Lady Eliot ignored this. ‘And where is the money I gave you for embroidery silks?’
She wondered what her aunt would say if she handed her a packet of silks instead. ‘Here, Aunt.’ She took the coins from her pocket and held them out. Lady Eliot took them with a sniff and counted them. She glared at her niece. ‘You’ll have to go back later. Miss Susan forgot the blues.’
It was the Miss Susan that did it...
Polly opened her mouth, fully intending a polite acquiescence.
‘No.’ It was said before she even knew it was there. She braced herself. It was out and it wasn’t going back. Not if she was now supposed to refer to her cousins as Miss Susan and Miss Mary.
Lady Eliot’s eyes bulged. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said, no, Aunt. I’ve been once, and I’m not going again. Send Susan.’
‘Why you ungrateful, impertinent, little—’
Polly let the storm rage about her. Odd how it didn’t bother her now, when only a day or so ago she would have been close to tears, wondering how to placate her aunt. Now she simply didn’t care.
* * *
Alex followed his faintly offended host along the hallway of the Manor.
‘I cannot think that Lady Eliot will approve this offer, Martindale,’ huffed Sir Nathan. ‘Hippolyta has every comfort here, as well as the countenance and protection of her family.’
‘Of course,’ said Alex. He was half-inclined to make his excuses and leave. Clearly the Eliots were not, after all, trying to shove Polly out the door and he had misinterpreted the situation, placed too much credence in what was, after all, mere gossip. Polly—Miss Woodrowe was likely quite happy with her family and had approached him out of pride—not a sin at all to be encouraged, although he could understand her not liking to be beholden.
And if Sir Nathan’s nose was out of joint, that was as nothing to Lady Eliot’s likely response. At which unwelcome thought he became aware of a strident female voice carrying down the hallway. Someone—apparently a presumptuous, ungrateful viper—was in a deal of trouble. It sounded as though one of the housemaids was being dismissed. Sir Nathan, who was more than a little deaf, appeared not to notice anything unusual, but continued along the hallway to the drawing-room door.
Alex hesitated, but Sir Nathan said, ‘We shall see what her ladyship says,’ and opened the door for him.
‘Lady Eliot, here is Mr Martindale with a most extraordinary proposal.’
‘...ungrateful, shop-bred upstart—’
Lady Eliot’s diatribe was cut off as if by a knife slash.
Alex advanced into the room. Her ladyship sat enthroned in a high-backed chair by the fire, a firescreen embroidered with revoltingly coy nymphs and shepherds protecting her face from the heat. The tea table beside her bore a heavy silver tray with a teapot, creamer, sugar bowl, and a single cup and saucer.
Before her stood Polly, staring at him in obvious shock, and not a housemaid, let alone a miscreant one, in sight.
Alex took a savage grip on his own temper. Lady Eliot had been berating Polly. Shop-bred. Viper. Presumptuous.
Hot colour flooded Polly’s pale cheeks as she looked at him, yet she held her head high. Embarrassment then. Not shame.
‘Mr Martindale—how pleasant!’ said Lady Eliot, her voice executing a complete about turn. ‘Will you not be seated, and I shall ring for more tea.’ The effusive graciousness grated on Alex. Her ladyship turned to Polly with a smile. ‘Hippolyta, dear—I shall not keep you now. We may speak later.’
Hippolyta, dear? What had happened to the shop-bred upstart?
‘Actually, I should prefer Miss Woodrowe to remain,’ said Alex. ‘My proposition involves her.’
He barely heard Lady Eliot’s shocked ‘Indeed!’ for the flare of light in Polly’s eyes and the way her soft lips parted. Dragging his wits back together, he continued. ‘Ah, yes. That is, you are probably aware that my cousin, Lord Alderley—’ he loathed the necessity of making play with Dominic’s name, but the devil was in the driving seat here— ‘and I intend to establish a village school.’
Her ladyship sniffed. ‘He mentioned it at the christening. Naturally, I did not hesitate to offer my opinion.’
Naturally not.
She went on. ‘I cannot think it wise. To be encouraging the lower orders to reach above the station in which God has set them must lead to discontent. We must accept the lot to which He has intended us.’
