Mrs. Jolly appeared to be anything but jolly; however, she seemed polite enough. There might even have been a glimmer of sympathy in her dark eyes, although the one lamp gracing the entryway made judging anyone’s expression a trifle chancy.
“Not at all,” Dorothy said, moving forward. “We were fortunate that a neighbor took pity upon us and offered us transportation.”
“Yes. We had a most enjoyable trip.” Grace edged closer to Dorothy, her dusty skirt brushing the top of Dorothy’s half-boot.
Behind her, Mr. Cavell was busy depositing their belongings in the entryway. When he was done, he took one look at Mrs. Jolly, doffed his cap, murmured something that sounded like a goodbye, and fled.
The rattle of the wagon echoed through the doorway, startling Elsa, who spun around and slammed the front door shut as if she feared the farmer might try to drive the wagon straight into the townhouse. When she faced Mrs. Jolly, she winced and began twisting her apron again.
Mrs. Jolly studied the girl for a minute, let out an exasperated sigh, and said, “Please inform Cook that the Staintons have arrived. I am sure they will need some refreshments.”
Elsa curtseyed but remained rooted to the spot as her gaze drifted over the untidy and obviously well-worn bags behind the sisters. The tip of her tongue ran over her lower lip, her face alive with curiosity.
The distinct impression that Elsa would have unpacked the bags here and now if the housekeeper wasn’t standing twenty feet away overcame Dorothy. She bit the corner of her mouth to keep from laughing.
“Now, Elsa. If you please,” Mrs. Jolly said in a tired voice. “And then return to take the Misses Stainton’s luggage to their room.”
Elsa dithered, taking one step toward the bags and then one back toward Mrs. Jolly. The housekeeper watched her in silence. Finally, hands still twisted in her limp apron, Elsa darted past Mrs. Jolly to the shadows beyond the grand staircase and disappeared.
Mrs. Jolly waited until the slap of Elsa’s leather soles over the marble flooring faded before she fastened her gaze on the girls again. “I apologize that the Polkinghornes are not here to greet you. Mrs. Polkinghorne was looking forward to seeing you again. Unfortunately, the family had a prior engagement. However, she left orders that you were to be shown to your room and given anything you require.” Her thin, dark brows rose in polite inquiry. “Are you hungry? There is a cold joint or a very good meat pie, if you wish.”
“Oh, the pie would be wonderful!” Grace sucked in an enthusiastic breath and moved toward the housekeeper before glancing at her sister. “Would it not, Dorothy?”
Dorothy smiled. “Yes. It would do very well, thank you, Mrs. Jolly.”
Any kind of savory or sweet pie would suit Grace down to the ground—anything between two flaky crusts was an immediate favorite with her. Dorothy’s stomach gurgled, and she pressed a hand against her middle. At this moment, meat pie was her favorite dish, as well.
The housekeeper nodded and gestured to the wide staircase behind her. “Then let me show you to your room. I hope a tray in your room will be acceptable?” she asked.
“Of course.” Dorothy nodded and, placing a hand in the middle of her sister’s slender back, urged her forward to follow Mrs. Jolly.
Picking up the entryway lamp, Mrs. Jolly led the way up the stairs, briskly navigating the first floor landing to ascend to the second flight. Grace glanced over her shoulder at Dorothy and raised her brows in a grimace, clearly anticipating a long climb up to the pokey room under the eaves that they had been relegated to on their last visit.
However, this time, when they reached the landing on the second floor, Mrs. Jolly ushered them to the second door on the right.
Stopping, Dorothy caught Grace’s arm to hold her back. “There must be some mistake. Is this not Cousin Cecilia’s room?”
The faintest glimmer of a smile briefly curved the housekeeper’s mouth. “Yes, it was Miss Cecilia’s room. Mrs. Polkinghorne decided you would be more comfortable here. Miss Cecilia is sharing a room with Miss Katherine on the third floor.”
“Oh!” Dorothy caught Grace’s hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze. Perhaps things wouldn’t be so bad, after all. “We are sorry to take her room—I hope they are not too crowded.”
