Nothing happened all night long. Liz dozed in and out of wakefulness. When the door opened and a young maid brought in a tray of breakfast, Liz felt exhaustion linger. At least they had brought her fine food, as fine as this establishment offered, she guessed. And then another young girl, dark hair tied back with a bit of string at the base of her neck, brought in a gown with some underthings for her to wear. She said, “I am to help you get ready, miss.” She smiled, probably assuming this to be a happy occasion.
“Thank you.”
“I am accomplished in many of the latest styles for hair; I’m working to become a lady’s maid for some of the local gentry.” She stood proudly.
Liz wasn’t sure how to explain the situation.
The old woman grunted and rose from her chair. She moved slowly in obvious discomfort. “I’ll be leaving you to your preparations now. Don’t be trying anything with the window and I won’t have to return.”
Liz ate as quickly as she could. Then she turned to her maid, who was laying pieces out on the bed. “Let’s finish this as quickly as possible.”
The maid grinned, a small pink coloring her cheeks. “Anxious to get married, I gather. Such an exciting time. You will be a beautiful bride.”
Liz shook her head. She spoke in a low voice. “If I were to do this, I’d be marrying the most disgusting person of my acquaintance. He is forcing my hand, holding me captive here, in this room.”
The maid’s eyes grew wider and wider, and her face paled. “You don’t want to be getting married?”
Liz shook her head.
“But that nice man, Lord Pinweather, told me all sorts of wonderful things about you. Maybe you misunderstand. He loves you dearly. Been following you around since you were little. Came all the way over here from England.” She clucked her tongue. “Don’t you think you should be giving him another look? A man like that, with money even, don’t come walking by every day, you know.” She nodded as though her wisdom were of the ages.
Frustrated, Liz just stepped forward and said, “Let’s get this going, then, shall we?”
Smiling, likely thinking she had saved a love-filled wedding, the girl worked efficiently until Liz looked fresh and clean and even lovely in her supposed wedding-day attire.
But where was her rescue?
Liz cleared her throat. “I don’t know your name.”
“Oh, of course. I’m sorry.” The maid’s curtsy was a bit awkward and lopsided, but it was a good effort. “Tracey.”
“Pleased to meet you, Tracey. I am Lady Elizabeth Davenport.”
Her eyes widened again. “You’re a real lady? Like royalty?”
“I am. And Lord Pinweather—he’s not the prince for me.”
“His teeth are a bit forward, but I wouldn’t let a thing like that get in your way, seeing how nice he is.”
“I have some friends coming. They might want to see the wedding, participate . . .” A new idea struck. “Perhaps even join us in a church.” She lifted her eyes in a pleading way. “Do you know if we will be married in a church? No one has told me a thing, you see.”
“I haven’t heard. But I can put in a good word next I see Lord Pinweather. He is ever so kind.” The girl’s eyes took on a dreamy expression, and if Liz thought such a thing were even possible, she would suspect the girl was becoming enamored with the man.
“I would appreciate it.” She went to the window and was happy to be able to see Mr. Allen’s building on the next street over, up the hill. She pointed to it. “There is a church just up the street there, you see. If I must marry against my will, I could at least have it in a church, make my mother proud . . .”
Tracey nodded. “You should have it in a church. That one is as good as any, and close by. Your Lord Pinweather is most anxious to become married. He was so sweet to provide these clothes for you.”
Liz nodded. “They are lovely. Perhaps, if he wanted, he could come talk to me about the church.”
“I will speak to him.” The proprietary air in which Tracey raised her chin would have been amusing if Lord Pinweather weren’t abhorrent and if he weren’t in the process of abducting his own bride. Liz worried for Tracey a little, but not too much since she was participating in Lord Pinweather’s worst actions.
Once Liz had the room to herself again, she flew to the window once more. Mr. Allen’s church sat like a beacon on the hillside. If only she could get there, she knew she could find a way out of this mess. Help was available. The church bell began to ring, and its clanging sounded more urgent than welcoming. People left their homes in a hurry, rushing to the building. She couldn’t make out any faces, but many of those standing in the doorway of the church appeared to be men. The doors opened, and they went inside.
Her bedroom door opened, and Lord Pinweather stepped in, closing it behind him.
“What are you doing in here?” she demanded.
“I heard you wished to have a word . . . about a wedding present of some sort?” His eyes gleamed.