Alex managed not to roll his eyes. She was far from the only one to think that way. Usually persons whose lot God had set in a very fair ground. ‘I am rather of the opinion, ma’am, that God moves in mysterious ways and that where He has seeded talent, it ought to be encouraged to flower.’
Lady Eliot looked anything but convinced, and Alex continued. ‘While my cousin and I initially intended to employ a schoolmaster, we now think it better to engage a woman.’ Dominic had no idea yet that Alex had changed his mind, but Alex was fairly sure he’d explained it clearly enough in the letter he’d sent over before coming here.
His gaze met Polly’s and his wits scattered again at the sight of her blazing eyes and those soft, parted lips. Lord! His heart appeared to have stopped and his breath tangled in his throat, while a distinctly unclerical question slid through his mind: what would those lips taste like? Ripe? Sweet? A hot, unfamiliar ache gathered low in his belly. Disturbing—because while it might be unfamiliar, he knew quite well what it was.
He cleared his throat, but the idea twisted it up again. What on earth was the matter with him? He was the rector, for God’s sake. Literally for God’s sake! He was meant to be an example and shepherd to his flock, not lust after the women in his congregation! He cleared his throat again, this time successfully enough to speak.
‘It has come to my attention that Miss Woodrowe—’ He let his gaze touch Polly again, felt again the leap of sensation and had to regather his thoughts. ‘That Pol—that is, Miss Woodrowe has some experience as a governess and I wondered if she might consider accepting the position.’
‘Really, Mr Martindale!’ Lady Eliot’s nostrils flared. ‘What an extraordinary idea! I do not think you can have—’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Polly’s quiet voice cut in. ‘I should like very much to discuss it with you.’
‘What?’ Lady Eliot glared at her. ‘Hippolyta, you cannot have considered the implications! And even if you had, you will of course be advised and ruled by those in authority over you!’
Polly’s mouth firmed. ‘I am of age, Aunt, and in authority over myself. I may be advised by my family, but I will be ruled by my own conscience and judgement.’
‘Now, Hippolyta—’ bleated Sir Nathan.
‘You will remain with your family connections, Hippolyta,’ snapped Lady Eliot. ‘Just this morning I have received a letter from my cousin Maria, Lady Littleworth. She is still willing to house you as her companion, despite your foolish decision to accept another post two years ago. There is nothing more to be said.’ She sat back. ‘It would present a very odd appearance,’ she continued, clearly not having listened to herself, ‘if a girl living under Sir Nathan’s protection were to be sallying forth to earn her living as a village schoolmistress.’ Her voice dripped disdain.
Sir Nathan nodded. ‘Very odd appearance. Indeed—’ this with an air of clinching the argument ‘—’tis not possible. How would she get to and fro?’
Alex braced himself. He didn’t approve, but he was starting to understand why Polly Woodrowe was so anxious to leave this house on her own terms if the alternative was an unpaid position with Lady Littleworth.
‘Naturally the offer includes Miss Woodrowe’s accommodation at the schoolhouse if she wishes it.’ Hoping Polly could remain with her family, he’d not mentioned that to Sir Nathan earlier and the fellow goggled like a landed trout.
A
lex took a deep breath and incinerated every bridge. ‘If Miss Woodrowe wants it, the position is hers.’
‘Really, Mr Martindale!’ Lady Eliot’s mouth pinched. ‘We cannot possibly countenance such a—’
‘Thank you, Mr Martindale,’ said Polly calmly. Her face glowed as she turned to him. ‘If I may have a key, I will walk into the village tomorrow and decide what will be needed.’
He scowled. The deuce she would. ‘As to that, Miss Po—Miss Woodrowe—I have the keys with me now and would be delighted to drive you.’
Lady Eliot drew herself up. ‘I must make quite plain that this has not Sir Nathan’s approbation!’
Alex bowed to her. ‘I perfectly understand that, ma’am.’ He turned back to Polly. ‘Fetch your cloak, Miss Woodrowe. I will await you in the front hall.’
* * *
Polly stared about the second room of the schoolhouse in rising panic. She had not thought. She simply had not thought, had not known. But now the reality of the two-roomed cottage crashed over her like snow falling off a branch.
