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Nineteen

It had been over a week since Eliza had sent her last letter to Simon and over a fortnight since their night in Whitechapel.

He still hadn’t written her back. She told herself that his nonreply was answer enough.

The one letter he had sent hadn’t been very forthcoming.

What more of a response did she need? He didn’t want her.

Though he lingered in her mind, she carefully planned every minute of every day so that she wasn’t sitting around moping.

She went to teas and dinners and the theater, and she had her family to keep her occupied in the mornings.

Once, she and Jenny had gone to a lecture at the British Museum—Egyptology—and she had managed to have the carriage drive them by Montague Club, but that was as close as she had got to him since their night out in Whitechapel.

Her bad angel had been firmly shoved to the deep recesses of her mind.

Even the fantasies that she entertained late at night that Simon might come to her in her room again had been laid to rest now that they had settled into Cora’s home.

She was forced to share a bedroom with Jenny here, so there would be none of that even if he was inclined to come to her.

Not that he would come here; that would be ridiculous.

She was so certain of that truth that when she heard his voice rumbling down the upstairs corridor of Devonworth’s home, she very nearly convinced herself that she was imagining it.

A pleasant tingling rippled down her spine, and the small hairs on her body stood on end.

She paused at the threshold of her new bedroom and closed her eyes and let the cadence soothe her. If only it were him , she thought.

But then she looked up and realized that the door to Devonworth’s study was cracked open. The voice came from in there. She crossed the hall on her tiptoes and listened.

“…assure you that we found everything of note in his suite. If Vining had any other information, he most certainly hid it elsewhere. I doubt he has anything.”

She leaned in too close and the door creaked open because it hadn’t been shut properly.

Damn. There was nothing for it but to reveal herself.

She pushed it open farther and stuck her head inside.

Devonworth sat in one of the chairs before the hearth, a brandy in hand.

Simon and another man sat across from him holding similar glasses. All three men rose when they saw her.

“Good evening, my lord, I wasn’t aware that you had company.” It was the only thing she could think to say to cover her gaffe.

“Eliza, you remember Mr. Cavell and Mr. Cox,” Devonworth said.

She nodded and greeted them both, her eyes latching on to Simon, drinking him in as if he were the oasis to her desert.

He didn’t reveal anything in his expression, but his eyes held hers, the intensity in them speaking louder than any words.

She wanted to ask why he hadn’t written her back, but she didn’t dare.

Instead she said, “Will they be protecting us again? Has there been another threat?”

“No, nothing like that.” Devonworth faced her more fully to reassure her. “I’ve asked them to follow up on the investigator I hired months ago.”

“Oh…” She hoped she didn’t sound too disappointed. What else could she say to that? She was desperate to stay, to soak up Simon’s presence. “Well, I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

A flash of uncertainty crossed Devonworth’s handsome face. “Thank you. Good evening, Eliza.”

She inclined her head to him and both men. But her bad angel stopped her at the door. With her heart pounding, she turned back to face the room. “Would Mr. Cavell and Mr. Cox like to stay for supper?”

The room fell silent. Everyone sat stunned, because what she’d said was highly improper. Cora or Devonworth were the only ones who should issue such an invitation.

Devonworth recovered quickly. “That’s a fine idea, Eliza.” Turning to the men, he said, “Please join us.”

Mr. Cox was the first to agree. Simon murmured a polite refusal, but Devonworth wouldn’t hear of it. When he eventually agreed, Eliza smiled to herself and finally met his gaze. His eyes lit her on fire across the distance.

Eliza gave a quick and abbreviated curtsy and hurried downstairs to inform the cook of their supper guests. She carried that warmth with her the entire way.

—

Simon liked to think that he would have taken the high road, that he would have walked right out of Devonworth’s home and gone back to Montague Club without accosting Eliza had they not stayed for dinner.

Alas, he was only a man after all. He could only avoid her if she wasn’t actively near him. All bets were off otherwise.

As it was, he sat through dinner with Devonworth, Lady Devonworth, Eliza, and her mother and sister feeling very uncomfortable.

It wasn’t that he was unaccustomed to dining with quality.

He’d been at Montague Club long enough to have dined with many lords and second and third sons.