“Well, open the door at least. Have you no care for propriety? For my honor?”
“You are such a dove. Of course, if you harbor those girlish dreams, we will not ruin you before the wedding.” He backed up and opened the door. The guards peered in curiously.
“Mind your own business.” Lord Pinweather waved his hand in the guards’ direction.
They immediately averted their eyes, staring at the wall to their front.
Liz could not understand how Lord Pinweather came to have so much control over these men. What did he hold over them, and why did they fear him?
He walked over and sat on the bed, rubbing the coverlet with a half-smile. “We will spend our first night elsewhere, of course, in a beautiful inn on the water, before we set sail to return to England. From what I understand, you traveled in steerage on your first journey.” He shook his head. “That will no longer be your lot. I have reserved the largest cabin for us. You will have the finest of everything.”
She grimaced. Perhaps it looked like a smile. It was the best she could do. “We both know our marriage is not my choice. I am saddened that my parents are not here to attend. And I am not wearing any of my own clothing.”
He frowned.
She tried for a more placating tone. “Though, these clothes are lovely, and it was thoughtful of you to provide a lady’s maid.”
He nodded, his air of benevolence returning.
“But can I not still marry in a church? Must I marry here, in this dirty and awful tavern?”
“I thought it fitting. Your father loves taverns, did you know? Oh, of course you wouldn’t know. Most of his dealings are unfit for feminine ears.”
“Well, as you said, then no, it wouldn’t be fitting for me to marry in one, now, would it?”
Creases formed around his eyes. “I want to do this the right way. I want our love to have the best start . . .”
She forced her expression to remain neutral, nodding encouragement. Heavens, this man was mad.
She moved to the window. “I just heard the church bell, calling people in for services, and I remembered my girlish fancies to be married in a church, to walk down the aisle.” She sighed and fluttered her eyelashes in his direction.
He came to stand by her, and she tried not to flinch when his arm brushed against hers.
The doors to the church opened then, and the men who had flocked to it poured out the front in that moment.
He stepped back. “Gah! They are all colored.”
She tilted her head. “Well, of course they are. It is Mr. Allen’s church; he is a freed black man.”
His eyes narrowed. “Friend of yours? Planning some kind of escape, are you?”
“He doesn’t even know I’m here. How could he? It is simply the nearest church and the only one I can see from my window.”
She clenched her fists in hope, but Lord Pinweather had stepped away. “You’ll have to be happy with the tavern. If it makes you feel better, I’ve asked the keeper to clean up the main corridor.” He walked out of the room without another word.
She fell into her chair. For a moment she had thought her plan would work. If she could just get out of this tavern, move somewhere with other people, brave people, then maybe she would have some help.
A large group of men still gathered in front of the church, and they all faced the tavern. She opened her window to wave at them, hoping to get their attention. To her surprise, they all lifted their hands in her direction. They had been watching her window. She wondered what plans they had, and her hope to escape raised a few notches.
Sooner than she would like, the elderly woman who had guarded her window opened the door. Gone was the knitting, and her face was washed clean. She wore cleaner clothes.
“Come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
Only silence responded.
Liz followed her down the stairs and into the great room, which had been cleaned as promised, and fresh flowers sat on the front table. At the head of the room, Lord Pinweather stood in finer clothes than before, with a crisp cravat and shiny hessians, so different from any of the others in attendance.
Liz was surprised at the full room. All of Lord Pinweather’s men were seated in chairs. They too looked as though they had washed up for the occasion. Tracey and the other women who no doubt worked at the tavern all sat together. And at the back of the room, a row of black men stood. She widened her eyes in hope, but they stared blankly back.
“Slaves,” the old knitting woman murmured. “Boss keeps them to help grow the food for this place.”
The old woman led Liz to the front, placed her next to Lord Pinweather, and sat in the front row, leaning forward as if to jump in to correct Liz if she made a false move.
Well, the woman could expect many wrong moves. Liz was not marrying Lord Pinweather.
“Welcome, Lady Elizabeth.” He reached for her hand, clasping it in his own, but he surprised her and led her to a table covered in three piles of papers.
“Before we begin, there are some papers I need you to sign.”
“What for? I thought my father did this.”
“He did, but I thought, for some of this, you would want to make your own decisions, speak for yourself.” His eyes sparked with challenge. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Suspicious, she nodded.