The schoolroom was in fine order. Neat rows of desks, a cupboard holding slates and other equipment. Books on a bookshelf, a desk for the teacher and a great fireplace. She had seen a huge stack of wood outside. Clearly teacher and pupils were not expected to freeze. The schoolroom itself had been freshly whitewashed and was more than acceptable.
This room, too, had been whitewashed. And that was it. There was nothing in it. Nothing. An alcove to one side, with a wide shelf clearly intended for a bed, was innocent of mattress and bedding. There was no furniture. There was nothing. She swallowed. Even if there were something, she realised with a jolt of shock, she would have no idea how to so much as cook her dinner. There wasn’t even a cooking pot in which to cook it, although there was an iron rod, with a hook to suspend a pot, that clearly swung in and out of the fireplace. She had seen such arrangements when visiting women in the village...but a cooking pot would cost money, and she would need a table, and chair to sit on, and bedding and...
And she was not going to give up! She had got the position and she was jolly well going to keep it. She had some money. Not much, but surely enough to buy a few simple things to furnish this room.
She lifted her chin. ‘I will need to—’
‘It won’t do,’ said Mr Martindale. He swung around on her, his grey eyes hard. ‘You can’t possibly live here! I must have been insane to suggest it.’
Her determination firmed. ‘Why not?’ All the reasons why not were buzzing frantically in her head. If she could swat them aside, why could not he? ‘It...it just needs furniture. A table and chair. Perhaps a settee to sit by the fire. Some bedding and a...a cooking pot.’
His glance skewered her. ‘Polly, do you even know how to cook?’
She stiffened. ‘Do you?’ She tried to ignore the leap of her pulse, the sudden clutch of her lungs at the sound of her name, her pet name, on his lips. For two years she had been Miss Woodrowe. Her aunt and cousins insisted on Hippolyta now. No one, not one person, had called her Polly since her mother’s death. And he shouldn’t be now.
‘I have Mrs Judd,’ he pointed out with a smile.
‘And I have a brain,’ she said, ruthlessly quelling the little flare of delight at his smile. ‘And I can buy a book. And...and ask advice. Please.’ Oh, curse it! She’d sworn not to beg.
‘You’ll be alone,’ he said. ‘A young woman, alone.’ His mouth firmed. ‘I don’t like it at all.’
‘Well, I do,’ she said. ‘My uncle is right. I cannot possibly go back and forth from his house.’ Better to make the break completely and establish her independence. Aunt Eliot would put every sort of rub in her way. But the bubble of panic rose again. Women were not intended for independence. It was wrong. Against the proper order. Unnatural. She swatted those thoughts away, too. Any number of people had probably thought it against the natural order when King John was forced to sign the Magna Carta. The sky hadn’t fallen then either.
Alex frowned, clearly thinking. ‘Perhaps lodgings here in the village—’
‘No!’ Her vehemence was as much at her own cowardice as at his suggestion and she flushed at his raised brows. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve lived in someone else’s home for two years. I...I should like to live by myself.’ Being under someone else’s roof, subject to their rules and arrangements had galled her. Certainly if she paid board she would not be a dependent, but... ‘I should like to try.’
He scowled. ‘For goodness’ sake, Pol—Miss Woodrowe! It’s winter, and—’
‘There’s a huge pile of wood out there,’ she said. ‘I actually do know how to light a fire.’ The governess had been permitted a fire in her room on Sunday evenings at the Frisinghams’, although she suspected this generosity had more to do with prevailing damp than concern for the comfort of a lowly governess. Since no servant had been responsible for lighting it, she had learnt how to manage for herself.
‘But by yourself—won’t you be lonely?’
She stared at him, surprised. ‘You live alone. Don’t tell me Mrs Judd holds your hand in the evenings. Are you lonely?’
‘That’s diff—’ He stopped and the wry smile twisted his mouth. ‘Very well. Yes. Sometimes I am.’
