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Unable to sit still while she spoke out loud for the first time where her thoughts had led her, she stood and walked around the settee as she continued. Of course, being a gentleman, Mr. Mallory stood as well.
She looked over at him and stared him straight in the eye. “I have never stolen anything in my life.”
She continued her stroll around the settee. “My landlady, Mrs. O’Leary was lurking about outside the hat factory where I worked as I left that day. She seemed so sweet and caring and what I had seen as a godsend at the time was, I believe, the beginning of my ordeal.”
Lizbeth began to feel silly with Mr. Mallory standing and her meandering around the settee. Perhaps if they did have tea, or brandy for Mr. Mallory, she would be able to sit still.
“Mr. Mallory may I offer you some brandy? I think I will send for tea for myself.”
“Yes. But first I have a request.”
Lizbeth walked to the brocade bell pull to ring for tea. “What is that?”
“Please call me Marcus. When someone addresses me as Mr. Mallory, I always feel the need to turn to see if my father is standing behind me.”
Lizbeth laughed. Something she hadn’t done in a long while. Indeed, Mr. Mallory—Marcus—did put her at ease. Providing he kept his distance. “Yes, I understand. Then you have my permission to call me Lizbeth.”
Grossman arrived at the door to the drawing room. “You rang, Miss Davenport?”
“Yes. Please have tea brought in.” She turned and looked at Marcus who was now leaning against the fireplace mantel, his arms crossed. He looked like a man who would always welcome food. “And some sandwiches, as well,” she added.
For the first time since she’d been taken from her room at the boarding house, she felt as though she could speak of her nightmare to someone. As much as she loved Pamela, it would have no doubt upset her greatly to hear the entire tale of what she’d gone through.
Marcus looked like the sort of person who could listen and keep her from crying while she told the story. He certainly had broad enough shoulders. His chiseled, handsome features spoke of strength, and his whiskey-colored eyes viewed her with sympathy and understanding, not pity.
His fine clothing and a bit-too-long wavy brown hair looked very much like some of the men she’d encountered at the brothel, but something good and kind was in those eyes that set him apart from the others.
“Please feel free to help yourself to a brandy.” She nodded toward the sideboard. “I have quite a bit to say.”
4
Lizbeth and Marcus spoke of other, inane things while he sipped his brandy, and she awaited the tea.
She was still confused by this man. Although he was working on a Parliamentary bill about forced prostitution, why he involved himself in rescuing her was where the puzzle started. Once her release had been completed, most men would have bowed politely and then moved on to other things in their life. But not Marcus. He offered to ask his sister to provide housing for her.
Now he was here, not just delivering the missive from his sister, but asking about her ordeal. Where once she’d been a very trusting person—which was why she accepted Mrs. O’Leary’s offer of a room—she now examined everyone and every comment with an eye toward deception.
What, exactly, was Marcus intending to get out of this? Was it a titillation for him to hear her story, or did he need to add more information to help persuade the House of Commons to pass his bill? Did he think because she’d been ruined that she would make him a fine mistress?
Once the tea tray was carried in by the footman, she fixed a cup to her liking, and offered Marcus a plate of sandwiches.
She took a sip of the soothing beverage and placed the cup carefully in the saucer. “I should probably backtrack a bit on how I came to be in Bath. I was born and raised in a small town in Somerset where I lived with my parents and two brothers. Both younger than me.”
She rubbed her arm, the sad part of the story still upset her. “Four years ago, Papa came home from his office one day and said he didn’t feel well.” She stopped and looked at Marcus. “Influenza.”
Marcus winced.
“Yes. Within three weeks the entire family—except me—was dead.”
Marcus sucked in a deep breath. “I am so sorry.”
Lizbeth took in a shuddering breath and continued. “Yes. Well, I thought that was the worst thing that could ever happen to me, being left alone in the world, since the only other family I have is in America. But I was wrong. I sold my Papa’s house and used the funds to move to Bath. After living on my own for those four years, barely making ends meet, I was—as I told you before—fired for stealing a brooch.”
“And that is when your landlady spoke with you outside your employment?”
Lizbeth nodded. “I thought at the time that it was fortunate for me that she was in the right place at the right time. She offered me the use of one of the rooms in her boarding house for free.”
Marcus placed his now empty glass on the table next to him. “Let me guess. You’ve come to believe she was purposely awaiting you outside the hat factory.”