He gestured for her to take a seat, sat across from her, and handed her a quill. The first page read like gibberish to her, naming parties involved in some sort of contract and addressing the fact that her parents weren’t present. A line at the bottom with her name below it indicated she should sign.
“What is this I am to sign?
“Just a document indicating that your parents aren’t here but that you do this with their knowledge and acceptance of my suit as addressed in the papers I signed with your father.”
“If you already signed papers, you would have his consent and this would not be needed, correct?” Her eyes narrowed.
“I did have his permission, of course—you saw and heard it yourself—but since signing, he has revoked his support of my claim.”
Confused, she asked, “And what claim is that?”
He faltered a moment. “To your hand, of course.” Then he stopped and stammered, “What I mean is my claim to your property. He no longer accepts my claim to your inheritance—just your hand.”
Suspicious, she watched him. None of this made any sense to her. Again this mysterious inheritance. What inheritance? Were it only to be true, she could use a good inheritance. She wished she had some way of inquiring about it. She could only wish someone who knew would have explained. Oh, to be an heiress. Smirking at her own thoughts, she read over the paper again.
“So my father willfully gives me away in marriage but refuses to include my inheritance?”
“Yes, an inheritance that was previously promised.”
“I was under the impression that you were paying to wed me, that my dowry was not required.”
Lord Pinweather clenched his fists. “That was all with the understanding that your inheritance would be mine.”
She laughed. “But Lord Pinweather. I do not have an inheritance.” She shook her head and felt no pity for him. Perhaps he would give up his suit.
“Don’t try to hide it from me. I have spoken with your father’s solicitor. I know it exists. Your mother has escaped to Wales with hers.”
His words intrigued her, and she remembered again her mother’s letter. Could Liz have such a mysterious inheritance? And how would she obtain such a blessing? “I feel you are not thinking clearly, Lord Pinweather. Perhaps a bit of rest by the fire would be just the thing. I have nothing to offer you but my wages as a housekeeper. Though, I am loathe to give them up, as they are worth far more to me than any inheritance. I earned them myself.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t try to fool me. Sign these first papers. You agree that you are marrying me, even with your parents not present.”
She lifted her quill and dipped it into the ink. Lord Pinweather leaned forward, watching her hand, and when she hesitated and backed up a little, his gaze followed her movement. She stopped. “What does the next paper describe?”
“Confound it. Just sign the papers! We haven’t got all day, now, do we?”
“Well, why haven’t we? Do you have somewhere pressing you must be on this fine day in Philadelphia? A tenant, perhaps, who needs your time? No? Well, if I’m to be forced to wed and sign documents, I at least want to understand what they say.”
“You will not have that luxury, but feel free to glance through the second set, if you will.” He leaned back in his chair, toying with his timepiece.
She skimmed over the words, most of them unclear to her. But she thought she understood the general idea. “This document would sign over my inheritance to you, with all of my worldly possessions, upon the date of our marriage and my reaching the age of eighteen.” Nothing was making very much sense to Liz. It all looked official. Her father’s solicitor had signed it. Lord Pinweather had signed it.
“Why is my signature required? Wouldn’t this be the case with any marriage? All the worldly goods of one party going to the other?”
“The woman’s possessions go to the man, yes.” He loosened his cravat. “This is standard procedure and will allow me to travel with you back to England.”
And now she knew he was lying to her. She had traveled alone without any other kind of paperwork before. She tried to understand what was really going on. “Perhaps if I just sign over this supposed inheritance, I can be free of our marriage agreement.”
His eyes gleamed with too much greed, and he turned behind him to a man standing at the side of the room. He shook his head subtly, but Liz saw it. “Who are you?” she demanded. “Some form of barrister? A solicitor yourself?”
He cleared his throat and glanced at Lord Pinweather, then back at Liz. “I am a local lawyer, yes. Paid to aid in this legal situation of your assets and marriage to Lord Pinweather.”
“And why are your services needed?”
“Your case is a rather complicated one. The inheritance will only become available upon your eighteenth birthday—”
“Then, there is an inheritance?” She crossed her arms and glared at Lord Pinweather. “And how is it that you know this?”
Lord Pinweather said, “I had copies of the documentation given to me by your father. As I said, he promised the money to me. I made decisions, took risks with the understanding that I would be receiving it. And then he bloody went under and took his partners with him. And I’m left with nothing but a promise”—he leaned toward her—“which you will fulfill.”
