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 quite 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?’
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
