He hated to treat his friends so but they had to keep up appearances for the moment. They did not want to attract any unwanted attention just yet. Darius had intended for the Duke of Penfold to sweat a little before a meeting happened between them.
“You left your tree saw in the snow,” he told her, unable to think of anything else unimportant to say.
She waved a gloved hand in his direction. “I’ll find it tomorrow.”
“I don’t think it likely you’ll be traipsing about tomorrow to find your tree or your saw.”
She puffed up like an offended hen at his words, still giving no indication at all that she knew who he truly was or why he was there. He was about to call in a debt that would send her father further than the poor house. He took in her flat, lifeless hair, her worn coats and holey gloves and prayed Penfold had some blunt. By the looks of his daughter, it didn’t appear so.
“I was not traipsing. Ladies do not traipse. I was looking for the perfect Christmas tree.”
“A rather odd tradition if you ask me.”
“A good thing I didn’t ask you then, isn’t it?”
Darius shook with silent laughter as a foreign lightness filled his chest. She was refreshing, he’d give her that. Perhaps the pretentious child he remembered was gone? All those years ago she’d lifted her nose in his direction when he’d come closer to take her reins and lead her horse to his grandfather’s stables. He supposed he’d have lifted his nose too. As a child turning into a man, he’d been a hellion and dirty and stinky as well. Who needed to bathe when you were a stable lad? He’d certainly not entertained the idea much in those days.
“Will someone be searching for you yet?” he asked with a change of subject.
“I doubt it,” she admitted with a sigh. “The children will be busy fetching the decorations from the attics.”
“Children? Yours?”
She turned a lovely shade of pink and her lips formed an ‘oh’ before she huffed again. “Not my children. The children. My brothers and sisters. They are waiting for a tree.”
“I’ve not seen a tree decorated before.” Christmas aboard ship was just another day to the sailors. The most he’d ever celebrated had been a tankard of stolen rum if one of the lads happened to recall the date.
Her gaze lifted and met his, her blue eyes wide and genuine in her surprise. “Never?”
“Not exactly a worldly tradition, is it?”
Eliza looked away and leaned over her turned ankle. “My mother saw it while on her honeymoon trip on the continent. My father loved how happy it made her so he had ornaments crafted and, on their first anniversary, gifted her with a tree and decorations. It has been a tradition in our home ever since.”
“Very romantic,” Darius replied, crossing his arms and leaning back against the sofa. There was no scorn or censure in his tone. He truly thought the idea had merit and had he loving parents to share those kinds of traditions with, he would have been a happier child.
“My father cared for my mother very much in his own way.”
“How long has she been gone?” He shouldn’t ask but the sadness on her face in those moments made him long to offer comfort.
“Too long,” Eliza said, her sadness deepening. But then she blinked several times and seemed to recall where she was and with whom she spoke. “Enough of that—why do you only have men living in your house?”
Her eyes expressed that she had jumped to only one conclusion and he wouldn’t have it. “I have advertised for a housekeeper and maids but we haven’t been here long.” More lies.
“Rumour has it that you suddenly found funds enough to buy a house and then filled it with vagabond friends and stolen treasures.”
Darius smiled. “Rumours have a nasty way of leaving out the truth, I’ve found. Friends they are; vagabonds they are not.” He spoke nothing of treasures.
“How very peculiar.”
“I’ve fought with these same men at my back for countless years. I trust them with my life and with my secrets. Can you say the same of your servants, Eliza?”
“You may continue to address me as Miss Penfold,” she told him but her evasion gave him his answer.
Once again Darius got the distinct feeling he’d hit upon a raw nerve but every time she had something to hide or perhaps needed a way to conceal the emotion in her gaze, she lowered her eyes to her lap. It was frustrating. He didn’t like it at all.
Wiggins, his butler and valet for the moment, entered the room with a cold compress on a silver salver and offered it to his guest. Eliza took it in her hands and offered her thanks but didn’t move to apply it to her injury.
“It won’t work in your fingers, miss,” Wiggins pointed out as he stood back, his bushy brows high.
Barely holding back another chuckle, Darius tried to explain. “I believe the lady would like some privacy to remove her shoe.”
“It’s only a bloody shoe,” Wiggins shot back. “Not like she has to take her whole bleeding dress off or nuffing.”
Warm colour flooded Eliza’s pale cheeks and a small smile stretched her lips, though that she also attempted to hide.
“Out,” Darius ordered him with a nod, back the way he’d entered.
“Strange lot these English,” Wiggins muttered before closing the door on prying eyes and cold draughts.
But now he was alone with her and that
