“Oh dear,” Eliza winced, “of course the duke is your cousin. So what did your grandmother do to earn his displeasure?”
He was glad she had recovered enough to ask about his family. Even so, he wasn’t sure this was the time to answer her question. Henry shrugged. What he was about to say would most likely lead to a barrage of questions from his fair companion. But Eliza had trusted him with her story, had in fact entrusted her life to him. He wanted her to know about his past. “She bullied my cousin into taking in my daughter. Emily is being educated with her cousins in the country, surrounded by her beloved horses and dogs and under the influence of respectable women.”
Despite her shock, Eliza didn’t lose her composure again, her agitation only evident in her white-knuckled grip on the piano bench and the questions pouring out of her. “You have a daughter? But then you must be married. Are you married?”
Henry smiled, but looked her straight in the eyes so she might see his sincerity. “Yes, I have a daughter, and no, I’m not married and never have been. You see, my daughter, Emily, is illegitimate, but that doesn’t mean I love her any less. And since her mother saw fit to send her to me less then twenty-four hours after she was born, with nothing but a verbal message saying she would be better off with me, I’ve taken it upon myself to do the best I can by her.”
Eliza nodded, searching his eyes, slowly calming as the full implication of what he had revealed settled between them. “Of course you did. I can’t imagine you doing anything less, even if most other men would have taken her straight to the workhouse. But her mother giving her away, that I can’t understand.”
Henry shrugged again, uncomfortable with having to make excuses for Cecilia. “Well, in her defense, her husband probably insisted upon it.”
Eliza’s lips formed a silent whistle. “That must be quite a story. Will you tell me?”
Henry stood and picked up his jacket, eager to get outside. “Yes. But it’s a long story, so I’ll tell you whilst we are driving in the park.” He surveyed her quickly, noting she wore the blue wool again. “Where is your cloak? It’s cold, even with the sun out.”
“Oh, I left it on the banister in the hall.”
Henry led her to the foyer, where he picked up her cloak, put it around her shoulders, and fastened the toggles for her since she couldn’t do it herself with only one hand. Eliza blushed, knowing it wasn’t proper for him to help her, but relishing his nearness.
By the time he was done, the curricle had pulled up outside; and William, the footman, held the door for them.
ELIZA ADMIRED THE BEAUTIFULLY MATCHED grays, whom she couldn’t remember from the first time she’d been in this conveyance, and enjoyed the sun on her face.
They turned from Cavendish Square into Holles Street and from there right, into Oxford Street toward Marble Arch. There they entered Hyde Park and followed Park Lane all the way to the Serpentine.
Eliza marveled at the stately homes along the way and gawked at the hustle and bustle of Oxford Street, where the fashionable shopped and the traffic was brutal. But once they entered the park, where it was quiet at this time of the day, she turned her attention to Henry and his story once more. “How old is Emily?”
Henry let the horses trot a little faster, now they were out of traffic. “She is eleven, almost twelve.” His voice turned soft with affection when he spoke of his daughter.
“You must have been about my age when you had her.”
Henry glanced at her, then refocused on the horses. “I was nineteen. Her mother was two and twenty, and I was madly in love with her.”
He kept his tone light, but it was clear he had come to regret his folly. “And she was married,” Eliza prompted.
“And she was married. I was an underage student with no independent income.” He sighed. “Not that that stopped her from having an affair with me. I should have known from that alone she had no integrity. But I was young and stupid and in love. She was beautiful, her husband much older, and she gave me the impression he was less than kind to her.”
His voice had grown bitter as the memories crowded in on him.
“In any case, he found out and threatened to bury her in the country, so I persuaded her to run away with me. We made it all the way to Brussels before my very limited funds ran out, and I took a position as a clerk in a shipping office. I didn’t mind really, I quite liked the independence of earning my own money. But Cecilia hated it. She hated not having money to go shopping. She hated not having her maid. She hated living in the two small rooms I had thought so romantic. She hated that I had to work. And by the time her husband and my father caught up with us, I think she hated me.”
He paused there, his face stark with remembered pain, his eyes trained resolutely between the horses’ heads. He swallowed, but when he continued, his voice was steady. “In any event, she chose to go back to her rich husband and the comfortable life she had had in Oxford, despite the fact she had just found out she was pregnant, or maybe because of it. I don’t know, I never got to talk to her about it, or anything else for that matter.”
Henry’s jaw was clenched with the impotent fury he still felt after all these years. “My father forced me to come back home with him. He had me transferred to Cambridge and made my allowance dependent on staying away from Cecilia. Not that I wanted to see her at that point. She had deserted me for money, after all.”
Straightening his shoulders, he braced himself for the telling of the next part of his story. “I had even resigned myself to another man raising my child, when I got a message from her maid asking me to come to a crossroad outside Oxford, and not to leave until I had spoken to her personally.”
He fiddled with the reins, his voice now rather hoarse. “It was all rather mysterious, but I calculated that the baby should have been born by then, and I dared to hope I would be allowed to see my child, perhaps even finally talk to Cecilia.”
Henry took a deep breath before he continued. “There was an inn close by, so I waited in the crossroad from morning to night for two days before the maid showed up with my tiny newborn daughter. She didn’t even get out of the coach. She just handed me the crying bundle, told me her mistress said she would be better off with me, and told the coachman to drive on.”
He shook his head. “I couldn’t believe the callousness of it. It was January and freezing. Emily was wrapped in only a thin blanket, and there was no wet nurse. I had no idea what to do with a screaming infant, but I figured she was cold and starving, so I tucked her under my coat and took her to the inn, where I begged the landlady to help me. She sent me to her sister, who was nursing her own infant.”
Henry wiped his gloved hand over his face, glad he had made it through the worst of his tale. “She fed Emily until I could engage a permanent wet nurse. I took her to my father’s house, but he refused to take my bastard in, so I learned to take care of her myself. Emily turned out to be all right with the help of my grandmother, but as far as Cecilia is concerned … ”
Henry shrugged and gave her an almost apologetic smile. Eliza smiled back and nodded. She understood—his feelings for the opposite sex had been marred by Cecilia’s betrayal. She knew how trust was easily lost and difficult to regain.