“Not at all. The two ladies have quite a large room to share.” Mrs. Jolly unlocked the bedroom door and handed the brass key to Dorothy as she swept open the door.
As Dorothy and Grace entered the room, Mrs. Jolly moved past them to light a lamp sitting on a slender-legged writing table near a large window. The warm glow brightened the room, revealing the same gracious furnishings Dorothy remembered.
A large four-poster bed, swathed in white drapes edged with crimson, stood on their right, and four chubby little cherubs clinging to the tops of the bedposts grinned down at them, their gilded faces catching the gleam of the lamplight. A thick red, white, and gold carpet occupied the center of the floor, and a large maple wardrobe stood on the left. A white damask chair, along with an embroidery hoop on a stand, was arranged near the fireplace, and beyond that was a delicate writing table and a chair. A washstand, with a heavy white bowl and jug, stood in the corner. The final piece of furniture was a large chest of drawers.
The pale gold of the maple furniture looked like molten honey in the soft light, warmly welcoming them after their long day of travel.
Grace was already untying her bonnet and taking it off with a sigh of relief. Some of the tension tightening Dorothy’s shoulders eased.
This would not be so terrible, at all. Their aunt couldn’t have done more to make them feel at home than to assign them to this lovely room.
How lucky they were!
Removing her own bonnet, Dorothy turned to smile at the housekeeper. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Jolly. We are so pleased to be here.”
“Mrs. Polkinghorne will be happy to hear it.” Mrs. Jolly inclined her head regally. “Elsa will be here shortly with your bags. There is fresh water in the jug if you wish to refresh yourselves after your journey. I will send a tray up to you in a half hour, if that is acceptable.”
“Indeed—it pleases us very much!” Dorothy answered as her sister giggled with pleasure and twirled her traveling shawl onto the counterpane of the bed.
Dorothy stifled a sigh. She loved Grace dearly, but the girl never quite seemed to grasp the purpose of a wardrobe. Clothing didn’t just come out of them—it also went back into them and did not have to be heaped inside on the floor. And doors and drawers could actually be closed, as well, and not left hanging open.
Sharing a room was certainly going to be, well, a challenge. She took a deep breath, folded her own shawl, and placed it on one of the shelves in the wardrobe. She’d just have to remember that they were fortunate to be here in London, and that she loved her sister.
Truly. She honestly did. She picked up Grace’s bonnet and shawl and placed them neatly in the wardrobe next to her own. She loved her, even when Grace left her clothing draped over every available surface in a room as if she had a personal maid trailing after her, picking up all her belongings.
Chapter Three
Lounging in a chair negligently with his legs stretched out, ankles crossed, Marcus Chenneour, Earl of Arundell, smiled at his hostess. His gaze drifted over her face. His amusement deepened when she flushed. Her frown etched lines between her brows and around her thin-lipped mouth in a way that aged her greatly. Mrs. Polkinghorne might think that she had complete control over her emotions, but her narrow face betrayed her every thought.
One with such an expressive face ought not to play hazard—particularly when one can ill afford to lose. Marcus sighed.
“The debt stands at five thousand, my dear lady,” he reminded her when she’d finished covering her discomfort with a sharp order to her housekeeper to order some tea.
“I realize that!” Mrs. Polkinghorne snapped. A deep red tide returned to her cheeks when she realized she was being rude. “I beg your pardon, my lord. I do recall
the sum, however.” She squirmed in her chair. Her knuckles whitened as she clasped her hands ever more tightly in her lap. Taking a deep breath, she straightened and eyed him before smiling in an uncomfortable and patently false way. “That is what I wished to speak with you about, my lord.”
“Indeed?” His voice rose along with his brows. “I must confess that I was, um, shall we say, startled when I received your summons.”
She flushed again and wriggled on her chair, making the slender wooden legs creak. “I didn’t summon—that is, I beg your pardon, I merely wished to invite you to tea. So we could discuss ways in which my debt could be settled.” She smoothed her skirt over her lap. “In private.”