“Then, you are just marrying her for her money?” Tracey piped up from the back. The old knitting lady shushed her, but Tracey’s eyes sparked in indignation.
Liz stood. “Money I don’t even possess. He has been had—another trick by my father to lure people in, to get them to gamble away their fortunes. Apparently he was quite good at it.”
She faced Lord Pinweather. “I truly am sorry for the manner in which you have been deceived. But there is no money.”
“Then, you won’t have any trouble signing the papers.” He pushed the papers toward her, his eye twitching.
She picked up her pen again. “Let’s draw up a new agreement. You get my inheritance, and I marry whom I wish.”
“You are in no position to make alternate agreements. This is the one we will go by. Now, sign. I tire of your curiosity, your games. Sign now, or we move forward in a less comfortable and amiable manner.” Lord Pinweather wiped his brow with a handkerchief. He pulled out his timepiece again.
She dipped her pen again and paused, nervous about the frantic movement of his eyes, the intent gaze by all in the room on her fingers. Did they all stand to benefit? She had never felt so confused.
A loud banging sounded on the door, shaking it in its frame.
Lord Pinweather shouted, “Nobody move. We are not expecting visitors.”
“Open up. It’s the police.”
Liz puffed out the breath she was holding. Could she be saved?
The knitting lady stood. “I’m not keeping out the police, money or no.”
When she had unlatched the door, it swung open to the sunlight glaring off the water, lighting from behind a crowd on the step.
A woman stepped gently in. “Sarah Allen, if you please.” She nodded to all in the room.
Liz grinned, liking the looks of her.
Richard himself followed behind, wearing his pastor’s clothing, with a high white collar. The police officer entered, and behind him limped a tattered and beaten Oliver Crowley.
Liz gasped. “Oliver!”
He waved at her to stay put. She thought he may have winked, but his one eye was swollen closed and his face was a bit disfigured, so it was difficult to tell. Hope poured in. Surely they would not make her marry or sign papers she did not understand, not with keepers of the law present.
Mr. Allen cleared his throat. “You are having a wedding ceremony?” His eyebrows lowered in disapproval as he scanned the dark room.
Lord Pinweather stood. “We are, yes, and I am certain you were not invited.”
“On the contrary.” Mrs. Allen stepped to Liz’s side. “We are guests of the bride.”
Liz nodded. “They are personal friends. Mr. Allen is the pastor of the church I mentioned. And I am certain he will be able to communicate the proceedings today to all of my family and friends who were unable to attend.” She didn’t know if Lord Pinweather still cared at all about his reputation, but it couldn’t hurt to remind him that any witnesses would be able to report back to the members of the ton or to her mother. She had little faith in her father. And suddenly she felt a lump in her throat. All the horror of the past few days, really the past week, with the departure of Lord Barton and then her own capture and the prospect of a forced marriage to a loathsome man finally caught up to her. With the arrival of some caring souls, the emotion kept carefully at bay crashed around her, and before she could stop them, the tears began to fall.
Her quiet flow of tears dripped to her gown and fell on Mrs. Allen’s hands. “My dear, are you all right?” She turned to her, winked, and then held her face in her hands, fussing over her. “Lord Pinweather, is it? Your bride is unhappy, and now her face is streaking with tears. This will never do. Is there a place she can wash up for her wedding? Every girl wants to look her best, you know.”
Lord Pinweather’s face darkened, but Liz knew he was trapped. The pastor, his wife, and the large crowd of men from his congregation were not in his employ or control. They crowded in and added a blessed balance of goodness to the room.
Liz smiled at the line of three men leaning up against the wall by the door, the beautiful darkness of their skin filling her with hope. Their arms were crossed. They were big, burly men, soft around the eyes but frowning in their solid stance. Their message was clear: We support Pastor Allen. And he supported her. The nearest man winked at her too.
“Come, my dear.” Mrs. Allen wrapped an arm around her back and led her down the back passageway.
The old knitting lady followed. “I’ll show you to the kitchen. She can get a small basin in there.”
As soon as they turned the corner, Mrs. Allen said, “Come with me, out the back door. We’ll get you away from here, and then you must run and hide. Lord Pinweather controls this neighborhood; he’s been paying people off. I think he means to start gaming hells and other places of disrepute.”
