Did he know that Caroline was her child? Would Dyer hurt Zachary? Was his double entendre concern or a veiled threat?
She stabbed at the bacon on her plate. Where had Zachary been these past three weeks? He’d left after that horrid scene at the ball. Could she blame him? Had father threatened him? How she missed him.
Fiona appeared. “Your mother wishes to speak with you…in the blue tearoom.” Rawlins lifted his brow. Said nothing.
She adjusted her plate on the table. “Tell Mother, I’m going to eat my breakfast first.” Elizabeth took her time, nibbling her toast in silence. Rawlins gave her one furtive glance.
“Though there seems little chance of winning the primary place in your affections, I would be only too happy if I thought that a remote corner of your heart would be devoted to me.”
Curling her hand around her fork, Elizabeth did not hear a word he said, irritated by his presence, annoyed with the oncoming battle with her mother, and the fact she didn’t want Fiona to be punished. “Good day to you, Rawlins.” She felt his eyes follow her from the room.
“What is it?” Elizabeth asked Fiona in the hallway. “For hours last night, I had to listen to Mother lecture me about the picnic, and then the scene at the ball. How much more must I endure?”
“Mrs. Smith and your sister. Those two own the market on telling tales and have nothing better to do than be jealous of you.”
Fiona was not only her servant but her best friend. Confidences were kept between them. Fiona was the breadwinner for her four younger siblings, orphaned years ago when her parents were hit by a runaway meat wagon and died in the middle of the street.
As they walked down the hallway to the drawing room, Elizabeth said, “Get me my wrap, and yours, and order the carriage to be brought out front posthaste. We are going out for the day.”
“Your mother requires you to entertain at her tea. Ladies are present.”
Elizabeth stopped at the opening of the parlor, framed by marble columns.
Her mother sat at the head of a bevy of women. “Elizabeth, come in and sit with us.”
The last thing she wanted was to listen to the natter of self-indulgent and shallow women. She took her hat and coat from Fiona and put them on.
Alva narrowed her eyes. Elizabeth committed heresy. She straightened, feeling buoyant with the freedom of it. “I’m sorry Mother, but I have a prior engagement that begs my attention.”
Her mother’s expression was as stiff as a coffin corpse. “This tea is important.”
“Is it, Mother?”
“Don’t tell me you are going out with those ragamuffins!” Alva demanded.
Her mother would not keep her from Caroline. “Actually, that is what I have planned. I’m taking them to the Museum of Natural History.”With your granddaughter. The one you wanted to sell into abject poverty.
Elizabeth heard the rapid intake of collective breath from the ladies in the room. That would give them plenty of fodder to gossip about.
Alva huffed after her. “Elizabeth, come back. I forbid you–”
Elizabeth lifted her skirts and descended the steps to the carriage.
Chapter Nineteen
“Damned newspaper men. All of them are idiots and rascals,” said Edward Spencer waiting for a reporter to board his private car. “I apologize, Rawlins, for the interruption.”
“Not a problem.”
Guided by a conductor, a reporter wearing a three-piece suit appeared. He doffed his derby, his gaze darting over the lush furnishings.
“You’re late, young man. I don’t abide tardiness. You have three minutes. Fire away.”
“Yes, of course. My name is Elias Bernstein of the New York Times. Do you believe, Mr. Spencer, that credit is based on money—that is, do not the big New York banks issue loans to certain men and institutions because it is believed that they have the money to back them?”
Spencer huffed. “No sir. It is because I believe in the man.”
The reporter protested. “What if he is worth nothing?”