“In private? You do not intend to suggest anything improper, I trust,” he murmured in his blandest voice, studying his signet ring. It might be wicked of him to bait her, but she made it so easy that it was utterly irresistible.
“Of course, it is nothing improper!” Her voice rose shrilly before she could bring it under control and give him a strained, ingratiating smile. “I am a married woman, after all, my lord.”
She fluttered her eyelashes at him in such an embarrassing way that he transferred his gaze to the door beyond her shoulder, hoping fervently that she wasn’t going to make the suggestion he feared after all, despite her heated denial.
“So you are,” he agreed at last. “I am so relieved to hear you refer to Mr. Polkinghorne. May I assume, therefore, that you have informed your husband of your debt, and that he intends to pay?”
“No, I have not, as you very well know! Mr. Polkinghorne does not approve of gambling—that is—this is my debt and my debt alone. There is no need to worry him with such minor matters.” Her hands smoothed over her skirt once more.
Her admission confirmed the gossip about Mr. Polkinghorne and his wife. Cyril Polkinghorne did not approve of gambling. Unfortunately, his wife, Mary, could scarcely stay away from the excitement found at the turn of a card. This sad situation did not bode well for repayment of her debt, since she would no doubt refuse to let the matter come to the attention of her husband. However, Marcus was not overly concerned. Mrs. Polkinghorne was not the first to ignore a debt owed to him and most likely would not be the last.
He studied her with amusement. She truly was just too easy to annoy, and too deserving of a bit of needling. Mary Polkinghorne obviously liked to fashion herself as a merry, lively woman who enjoyed dancing, gambling, and other such amusements. The sad reality was that her good spirits were brittle and easily shattered. She was only pleasant when she got her own way. More often than not, she was arrogant, petty, and irritable, taking out her bad temper on anyone who happened to be nearby. If she had been the merry society lady she thought she was, he’d have forgiven and forgotten the whole thing at least a month ago.
As it was, when he’d heard that Mary Polkinghorne was now burdened with orphaned nieces, he pitied the Stainton ladies more than he could say. The poor girls had apparently come to live with their aunt, and he suspected that anyone dependent upon the whims of Mrs. Polkinghorne was bound to find life difficult at best and downright unbearable most of the time.
“Excuse me,” he said, placing his hands on the armrests of his chair as if about to rise. “I had thought you meant to repay the debt. I see now I have made a mistake.”
“You know perfectly well that you have not made a mistake, my lord. And I must say, this sarcastic wit ill becomes a gentleman—though I suppose you and your cronies consider it the height of cleverness.” Her chin rose in defiance as she adopted the scolding tone of a long-suffering mother at the end of her patience with a recalcitrant child. “Well, I do not appreciate it, nor do I find it amusing.”
“How distressing for you. I do hope you will forgive me.” He gave her another half-smile. “I will attempt to curb my wit, though I admit that on occasion I find it a useful way to end unpleasant conversations.”
Mrs. Polkinghorne’s red cheeks grew pale for a moment as she obviously remembered she was talking to an earl. Her hands plucked at her gray silk skirt before she clasped them together again. She managed a polite laugh. “Thank you. At any rate, my lord, I wish to settle this matter, and I believe I have a solution that will be advantageous for both of us.”
The maid chose that moment to deliver the tea tray, and it was a good ten minutes before the girl left and Mrs. Polkinghorne recovered her poise once more.
She took a sip from her cup and smiled at him, fluttering her thin lashes again. “Now, as to my suggestion…”
“To the best of my knowledge, you have yet to suggest any acceptable method of payment.”
“Oh, yes.” After a disconcerted glance, she took another unsteady sip, slurping as she shifted again on her groaning chair. “Well. As you know, I have two nieces—”
“I understood you had three. Did you recently lose one? I do beg your pardon for not realizing that you are in mourning. How difficult for you to suffer such a terrible loss when you have only had them here for a few short weeks. Indeed, you have my sympathy, my dear lady.”
“I have not lost a niece—she is to be married!”
