A Magical Regency Christmas: Christmas Cinderella / Finding Forever at Christmas / The Captain's Christmas Angel. Margaret McPhee
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their tone from their mother.
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.