Chapter 1
Mayfair, London
Elijah Norton sipped his small ale, watching his eldest brother, Sir Harry Walters, and his bride.
Lady Matilda, daughter of the Earl of Darby, was finally Lady Walters.
The couple were dancing, following a short ceremony and a huge wedding breakfast. She wore an exquisite gown of pale rose with an overlay of cream Italian lace, her blond waves upswept, and tiny red gems flashing as she moved.
Eli almost hadn’t recognized Harry this morning in his fine deep blue tails and matching trousers, a blue and gray striped waistcoat, and his black hair combed back.
He wasn’t sure if the ton usually had dancing at their wedding celebrations. But he and his brothers had been raised in an Irish household where any celebration included music and dancing. No one seemed appalled by the activity or Nora’s accompanying violin.
It was early afternoon, and the Irish whiskey flowed, the shoes tapped to a country dance, and smiles were the order of the day.
Eli had been wary of how this day would turn out, mixing nobles with commoners.
When Lord Darby had entered the church, the earl had heartily shaken his future brother-in-law’s hand and announced loudly that he couldn’t be happier for his sister.
Eli had breathed a sigh of relief. The beau monde was a fickle group. But Lady Matilda, er, Lady Walters, was a prime article. A pretty face, a clever mind, and a patient temperament. Saints save her, for she’d need patience with the O’Brien clan.
“Not a dancing man, I see,” said Lord Darby, taking an empty chair next to him. He had the same blond good looks as his sister. His wife, an auburn-haired beauty, was across the room talking to Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien.
“Only in the privacy of the O’Brien parlor,” Eli said with a grin. “I was born with the terrible affliction of two left feet.”
“It’s surprising how many poor souls are born with such a deformity.” They sat in silence for a bit, then Darby asked, “Have you met my friend Lord Tamber?”
“The earl with the black hair who’s been ogling Honora?”
Darby laughed. “Yes, that’s him. Your sister is quite stunning. I can’t blame him.”
“She’s an actress, you know. Not quite in the same circles, and Nora would never consider being a…”
“No, no, of course not. Tamber values beauty and doesn’t hide his appreciation. He’s a great supporter of the arts, which is why I would like to introduce you to him.” Darby took a sip of his whiskey. “Miss O’Brien said you are quite talented at sketching people.”
Eli’s neck heated in embarrassment. “I’m passable.”
“Your sister used the word brilliant. Mr. O’Brien says you can create someone’s likeness with only a witness’s description. Have you thought of painting professionally when you quit Bow Street?”
“I don’t know if I could make a living off it.
I have considered opening a shop, selling supplies and paints.
Maybe sketch and paint besides.” Eli had more than considered it.
It was his dream. The creation of new colors by mixing a bit of this and that, discovering another shade of blue or green that perfectly matched the model’s eyes.
“Shall I introduce you, then? He understands you’re employed on the Bow Street patrol and is willing to work around your schedule.” Darby waved at Lord Tamber. “Let’s see what he has in mind.”
The Earl of Tamber was a lean man, tall, with dark hair and pale-blue eyes. His smile was infectious, and Eli immediately liked him.
Lord Tamber took the seat vacated by Lord Darby. “My wife and I have decided it is time for a family portrait. Our son is now old enough to sit for short periods of time, and my daughter is but an infant. Lady Tamber suggested finding a new artist, someone who might need a leg up, so to speak.”
“I commend you for supporting London artists, my lord,” agreed Elijah. “I haven’t done anything formal beyond my own family.”
“This will be a great opportunity, then. Just as my wife hoped.” He spoke a bit more about the setting and a price. “I look forward to working with you, Mr. Norton.”
“Thank you. As do I, my lord.” Eli hoped his eyes hadn’t widened too much at the generous amount the earl offered. “I shall see you Thursday next.”
Before Eli could take a breath and consider this new opportunity, Paddy sat beside him, his great paw slapping Elijah’s back. “How did it go, boyo?”
“It seems my hopes for the future may be within reach. A few more wealthy patrons and I’ll have my shop before I’m old and gray.
” Eli let the excitement rush through him, a crooked grin spreading across his face.
“Nora made me sound like Michelangelo. I hope Lord and Lady Tamber aren’t disappointed. ”
“Don’t let da doubt seep in. Ye know what Maggie always says.” Paddy wagged his finger as they both said,
“Every door opens and closes for a reason.”
“And I’ll say it again,” replied Maggie O’Brien from behind.
She bent to kiss her husband on the cheek.
Her round face was flushed with excitement as she smoothed back her graying auburn hair.
“Nora only told da man what is true. Ye’ve been at Bow Street for three years. It’s time to look to da future.”
“It’s da grandchildren ye’re looking to,” he said, winking at Eli. “Did ye see her cry as they said their vows? Saints preserve us when Nora marries.”
Maggie snorted. “I don’t know if that girl will ever marry, but I thank the good Lord every day for my children.
Sam is settled now with Dottie, and Clayton will be married soon to Genie.
I’ll have grandchildren soon enough.” She patted Eli’s cheek.
“I won’t be henpeckin’ ye to put on the leg shackles. ”
“How’s yer grandmother?” asked Paddy. “Maggie says she’s had a chill.”
Elijah nodded, a pang in his chest as he thought of Grandmama sitting alone. “She was disappointed to miss the wedding. Sampson thinks she’ll be fine after some rest. And Maggie’s soup, of course.”