The knitting lady frowned, then rested a hand on Liz’s arm. “I am sorry to have kept you here as long as we did. I didn’t fully understand the situation.”
Liz wiped at her face. “Thank you, oh, thank you.” She pulled her former captor into a tight embrace.
The old lady squeezed her for a moment and then pushed her away gently. “Now, hurry. I’ll cover for you as long as I can.”
“But where can I hide?”
Mrs. Allen placed a hand on her arm. “Don’t worry. My husband has plans of his own to distract them.” She grinned, a proud twinkle lighting her eyes.
Liz pulled her tightly in an embrace. “Thank you. I had nowhere to turn. I was trapped.”
“You will find our people know how that feels.”
Liz’s tears returned. “Slavery is so immeasurably worse. I am so sorry any human has to live like that.”
“I know you are, my dear. When you are finally free of this terror and have your life back—”
“If only.”
“You will rise again. Things will work out; you’ll see. And when they do, consider your own position as a woman, consider how it was you who ended up in such a position, without recourse or ability to change your situation. Your father picked your abominable fiancé and trapped you legally into an alignment with him. Consider what all this has done to you, and work for change.”
Liz had thought of the injustice of her situation many times. But until this moment, she hadn’t thought anything could be done to correct women’s positions in the world.
Mrs. Allen opened the back door, but before they passed through it, Liz turned and hugged the knitting lady again. “Thank you.” She squeezed her.
When she pulled away, the woman wiped moisture from her eyes. “Be off with you.”
As she closed the door, the men’s voices carried to her in song. And she grinned, wondering just what they had planned for Lord Pinweather. She was sure it would be enlightening.
Outside, in the shadow of the tavern, Mrs. Allen rushed forward, pulling Liz after her. “We must hurry. We have no time.”
As soon as they passed through the back alley behind the tavern and onto the street, a hackney carriage pulled up. “Get in.”
They moved as quickly as they could through the narrow streets and hills of Philadelphia. Mrs. Allen looked behind them often enough that Liz became more anxious. “Is anyone following us?”
“Not yet, but child, even though we were able to get you out of there, my husband and I and our congregation are not the best people to harbor or hide others. We are looked at with suspicion and under attack ourselves. Have you no one among the gentry who could hide you until you find safe passage away?”
“Away? Must I leave?”
“Or hide so long that Lord Pinweather leaves, but he has a strong footing here now, and people will be watching for you.”
Dread filled her. “Will I never be free from him?”
She clucked her tongue. “Not until you marry someone else. I’ve never seen such a determined man.”
“He says he wants my inheritance, but I don’t think I have one. I think I would have been told long before now, or I’d know how to access it. Even if I did, it’s likely my father spent it all and now uses it as a lure to convince disgusting men to marry me.” She choked and brought a hand to her mouth, squeezing her eyes tight.
Mrs. Allen patted her back. “Let’s go back to Barton House, but just long enough to gather your things and for you to talk to the staff about the situation. They’d best be on alert.”
They pulled in front of the house within moments, and Liz ran through the front door, Mrs. Allen following soon after.
Fenley stopped her, pulling her into a tight embrace. “You have returned.”
Liz drank in the security of his strong embrace, then pulled away. “Thank you for being such a dear friend though all of this.”
He nodded. “What do you need?”
She explained the situation in as few words as possible, and Marjorie gasped from the corridor. “Well, if that don’t beat all. If I ever see that Lord Pinweather, you can believe he will hear just what I think of the way he is treating you.”
Franny approached. “You received some correspondence while you were gone.”
Liz took the letter from Franny. “Oh yes, it looks like it was misdirected at first.”
Written on the outside was a misdirection in her mother’s penmanship, and in someone else’s hand were further directions on how to find Barton House. Grateful for the kindness of whoever had corrected the error, she opened the missive quickly.
My Darling,
I bring you excellent news amidst all that is so troubling. You are free. You may do as you wish. Your father can have no hold over you once you have this knowledge.
Three weeks after you left, the solicitor approached me. He had been visiting your father. They had exchanged heated words, and when he exited, the solicitor handed me a note and stomped to the front door, slamming it behind him.
I took to my room to read his missive. He asked me to come to the office the next day. When I did so, what he disclosed astounded me. I have an inheritance that comes to me through a female line. I had never heard of such a thing. And yet it was true. Apparently your father knew and never told me. In the marriage agreement, all my worldly assets became Father's except for this one inheritance. The solicitor said my mother knew of it but had little use for it, and in fact, they considered it inconsequential, knowing I was so well provided for in all ways.