“I see.” He nodded, his eyes flashing with suppressed laughter. “I mistook relief for grief, then. You must be congratulated. It is certainly a great feather in your cap to be rid of one so quickly. At this rate, they shall all be duly settled by no later than the end of June. July at the very latest.”
“Yes—no—that is not the point!” She took a deep breath. “I have two nieces, and they have recently come into an inheritance.”
“Inheritance?” His eyes narrowed as he studied Mrs. Polkinghorne’s face. “I fail to see how that is germane to the issue.” Unless you intend to appropriate the money from your nieces, of course. Another stab of pity for the Stainton girls pierced him. He could not imagine being dependent upon such a grasping, thoughtless woman.
Not that she seemed to be actively cruel. It was simply that her first thought, and no doubt her last one, was focused solely on her own pleasure and convenience. In fact, he found her shallow, vain, and more irritating by the moment.
“Yes. Each girl is to receive a sum of money—five thousand pounds to be exact!” she stated triumphantly. Sitting up straight, she took another sip of her tea and looked at him, her brows rising.
Another, even more unpleasant notion about her suggestion circled around him like a vulture gliding on ponderous, foul-smelling wings. “I am sure they must be pleased,” he murmured at last.
“Oh, they have no idea.” Holding her teacup in her lap with one hand, she flapped the other in front of her face in a careless gesture. “Mr. Polkinghorne just received the news—he is the sole executor now that my dear brother has passed away. It is from some ancient great-aunt of ours.” She grimaced, and her wave turned into a shooing gesture as if she were pushing away an unpleasant thought. “I suppose she thought she was being kind—to leave forty-five thousand pounds to be divided between all the girls—but she ought to have had some concern, at least, for the boys, as well.”
Since boys were usually well taken care of by their family, Marcus found his sympathy and admiration lay entirely with the deceased great-aunt. He could only silently applaud the august lady for her foresight in the matter of her will. Such an inheritance would mean freedom to choose whether to marry or not, as the girls wished; a choice few girls had.
What that had to do with him, however, was the mystery. “Again, I am sure you are pleased by the gifts to your nieces and your daughters, but I fail to see its relevancy.”
Mrs. Polkinghorne leaned forward, smiling, and her blue eyes glinting. Opening her mouth, she took a deep breath and then sat back, her face still wearing a gloating expression and clearly intending to make him beg for elucidation.
He smiled and took another sip of the abysmally weak tea. His gaze strayed toward the door—left open a crack to ensure they observed the proprieties. A movement in the gap and a glimpse of blue caught his attention.
&nbs
p; The little maid returning for the tea tray? No—she had worn a dismal black gown with a dingy white apron. The housekeeper also habitually wore black. So, the bright blue he’d seen belonged to someone else. One of the Polkinghorne girls, no doubt.
“I understand you have your own difficulties regarding your inheritance—a title and entailed estate, certainly, but you must have… oh, what does my dear husband call it? Oh, operating expenses—that is it. You are in need of operating expenses, are you not?”
How the devil has she heard that rumor? He calmly took another sip of tea, his gaze flickering over her and then back to the door. He couldn’t tell if anyone remained there listening or not.
When he glanced at his hostess, he found her staring at him with bright, avid eyes. The shame of it was that whatever rumors she’d heard regarding his personal affairs had held an undeniable—and embarrassing—kernel of truth. He had a title, an estate, and lands aplenty, but the more liquid assets were caught up in a ridiculous, old-fashioned requirement that the monies be held until he married and begat the next heir.
Clearly, the assumption had been that the title would not be inherited until the heir was a mature man with a wife and children. Which had certainly been the case, when his older brother had originally inherited. His jaw tightened. His brother had only been dead a few months, but the hollow ache remained.
“I hope I have not overstepped my bounds. Or embarrassed you, my lord,” Mrs. Polkinghorne simpered when he remained silent. “But knowing your situation, I thought it might solve your more immediate need for operating expenses, while repaying what I owe you, if you were to marry my eldest niece, Miss Dorothy Stainton. That would give you the five thousand I owe, as well as placing you closer toward gaining your entire inheritance, would it not?”
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