are willing to come to know me, you must accept them.” If anything good came from the trauma of his mother’s marriage, it would be gaining a family.
“I am a firm believer in children not suffering the sins of their father,” Grandmama agreed, her hazel eyes bright with emotion. “You know he’s probably dead.”
Elijah lay in bed that night, images of his father flashing through his mind. His face was blurred by the years, but he remembered a large man with dark hair and eyes. He remembered being tossed in the air and caught, then being tickled until tears leaked from his eyes.
He also remembered the terrible argument, and the last time he would see the man who’d given him life. Yet had not wanted to be a part of it. Why had his father gone through the ruse of marriage when he already had a family? Had he loved his mother and been caught up with passion? It was possible. Ma had been beautiful. The miniature on the mantle was proof of that. Or had he been so weak, he couldn’t tell her the truth and didn’t want to break her heart? There were two perspectives to every interaction between a couple. Perhaps…
Don’t be naïve, he scolded himself. The man had lured Ma from her family, her safe and comfortable home.
The menacing look in his father’s eyes that night, when he’d glared at his mother with such rage, had frightened a five-year-old. While Eli hadn’t understood it, he knew the expression meant danger, harm to one or both of them. Instead, his father left without a backward glance, leaving them helpless in a cruel world.
Elijah wondered if desire could ever tempt him to do something he knew to be wrong. His mind immediately went to Miss Alberts. He would risk his life to keep her from harm. Yet, he would do the same for anyone in harm’s way if he could. What if she asked him to break the law? Pleaded with him to help her in some way that would break the trust with the people he respected the most?
Was he strong enough to give up love for integrity and honor? It was a subject Elijah wasn’t sure he wanted to explore too closely. What was it Maggie always said?
There’s not a wise man without fault.
CHAPTER 6
A week later, Sunday
Hatton Garden
Clara pulled out the heavy iron pot with both hands, the heat soaking through the heavy cloth protecting her skin. The scent of roasted meat and juices floating to her nose filled her with pride. She had made five of the recipes so far, and the staff had given her nothing but praise. Pleasing her own kind was far different from impressing the sophisticated palates of the ton. Today, the comte arrived, and there was still so much to do. It had taken the first few days to stock the kitchen with the staples needed every day: flour, sugar, salt, and spices.
They had been notified that the Comte du Aveculót’s sister would be accompanying him. He requested a cold supper ready with freshly made bread, Stilton cheese, sliced beef with no fat, and a bottle of red wine.
“Can’t accuse the man of being vague,” said Mrs. Johnson.
“He’s testing my knowledge with the wine,” said Mr. Smalley, leaning his tall, thin frame over the housekeeper’s shoulder as she read the post. “He shall find my choice to his satisfaction.”
“Is it always so nerve-racing when the lord arrives?” asked Clara. Is this what Henri went through? No, she couldn’t imagine anything ruffling the Frenchman’s feathers.
“Only when we’ve never met. His lordship could be kind, indifferent, or cruel. We won’t know until he’s situated,” said Mrs. Johnson in a matter-of-fact tone. “If I don’t like him, I will find another position.”
Clara had learned the housekeeper’s last employer died at the age of two and eighty. Mrs. Johnson decided this position would be easier—fewer megrims—running a partial household for half the year without a lord or lady in residence. I’m not getting any younger, she said often with a rueful smile.
There were boiled potatoes and artichoke thistle, a custard with lemon curd, and the blue and white Stilton cheese. Everyone worked hard, making sure the townhouse was spotless, the silver gleaming, and the food mouthwatering. The fires would be lit soon in the dining room, drawing room, and two bedchambers.
Clara’s stomach was in a knot of excitement. Mrs. Johnson had informed her that when there were guests for dinner, she might be invited to the dining room and praised for her service. Clara was petrified she might be summoned, but it would be worse if she wasn’t called because her cooking was considered bland.
She thought of Mr. Norton, who had met her daily at seven since their meeting and walked her home. A pretty lady shouldn’t be walking alone at night, he said each evening as she walked up the steps to meet him. Clara was growing used to his handsome face, deep voice, and sense of humor. He liked riddles and enjoyed teasing her. She enjoyed being teased by him.
Hanging her apron, she donned her cloak and bounded up the stairs.
“Slow down. What has you so excited?” asked Mr. Norton as she took his arm with one hand, the meal for her father in the other.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” she answered truthfully, swinging her small box tied with string.