Your father tried to force the solicitor’s hand, tried to gain access to my funds. I have a new gratitude for this solicitor, for he never found a way for your father to pilfer what was not his.
But for the solicitor, I would never have known it even existed. I suppose I knew of some property in Wales that belonged to us, knew I had something, but your father always discounted it as nothing, complained of that dratted property he was now forced to maintain. I had no idea he hid its great wealth from me.
So you are free, my darling. It becomes yours on your eighteenth birthday, which should be in just a few months’ time from your receiving this letter.
Liz reached for Fenley, squeezing his arm. “I am an heiress.”
“What? How can that be possible?”
“Well, you do know I am not Heidi, the housekeeper, yes?”
She looked from Marjorie to Fenley and back. Franny raised a hand to her mouth. “You aren’t? Well, who are you, then?”
She curtsied in her most noble gesture to them all. “I am Lady Elizabeth, daughter of Lord Davenport, Marquess of Pinguitch.
The ladies’ mouths fell open, and Fenley’s eyes twinkled.
She reread through her letter. Then she turned to Mrs. Allen. “This changes everything.”
“May I?” Mrs. Allen read through the details. “How old are you, child?”
“I will be eighteen in three weeks.”
“So the money will be available to you then?”
“Yes.” She stood taller. “And I know where I must go.”
***
They pulled up in front of the Smithsons’ home. They had always been kind to Liz. She knew Lord Barton would have conducted business with them and that he trusted them. She took a deep breath and turned to Mrs. Allen. “Thank you for coming with me. And for all you and your husband have done for me.”
“I am honored to be a part of it. When I heard what they were trying to do to a fellow woman, against her wishes, I knew we must be involved.” She patted Liz’s cheek. “Our congregation has loved you since you helped dear Jeremy when the captain was after him. He holds a special place among our people. We’d like to buy back his freedom.”
“Can such a thing be done?” Liz did not understand how such things worked.
“Certainly, if the owner is willing. For a price.”
“Then, I shall do it myself. Though, I think he might stay on the ship and stick with the captain. They seem to be a family of sorts, don’t they?”
Mrs. Allen smiled. “They do. I think you are right. But the child needs to know he is free.” A fire flashed in her eyes, and Liz knew Mrs. Allen had tempered her tongue.
Liz nodded. “He shall be free. I am certain Lord Barton would agree. He will not want slaves aboard his ship.”
They walked up to the front door of the large home. White pillars stood along the front, and rolling hills spread out behind, decorated with a tree now and then, the last leaves of fall lingering on, as though they were afraid to give up and drop.
The Smithsons’ butler answered the door and led them into the parlor, where they all took a seat.
As soon as her dear friends heard Liz’s situation, they insisted she stay with them.
Mrs. Smithson said, “I knew there was more to you than you let us see. How lovely to have a real English noblewoman stay with us.”
Liz smiled. “It is not all that different from having a housekeeper stay with you, I’m afraid.”
They all laughed.
Mr. Smithson held up his glass. “This is a gift of fate, the way I see it. I’m trying to get that Lord Barton of yours to join with me. Our combined fleet, goals, and resources would push us to the forefront of Philadelphia’s shipping and trade.”
“I am sure she would love to hear all about it over dinner tonight, my dear.” Mrs. Smithson’s eyes showed compassion, and Liz grinned.
Then their hostess turned to Mrs. Allen. “We owe so much to the Allens. How long have you been married to Pastor Allen?”
“We are an interesting couple, are we not?” Mrs. Allen lifted the corner of her mouth. “We met shortly after we were both freed as slaves, working for the freedom of others.”
“Slavery is the worst abomination I have seen.” Mrs. Smithson frowned. “I am absolutely an abolitionist.”
“We will not rest until black men, women, and children can live here, in their country, as free people.”
Mrs. Smithson’s eyes were warm and caring as she looked at Liz. “And now, Mrs. Allen and our dear Richard risked themselves and their congregation to help you.” She turned to Mrs. Allen. “We must see what we can do to lend our help and protection where you are all concerned.”
Mrs. Allen’s smile grew. “We would appreciate it. Not all in our congregation are free; many slaves from the city attend on Sundays. And we are viewed with a good amount of suspicion and disdain. Any help you can bring would be welcome.”
