“Thank you for telling me.”
He shook his head and reached for her hand, gratified when she didn’t shy away. “No, Eliza, thank you for listening. I know it’s not a pretty tale.”
He caught her eyes, and she held his gaze. There were so many questions. She knew how bastards were treated in her parish and could only hope the rich had more compassion. After all, it wasn’t the child’s fault. “What will happen to Emily? Will your circle accept her?”
Henry was further encouraged by Eliza’s concern for his daughter. “Well, she will have a lady’s education and she will be an heiress. I became a very wealthy man when my father died ten years ago. But my grandmother informs me that if I truly want to give Emily a chance and make the haut ton overlook her illegitimacy, I will have to marry a lady of impeccable lineage and repute. And I will have to marry in time to rehabilitate myself in the eyes of society before Emily can be brought out.”
Eliza raised one eyebrow. “Have you anyone in mind?”
Henry released a short bark of laughter. “Indeed not. The usual society debutantes remind me far too much of Cecilia to give them a second glance. But I suppose in a couple of years I will have to start my search in earnest.”
She shook her head. It seemed money and privilege didn’t make life any less confusing. “There has to be a woman out there you can at least respect.”
He squeezed her hand, and his warmth relieved some of the chill lingering under her cloak.
“Yes. You,” he said quietly.
She laughed out loud; she couldn’t help it, despite the compliment. “That won’t do Emily any good.”
Henry joined her laughter. “Not Emily, but me perhaps.”
That at last made Eliza blush. She so hoped she could do something for him, even though marriage was completely out of the question. He had done so much for her.
Eliza took a moment to look around Hyde Park as they drove under the winter-bare trees along the Serpentine. It was a beautiful expanse of green even in this season, and she savored the intermittent sunshine after all the time she had spent indoors. The good weather had brought out a number of walkers and riders despite the unfashionable hour. There were children at play, watched over by governesses and nursemaids with prams. Rotten Row, some ways to the right, was busy with riders, and the paths were populated by a few ladies walking in groups and the occasional gentleman walking alone.
One particular gentleman caught her attention. He was tall and well-dressed in a black coat and top hat, and stood to the side of a path observing them. At least, that was what she thought at first, but once she looked a little closer, she realized the gentleman was positively glaring at Sir Henry. The intensity of the man’s cold gray stare was somewhat disturbing, but just when Eliza decided to make Henry aware of it, the man turned abruptly and disappeared behind a stand of evergreens.
The whole thing had happened so quickly, Eliza couldn’t be sure of what exactly she had seen, and since there was no longer anyone to point out, she turned her attention back to Henry. She pulled her hand from under his and threaded it through his arm in a gesture of friendship, and he leaned in a little to touch his shoulder to hers and smiled down at her. That smile turned into a frown when he noticed her bare hand. “Good Lord, Eliza, where are your gloves?”
She looked at her hand in some confusion. “I don’t need gloves.”
The line between his eyebrows deepened. “Of course you need gloves, it’s bloody freezing. Wrap your hands in your cloak and we shall stop on the way back and get you some.” With a decisive nod, he took up the reins with both hands again and encouraged the horses to increase their speed.
“You don’t have to buy me gloves. I survived eighteen years without them, I’ll be fine,” Eliza protested. But she stuck her hands back under the cloak when he turned to her with mock severity.
“You need gloves. In fact, I’ll take you to Covent Garden tomorrow and buy you a muff as well.”
She had heard of Covent Garden, and was pretty sure Wilkins would be familiar with it too, which made her nervous about going there.
But Henry nudged her shoulder again and grinned down at her. “Come on, it will be fun. There is a market hall as well as an open air market. Both have dozens of different stalls where you can buy almost anything you can think of. Not to mention all the street performers outside the Opera House.”
Eliza grinned back at him, unable to conceal her longing to go to such a place. “I would like to see that.”
“Then you shall.” Henry, having decided on a course of action, turned back into Oxford Street and headed toward home. Eliza, however, felt a prickle of apprehension as soon as they left the park. She wasn’t sure if she should attribute the raised hair on the back of her neck to the planned trip to Covent Garden, or if someone had spied her already. She carefully scanned the faces on Oxford Street, but saw none that were familiar.
Henry felt the nervous energy coursing through her. “What is it?”
She rubbed the back of her neck. “Nothing, just a feeling.”
Henry gave her a sharp look, then carefully scanned the street around them, but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. “We will take both Will and Roberts along, if that would make you feel better.”
She nodded and smiled up at him, grateful she didn’t have to explain.
BEHIND THEM, A DAPPER-LOOKING GENTLEMAN in a gaudy polka-dotted neckcloth appeared to be studying the display in the window of a tobacco shop, but turned to look after the curricle as it passed. “Cozyin’ up in an open carriage? With Sir Henry no less? Wilkins won’t be ’appy about that.” He chuckled and signaled a shifty individual lounging outside a nearby pub. “Keep yar peepers on them two. I wanna know if they sneeze.”
He then turned and sauntered down Oxford Street, twirling his walking stick and whistling a merry tune.
“Revenge is sweet. Ain’t that right, Sir Henry?”
CHAPTER SIX
THE NEXT MORNING DAWNED RAINY AND COLD and brought dispatches from one of Henry’s estates demanding his attention. The outing to Covent Garden was postponed to a more hospitable day, and Henry departed to attend to business with his solicitor.
Eliza, left to her own devices, elected to spend the day in the library, where a fire made the room cozy, and the light by the back windows was good for reading.
Henry found her there sometime after lunch, when he came into the library to deal with the rest of the mail on his desk. He only noticed her once he was seated behind it. She had made herself comfortable in the enormous wing-back chair facing the rear window, with her legs tucked up under her and the skirts of her blue-and-white striped dress tucked around her feet. In fact, someone standing in the middle of the room would have no clue there was another person present, except for the slippers she had kicked off and left under the chair.
She was the picture of contented comfort, with a soft white knitted shawl draped around her shoulders and her elbow propped on the armrest so her hand could cradle the side of her head. Her dress had a square-cut neckline and three-quarter-length sleeves. The bodice was form-fitting to the waist and then opened into a full skirt, which allowed for her legs to cross beneath. It wasn’t a terribly fashionable gown, but she loved the penny-sized silver buttons down the front and approved of the vertical stripes that made her look taller.