He could conduct himself appropriately without embarrassing anyone.

It was a learned survival tactic, much like his ability to mute his accent.

He had figured out at a very young age to mimic those around him, to do what they were doing, and speak as they spoke.

His discomfort came from the fact that Eliza had positioned herself directly across from him where he couldn’t easily avoid looking at her.

The more he saw her, the more he thought of her letter: half agony, half hope.

The wide-eyed longing on her face was enough to make him ask himself silly questions like why did they have to live in agony and why couldn’t he have her?

“Tell us how you came to be at Montague Club, Mr. Cavell.” Fanny Dove sat to his right, her intelligent and somehow knowing eyes taking him in.

He fidgeted with his soup spoon and forced himself not to look at Eliza again.

He didn’t think Eliza had told her mother about him, but he couldn’t tell.

From the amount of attention the woman paid him, he had to wonder.

“Rothschild and Leigh were out one evening and they were…” He had to think of a delicate way to word the interaction. “They were attacked and I stepped in to set them free.”

It had been his own men, Brody’s men, who had attacked them.

Simon had learned not to draw the attention of the upper class, so he had stepped in and stopped the fools before they had done any real damage.

That had been many years ago when the club was in its early days.

One of Brody’s men had been an upstart who had planned to usurp Simon’s place in Brody’s esteem and had fought him on leaving the nobles alone.

Simon had been forced to subdue the man physically, which had drawn the attention of the two noblemen.

Leigh had sent word to him later to come to him if he was interested in a job.

At first, the job had been to train with them, but Simon had quickly gained their trust and respect.

When Mary had fallen pregnant, he’d reevaluated their lives and decided that there was no future with Brody.

He’d asked Leigh to give him more work. Then Daisy’s birth and Mary’s death had only confirmed everything for him.

When Mary was on her deathbed, he’d tried to leave Whitechapel.

Brody had beat him so badly that he had staggered to the club, delirious for days afterward.

He’d gone back to Brody after that. But when Mary had died, he tried again and struck the deal with Brody.

He summed that all up with a quick, “They offered me a job as thanks for my help. I’ve slowly worked my way to a place of responsibility.”

“Then you were not a second or third son as so many of your club’s members are?” she asked.

“No, madam.”

She sniffed. “Well, you wouldn’t know it to look at you.”

He wasn’t certain that was a good thing given the way she’d said it, but then she smiled up at him and he thought he saw approval there.

“Where are you from, Mr. Cavell?” Eliza’s sister asked from his left.

“Whitechapel, Miss Dove. Lived there all my life until Montague Club.” Devonworth already knew much of his history, so Simon didn’t mind telling it in this company.

“You are very young to have the running of the club, though, aren’t you?” Mrs. Dove asked. She was poking at his story, looking for holes.

“Depends on what you consider to be young, Mrs. Dove.”

“Quite right, I suppose,” she agreed.

“Have you ever traveled, Mr. Cavell?” Miss Dove asked.

“I went to Scotland once. Leigh has a family home there, Blythkirk. He’s recently renovated it with Lady Leigh’s help, and they invited me up for the hunting party when they opened it.”

“Did you like Scotland?” Eliza asked, her eyes bright with interest. “I’ve not yet been there, but I’ve heard it’s a beautiful place.”

“It’s more beautiful a place than any I’ve ever been.” Which wasn’t saying very much considering his only other trip had been an overnight to Kent. “It was peaceful, and I never knew the sky could be so big.” He’d wanted to stay there longer.

“Did you hunt?” Miss Dove asked.

He shook his head. “I’m not much of a huntsman.” The trip had been his only real encounter with nature. He’d not seen the need to destroy it, when it had given him so much peace.

“No, but as I recall you were quite the marksman,” Devonworth put in. “Outshot everyone with targets.”

“Is that right?” Mrs. Dove asked, impressed.

Simon glanced up and caught Eliza staring at him.

She held his gaze as the conversation continued.

The women switched to asking about Montague Club again.

His answers were aided by Devonworth, who also had some familiarity with the club.

The entire time, Eliza watched him. Her gaze bordered on adoring, and he had to force himself not to look at her.

Half agony, half hope.