Without even a pause Mrs. Smithson responded, “Absolutely. You have our full support. We planted ourselves here in Philadelphia because we hoped to avoid slavery and all its trappings.”
Mrs. Allen stood taller. “We thank you. Now, if you could spare a carriage ride, I will return to my husband. I am sure he is finished with Lord Pinweather and might need a bit of my help.”
“We’d be happy to.” Mr. Smithson left the room to call for the carriage.
Liz said goodbye to Mrs. Allen, squeezing her tightly. “Thank you. Please give my love to Mr. Allen also. You are to be commended for your work here. I only hope to aid you in whatever ways are available to me.”
“The people here could use your assistance. They are desperate.” Mrs. Allen searched Liz’s face and gave her a kind smile.
Then Mr. Smithson returned, and they exited the front door together as he said, “Allow me to come with you, in case there is any problem.”
Liz’s heart warmed. “Thank you; you are the best of people.”
“It is only what any person of sense would do,” he said gruffly.
But Liz knew not everyone held his words to be true. As she watched them enter the carriage and returned to the house with Mrs. Smithson, she admitted to herself that she would never have offered such assistance just six months ago.
Mrs. Smithson asked her own housekeeper to show Liz to a guest room, where Liz gratefully lay down to rest before she would join the Smithsons again for dinner.
Her mind still reeled over everything that had transpired since she left home. She, an heiress? How could this even be? How had her father not been able to find a way to confiscate all the funds? She felt no small measure of gratitude that her mother’s inheritance was still intact. Liz must go to her mother. As soon as the threat of Lord Pinweather faded away, she would travel to Wales, and they would discuss what could be done.
The scandal surrounding their name wouldn’t have concerned her too much, except in the way it affected her mother. Liz had all but destroyed her own name and reputation by running away and pretending to be a housekeeper, not to mention spending time with Lord Barton in a jolly boat. She could always return to America, but her mother loved their life in England—at least she had. But now, if all her friends were stripped from her and she was living in isolation in Wales, Liz wasn’t sure how she fared.
The scandal had another devastating effect. Lord Barton.
She couldn’t think about him, the resulting ache too great to bear. But she couldn’t resist wondering whether—if she approached him with her title and an inheritance, free to make her own choices—he would be willing to overlook whatever scandal surrounded her family. She assumed that before, living in Philadelphia, he could have overcome her father’s reputation, especially as a second son. But not with his new responsibility as the marquess, situated right in the heart of London. Associating with scandal would ruin him. Her mother’s first letter indicated she had received the cut direct from all the important families, and when Lord Barton had all of his new responsibility to concern himself with and a promised fiancée on top of it all, Liz just didn’t think she could present herself in any way that would be enticing to him. Even if he still harbored any kind of romantic feelings for her, they could not possibly be strong enough to weather what a relationship with her would entail. Even an acknowledgment of her would have dire repercussions for him.
He had been about to say something to her during their final waltz, something heartfelt and important. Dancing at that servants’ ball had felt like the wonderful moments of romance she had only read about. As he’d held her in his arms, dancing a waltz, everyone else had blurred to invisible, lost behind the emotion shining in his eyes. His arms around her had felt like a grand completion, filling all the lost and lonely moments in her life.
But she had lost him. Before she’d even had him, she had lost him. She clenched her fists. To a title, to his brother’s old fiancée.
At least she would be free to live her life in the way she wanted. Money could do much for a person’s situation. Remembering the awful time she’d spent in steerage on the ship, Liz shuddered. She would have the means to care for herself, and the freedom that accompanied that thought brought an immeasurable relief she’d never known she could feel. It rose within her in a great, exhilarating rush of emotion she could only define as joy. For the first time, as she considered her life, she knew she could do whatever she wanted with it. She was not dependent on the goodwill of anyone else. She could work, be industrious. Or not. She could relax, travel. She could marry. Lord Barton’s strong frame came to her mind, and she pushed the thought away. She didn’t have to marry, and when she thought of Lord Pinweather, the freedom not to marry made her the happiest of all. She certainly didn’t have to accept a suit from someone like Lord Pinweather. If the shunning from Society was as bad as her mother had explained, Liz would likely have to marry below her class or marry someone here, in America. Or she could live alone. And she was grateful for the choice.
But her heart ached for Lord Barton.