***
Cheapside, London
Elijah set the bowl of soup on the side table, then turned to tuck the quilt around his grandmother. Her cheeks had color again, her hazel eyes brighter. “You look better, Grandmama.”
“Thanks to you, dear boy. How did I manage without you?” she asked, her fingers stroking the silver plait trailing down her shoulder.
“You didn’t need me before,” he replied, kissing the top of her head. “Can I get you anything?”
“Tell Mrs. O’Brien the stew was excellent. I owe her some tarts for her trouble.” She patted Eli’s hand, her eyes traveling up and down his frame. “You’re a fine-looking boy, and I’m proud of you. Your mother would be too.”
His heart skipped a beat when she mentioned his mother.
Losing her at the age of five had been devastating.
He hadn’t understood the finality of death, hoping for the first year with the O’Briens that she would walk through their door.
He used to dream it had been a mistake, she and Pa laughing at the joke they had played on him.
Maggie O’Brien had seen through his smiles and optimism. When the sadness threatened to overtake him, she always seemed to know. Come here, dearest, she would say. I need some comforting today.
Elijah would climb onto her lap or sit next to her on the chaise longue, and she would wrap her arms around him.
He would be enveloped in her love, chasing the uncertainty away, rocking and singing to him as he let the tears silently fall.
Once he had dried his face, she would declare he had made her feel so much better that she must reward him with a biscuit.
They would walk to the kitchen, his small hand in hers, while she chattered away.
Maggie never pushed him to talk about his past but was always there to listen. Even when he told her how he wanted to find his mother’s family.
“I wish you could have known your uncles,” his grandmother said, bringing him back to the present. “They would have loved you like they loved your mother.”
“And I would have loved them,” he repeated for at least the hundredth time. “But what’s more important is that we have each other.”
Elijah’s two uncles had both died in the Second Anglo-Maratha War as the British slowly claimed dominance in India. His grandfather had died shortly before Paddy had discovered Eli’s family. Mrs. Norton had been left with a debt-ridden tavern and no available funds.
A blessing it was, you finding me, she’d said that day three years ago.
She’d known Elijah immediately, stating he was the mirror image of his mother as she cradled his face in her hands.
With her first hug, he had made a silent promise never to let her go.
He loved the O’Briens, no less than he loved Grandmother Norton, but there was something special about looking into someone’s eyes so like his own.
An unspoken connection, an immediate bond of blood and love.
With his position at Bow Street, Eli had managed to find a small place for both of them. The O’Brien clan had swooped in to help, and Maggie O’Brien now stopped by for a weekly tea with Mrs. Norton.
“What are you thinking about?” asked Grandmama quietly.
“Us, our lives the past few years.” He smiled and winked at her. “How lucky I am to have found you.”
“Fate is a funny thing,” she said. “I thought I was alone, destined for the grave sooner than later. Then a knock on my door restored my hope for the future. You’re a good boy, Elijah.”
They sat before the hearth, a cheerful fire cracking and popping to fill the silence.
The faded blue rug beneath them warmed his stockinged feet.
He studied the miniature portraits that lined the mantel.
The family he would never meet. Eli saw his likeness in the faces of his uncles.
The portrait of his mother, who would remain forever young.
“Tell me about the wedding. I want to hear every detail,” said his grandmother. “Harry and his titled lady make such a beautiful couple.”
Eli told her about the ceremony, of the feast afterwards, and the dancing. He described the gowns, his artist’s eye remembering every color and accessory.
Grandmama let out a contented sigh. “The water should be hot by now. Shall I get the tea?”
“I can get it.” Eli went into the kitchen and retrieved the chipped porcelain teapot, one of his grandmother’s prized possessions.
He poured in a bit of steaming water from the copper kettle, swished it around to warm the teapot, then dumped it into the dry sink.
He added tea leaves to the bottom of the pot, then poured more hot water over the leaves and replaced the lid to let it steep.
Maggie had taught all her boys how to make a good pot of tea. Only heathens can't make a good pot o' tea, she always said. There’ll be no heathens under my roof.
He chuckled to himself as he used the nippers to break some sugar off the loaf, placing it in a small bowl with tongs. By the time he carried the tray into the parlor, his grandmother was snoring softly. Should he wake her?
Setting the tray down on the small table between their chairs, he saw Grandmama’s eyelids flutter.
“I told you I could smell a good cup of tea even in sleep,” she said with a smirk as she poured for them.
“When will you tell me about my father?” he asked as he set the tray on another table to make room for the cups. Paddy hadn’t been able to find the man who’d given Eli life. The wretch had used a different name when he “married” Eli’s mother, but he had hoped to learn more from his grandmother.
“I’ll tell you when I have one foot in the grave. I don’t know why you persist in finding him.” Her eyes shone with pain. “He abandoned you both. The lickpenny doesn’t deserve to set eyes on you.”
Eli held back a smile, always amused by his grandmother’s colorful terms when she was agitated. “I want to look him in the eye and tell him I did well despite him. I want him to know how Ma died. I want to know if I have any half sisters or brothers.”
“Yes, yes.” Grandmama sighed, then yawned.
When she looked up at him, her gaze grew hard.
“But you don’t want to find justice. He was the instrument of my girl’s death.
He should be charged with bigamy and transported.
When you decide to do that, then I’ll tell you what I know.
You’re a kind man, Elijah. It suits you, but there are times when a man must harden his heart. ”