Page 21 of Eliza and the Duke
He helped her into the cab and climbed in behind her as he gave the driver their direction. Settling back against the well-worn leather seats, she watched London pass by her window. Thoughts of the viscount faded, and the familiar warmth of excitement burned in her belly as she anticipated the night to come. The sights and sounds and people. She could hardly imagine what she would see.
“Before we arrive, there are a couple of things we need to get settled between us.” Simon’s voice called her back to him. She hadn’t realized how much space he’d take up in the cab. He warmed her entire right side, and her leg was pressed to his. His scent surrounded them, mingling with the leather and stale sweat of prior occupants. The light citrusy smell more than made up for the slight unpleasantness. “I need you topromise to stay at my side the entire time. Do not leave me for a minute. Not even to piss in an alley.”
She smiled to cover her embarrassment, but a laugh escaped her anyway. “I’ll try to hold it.”
“This is no jest, Miss Dove. I need you to understand that there will be danger lurking in the shadows and it won’t hesitate to reach out and grab you if given half a chance.”
He must be exaggerating things, but she nodded anyway and dropped the smile. “I understand, but what do I do if I have to…” She couldn’t say it. “Go to…relieve myself?”
He grinned. “It’ll be in an alley, miss, only I’ll be there with you.”
That did not sound like something she wanted to participate in, so she resolved to indeed hold it even if her bladder burst.
Continuing on with his rules, he said, “We’ll pretend you’re my sweetheart. If we encounter anyone I know, then I’ll say you’re mine. Even among strangers, I’ll keep my hand on you. It’s important that people believe we’re together.”
“Is this your way of saying that you want to hold my hand?” she asked with a smile.
She saw his teeth when he smiled. He looked away before saying, “I’ll be holding your hand and more, possibly. Just be aware.”
“Okay, I’ll be aware. You can hold my hand and more if need be.” A very large part of her was hoping there would be need. The way he’d saidyou’re minewas still echoing inside her. “I was thinking it might be a good idea if I don’t talk very much. I can do a passable English accent. It wouldn’t work for the Queen, but possibly for others.”
“Good. We should come up with another name for you, too.”
“Something common. How about Mary? If I’m your girl, then we don’t need to worry about a last name.”
A shadow passed over his face. “Mary was my sister’s name. How about Anne?”
Was. His sister had died. She felt immediately terrible for even bringing up the name to remind him of his loss. She had a hundred questions about his life, but she couldn’t ask a single one. Not yet. Instead she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Of course, Anne it is.”
He looked past her and out the window. Tall brick buildings lined the street on either side of them. The streets were no longer well-kept, and some of the buildings looked to be badly in need of fresh paint. The farther they drove from Mayfair, the worse it became, until there were whole sections of eaves hanging off or rotting wood that needed to be replaced.
The closer they got to Whitechapel, the tenser he became beside her. It was almost a physical change that came over his face. His jaw tightened and his brows drew together, a permanent crease etched between them. For the first time it occurred to her that this jaunt might cost him more than she realized. Should she say something? Should she tell him that he didn’t have to do this—whatever this was—to himself? She wavered, uncertain whether or not to mention it. And then it was too late. The carriage came to a stop and he reached into the inside breast pocket of his coat and withdrew their fare.
“Oh no, I can pay.” She rifled in the small drawstring bag attached to her wrist.
His eyes widened when he saw it. “Give me that.” He took it away from her before she could argue and stuffed it into his coat. “I’ll pay.” He handed the money up to the driver and the carriage door opened. “Never carry a purse on you here. Keep your money as close to your breast as possible.”
She nodded, embarrassed again that she was doing so terribly on their night out. He climbed out first, helped her down, and then they were alone on a strange street corner in a strange part of a city that she barely knew. It was only in that moment that she understood the deep well of trust she had placed in him. There were no other cabs around. Perhaps they didn’t come to this dark part of the city. She didn’t even know which direction to go to get home. She turned in a small circle. The brick buildings stretched out in either direction, dark and abandoned, or so it seemed.
“This way.” He put a hand on her lower back and shepherded her down the sidewalk to a lighted area up ahead. “This is the hay market on Whitechapel High Street,” he explained. “It’s where most of the nighttime activity is.”
Once they turned the bend in the road, the light became something like a city square. Several cobblestone roads seemed to converge with an island in the middle. Shops and stalls lined each side with crowds of people moving along as if everyone knew exactly where they were going. A church spire rose high up in the distance on the far side. Wagons wound through the chaos, bringing loads of hay for the morning market, their wheels grinding the piles of manure that littered the streets. It made for an almost overpowering smell. Her hand rose to her nose.
At her side, he said, “You’ll get used to it.”
She wasn’t entirely certain that she would, but she wasn’t going to let it stop her. He guided her along, and a hawker called out to them, offering them hot cups of coffee. The next stall offered colorful scarves and fabrics. That was followed by a cart hung with the most terrifying dolls she had ever seen. Their hair was coarse and made of corn husks and dried grasses, their eyes were simple x’s made of black yarn, andtheir dresses made of burlap. “One for your sweetheart,” the woman called out to Simon. He declined and they kept walking.
Across from them, a pub presided over the square. It seemed to be the life of this particular part of the city with a steady stream of people going and coming through its doors. As much as she wanted to see the inside, she wasn’t up for it yet.
Simon guided her to the side, in front of a drapery shop that was closed for the night. A huddled form took refuge on the floor in front of the door, but Simon didn’t seem to pay the person any mind. “What do you want to do first?”
It was almost too much. She didn’t know. The pub later, but she didn’t want to jump headfirst into the belly of the beast. She wanted to ease her way in. A sign across the street caught her eye. The stylized white lettering on a black background named itPenny Amusements. “Let’s go there.”
He agreed and they stepped into the street to cross. It was no easy feat since the wagons seemed to have no interest in stopping for them and the manure was so thick that it took some concentration to find a foothold not covered with it.
“Have you ever been inside? What is it?” she asked.
“It changes to keep customers interested. You never know what you’ll find.”