‘Oh.’ His honesty disarmed her. But still— ‘Well, no. I don’t think I will be.’ She might be alone, but that didn’t mean lonely. She was lonely now, surrounded by people who would prefer that she wasn’t there at all, people she had thought cared for her. Polly Woodrowe, poor relation and dependant, was a far different creature than Polly Woodrowe, wealthy cousin. But she couldn’t explain all that to Alex Martindale—it would sound self-pitying, utterly pathetic. So she said, ‘It’s different being a guest and family member to being a dependant.’
His brows rose. ‘The change in your circumstances is difficult for them, I take it.’
Something in her snapped. ‘Difficult for them?’ She snorted. ‘I’m sure it was difficult to discover that the girl you counted on bringing a healthy dowry into the family was ruined! Positively tragic. And...’ she was warming up to her subject now, ‘...if you are going to tell me that it is my Christian duty to accept the situation allotted to me by God, with humble piety, then you may go to the devil!’
He blinked and Polly realised what she had said. Oh, goodness. This time she wouldn’t have to get as far as being pawed around by the son of the house to be dismissed. This time she was going to be dismissed before she’d even started.
‘I was being sarcastic,’ said Alex mildly. ‘And if,’ he continued, ‘I had been so mind-bogglingly arrogant as to say that, you’d be welcome to kick me on my way.’ He eyed her consideringly. ‘You are sure, then, that you want this? There will be no going back, you know.’
She swallowed. ‘There is already no going back.’ She had already lost her place. In society, in her family. She would have to make her own place.
‘I suppose it will be safe enough,’ he said slowly. ‘Right here in the village. And Dominic owns the cottage, so only a fool with a death wish would cause trouble.’ His expression hardened. ‘Not to mention having me to deal with.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘Very well, then. Fifty pounds a year, payable quarterly.’
‘Fifty?’ It came out as a sort of squawk.
The dark brows rose. ‘Not enough?’
This time she picked up the humour in his voice. ‘More...more than enough,’ she managed. ‘I—the cottage will need some things. A table, maybe a chair—if you could advance me a little and take it out of—’
‘Certainly not!’ He glared at her, grey eyes furious, all humour fled. ‘The place will be fully furnished and equipped.’
‘Equipped?’
He waved vaguely at the fireplace. ‘Mrs Judd will tell me what is needed. A...a cooking pot, I suppose. Some utensils.’ He levelled a searching gaze at her. ‘Are you q
uite sure this is what you want? What about Lady Littleworth?’
She swallowed. ‘And what will happen when she dies, or decides that I annoy her? She won’t be paying me, you know. I’ve thought it all out. I need to save enough for the future. Perhaps buy an annuity for my old age.’
His jaw dropped. ‘Polly—you’re twenty-one!’
And one day she would be fifty-one. With no money. Ignoring the little voice of fear, she countered, ‘Have you ever met Lady Littleworth?’
His mouth twitched. ‘Actually, yes. I take your point. Very well, the position is yours, Miss Woodrowe. When would you like to start?’
Chapter Three
What had she done?
The following Monday, Polly stared at the fire glowing under her cook pot and hoped she wasn’t burning her dinner. Mrs Judd had brought along a piece of mutton during the afternoon and explained how to deal with it. It seemed simple enough and the smell coming out of that pot was making her stomach rumble in a most unladylike way. She looked around at the room that was now her home. A table and two chairs in the middle of the room, a mattress and bedding in the alcove, a small cupboard to hold a meagre amount of cutlery and earthenware crockery and here, by the fire, a small wooden settle. She had brought the pillow over from the bed to soften the wooden frame a little and was curled up in the corner of the settle, waiting for her supper.
In the schoolroom everything was prepared for tomorrow when the school opened. Lord and Lady Alderley were coming along with Mr Martindale to speak to the children. A dozen children to start. Boys and girls. She had met most of them after church the day before. Alex Martindale had made a point of it.
Despite the twisting knot in her belly, she thought it would be a great deal better than her respectable position as a governess. For one thing she wouldn’t have Mrs Frisingham constantly interfering, making excuses for bad behaviour and vetoing any discipline. Nor would she have the lady’s brother-in-law, young Mr Frisingham, lurking in corridors to paw her about and make lewd suggestions. She shivered a little.
A Magical Regency Christmas Page 3
