Henry watched his cousin carefully. His daughter’s regular bids for freedom were nothing new, and neither were the duchess’s pleas to curb her wild streak, but for the request to come from the duke piqued his interest. “Oh, any particular reason for your concern?”
The duke shot him a wry smile. “Not much gets past you, does it?”
Henry grinned in response and waited patiently for his cousin to come to the point.
The duke rested his elbows on the linen-covered table, steepled his fingers in front of him, and weighed his words like only a politician could. “Under normal circumstances I would not be concerned, but I am working on a bill that will be contentious, and it has come to my attention that questions have been asked about my family, particularly the comings and goings of the children.”
Henry didn’t move, his brow slightly furrowed in concern. “You think someone is trying to intimidate you by threatening our family?”
Arthur shook his head decisively. “No threats have been made. Just a few questions strange enough to prompt my stable master to report them to me.”
Henry moved forward, mirroring his cousin’s pose. “How strange are the questions, and who is asking them?”
Arthur met Henry’s gaze steadily. “The questions are about the children. Where they go and when, and if they ever do it alone. As to who is asking: a groom from the livery stable in Woodborough. He is related to one of my footmen and therefore a fairly frequent visitor.”
Henry considered that for a moment. “And you couldn’t just put a stop to his visits?”
Arthur tapped his steepled fingers against each other and pursed his lips. “I would rather not curtail visits to the estate, especially so close to Christmas. Happy servants make for a well-run house, after all.”
Henry’s mouth quirked up in a crooked smile. “Besides, that wouldn’t stop them from meeting in the pub. I see what you mean; it’s best to tell the children not to venture out alone. I don’t suppose you want to tell me what your bill is about.”
“I would rather not,” was the duke’s only response.
Henry knew his cousin well enough to know he had said as much on the subject as he was willing to, and Henry respected that. The whole thing was probably nothing more than a few gossiping servants. He wasn’t worried about his daughter’s safety, but he would write to Emily all the same. There was no point in tempting fate.
The two men enjoyed their smoke and each other’s company for a while longer until the duke pleaded fatigue and Henry went home to write a letter to Emily.
CHAPTER THREE
THE THIRD DAY AFTER HENRY BROUGHT ELIZA to his house, she seemed somewhat improved, but her mind was still clouded by the laudanum, making conversation almost impossible. Henry sat with her for a while in her darkened room and gently tried to ask her a few questions, but when she nodded off on him for the third time, he admitted defeat.
On the fourth day, however, Mrs. Tibbit sought out Henry in the breakfast room at the back of the house to inform him their guest had refused the morning dose of laudanum and was sitting up in bed. Mrs. Tibbit further reported proudly that Eliza had consumed a sizable breakfast, and then left him to his morning coffee.
Encouraged by the news, Henry decided on a visit to his charge.
WHAT HE FOUND WAS A young woman so remarkably pretty, despite the bruises in various shades of yellow and green, that Henry paused on the threshold, admiring the picture in front of him.
The two tall sash windows let in autumn’s golden sunlight and gave the chamber a bright and airy feel. Lace curtains added a feminine touch to soften the effect of light green drapes, white walls, and cherry wood furniture. Mrs. Tibbit sat by the window with her mending, chatting to the girl.
Smiling, Henry leaned against the door frame in his shirt sleeves, tan-colored breeches, and waistcoat. Eliza’s shiny dark brown curls tumbling all around her were in stark contrast to the crisp white of the pillows she was propped up against. Her features were delicate and animated, and her eyes, as they turned toward him, were a clear and luminous brown. She reached out her hand with an answering smile.
“You are Sir Henry, aren’t you.”
It was more of a statement than a question, and he nodded in answer.
“You brought me here, and the doctor says I would’ve died if you hadn’t found me, so I guess I owe you my life.” She extended her hand farther to offer it to him, the gesture clearly an effort. “How can I ever thank you? Just saying it hardly seems enough.”
Henry moved across the room and took her outstretched hand, uncomfortable with the signs of pain on her beautiful face. Eliza shook his hand, but was at a loss as to what else to say, so she lifted his hand and kissed it.
Taken aback by the gesture, Henry retracted his hand and hastened to assure her, “You don’t owe me anything; I only did what any decent human being would have done.”
A fierceness entered her eyes he didn’t know how to read. “No, you saved my life.”
“I’m sure—” he started.
But Eliza shook her head, suddenly looking utterly desolate, her voice barely a whisper. “Nobody helped me when they did this to me. Not even the people I’ve known all my life, the people I thought were my friends.”
Henry was close enough to hear the hitch in her voice and leaned down to place a gentle hand on the crown of her head. She raised her eyes, bright with unshed tears, then swallowed hard and managed a tiny smile. Henry could not help but admire her courage and spirit, and wondered what it would be like to see that spirit fly.
“From now on you have friends willing to defend you, should the need arise again.”
Mrs. Tibbit seconded the notion with a resolute nod, but Eliza searched his face for a moment, as if unsure whether he meant what he said. Evidently there was nothing in his expression to urge caution, so she relaxed back into her pillows.
Henry pulled a chair next to the bed and seated himself. “You told me your stepfather beat you in order to force you to marry somebody by the name of Wilkins. Can you tell me how you came to be in such a wretched situation?”
She shook her head in resignation and looked up at him. “It’s not so unusual a story. Are you sure you want to hear the whole sorry mess?”
He held her gaze, and his expression softened. “I find I have a need to know.”
Eliza had no reason to trust people, but his eyes held a smile, and she felt safe with him in his house. She found she wanted him to know her story, but where to begin? She decided on her name. “My name’s Eliza Broad. Everybody calls me Liza, but I like Eliza better.”
Henry grinned at the hint of challenge in her statement. “Duly noted, Eliza.”
She smiled her appreciation, and he nodded for her to continue.
“I was born in The Cat and Fiddle just outside Hampstead, and I remember being happy there before my dad died when I was ten. He left the inn to my mum, and from what I could see, she made a good go of it. But it’s hard for a woman alone to keep order in a busy taproom, so she hired a man who took care of all the rowdies and the heavy work.”
Henry noticed Eliza made a credible effort to keep the countrified lilt out of her voice and silently commended whoever had taught her.
“He was always respectful to her, did his job well, and was even nice to me, so when he asked my mum to marry him, she said yes, thinking it would be a good thing for us.” Eliza’s jaw set in a hard line, and all joy was sucked out of her eyes. “It didn’t take Horace long after the ceremony to show his true colors. He didn’t like that my mum knew her letters and was teaching them to me. He didn’t like that she was better at keeping the books. He didn’t like when other men looked at her, and most of all he didn’t like me.”