Where was Shirley with their tea? The last thing Eliza wanted to do was spend the afternoon sawing on about Eastleigh. “I think you’re better off not having married the likes of him. You’re a lovely girl. He wouldn’t have treated you well at all,” she said, thinking of the obscene proposal he’d offered Malcolm. “You would’ve been quite unhappy with him, in fact. Una and Charles belong together. They’re equally loathsome.”
“It’s just that my papa always wanted me to marry well, to elevate our place in society. He’s only the second son of a baronet—which is nothing really special, you see, but it was enough for him to become an officer. He received several commendations, which put him on the path to promotion at a younger age than most. He’s worked very hard and is quite proud of being an admiral. His daughter marrying an earl would have secured his estate and livelihood into old age. A man without sons becomes desperate.”
“Your father sounds a great deal like my own,” Eliza said. “A self-made man.”
“Yes, well. He’s not very happy with me at the moment.” Tears sprung to Polly’s eyes. “I’m nearly twenty-four, Eliza! My hopes of finding a good match are dwindling.”
“Nonsense! Haven’t you ever thought it ridiculous that a woman must marry before twenty-five to escape the stigma of spinsterhood, yet a man can marry at whatever age he likes? It’s preposterous.”
Polly wiped at her eyes. “You sound like Sarah.”
“Well, it’s true.”
“Oh,” Polly said, glancing over Eliza’s shoulder. “There’s a young man coming, and he’s bringing tea.”
Eliza swiveled in her chair. Freddie approached, a bashful grin on his face. “Pardon me, maum. Your housekeeper was flustered about a pudding she thought was burning, so I offered to bring this out to you.”
“You’re a jewel and a gentleman, Freddie. I may convince my husband to let me keep you. You’d make a fine footman.”
“I wouldn’t know about that, maum.” He set the tray down, with its lopsided Victoria sponge and hastily assembled tea service, then took his cap from his head to greet Polly. “Good day, miss ...”
“This is Miss Whitby, Freddie. Polly, this is Mr.... oh, I’m sorry ...”
“O’Riordan, maum.”
Polly glanced at Freddie’s proffered hand, with its dirty fingernails and calloused palm, and made a simpering sound at the back of her throat. “Charmed,” she said disdainfully, and pulled her hands into her lap.
Eliza’s eyes nearly rolled to the back of her head. Seeing the lay of things, Freddie turned with a nod and trundled off, hat in hands. “Polly!” she scolded after he was out of earshot. “That utterly charming boy brought our tea so that he could be introduced to you. If anything will prevent you from marrying, your own snobbishness may well do the trick! Not every good man you meet comes with a pedigree.”
Polly sniffed. “An admiral’s daughter could never entertain a carpenter’s attentions. And an Irish one at that! Imagine the gossip!”
Eliza sighed and sat back in her chair. “Yes. Imagine the gossip.”
“Speaking of, there’s loads more gossip about town,” Polly said, eagerly slicing a wedge from the sponge. “Do you want to hear it?”
“Oh, why not?”
“The Tates have sold half their estate. Can you believe it? They’ve lost three tenants, just this year. It seems many of our lot are doing the same. Parceling acreage and selling. Some of the lower gentry have even started working in the city. Hard times for many, I suppose. Desperation will drive you to that sort of thing, but it’s better than thievery. Do you remember that highwayman that was terrorizing the countryside when you arrived? He seems to have gone with the summer. Lady Gregory claims she saw him east of Alton in late August, but that was the end of it. At least we can travel at night again without worry, thank goodness.” Polly took in a breath. “Her palsy is worsening. Lady Gregory’s, that is. Sarah doesn’t think she’ll live to see in the new century.”
“Terrible news,” Eliza said, doing her best to muster a sympathetic look, remembering the disdain Lady Gregory had shown to her and Lydia at the ball.
“And there’s talk about you and Malcolm, of course. They say you were with child before the wedding.” A pause. “Are you?”
Eliza snorted. “No. I am most certainlynot.”
“I didn’t think so, of course.” Polly shook her head. “And then one of the local farmers said he saw you and Malcolm engaging in a vulgar, pagan ritual amongst the standing stones.”
Eliza bit her lip to stifle a laugh. There might have been some truth to that one. They’d been rather flagrant that night, after all. She longed for more of the sort—her winsome, spirited husband, so bold as to take her breathless beneath the stars. Lately, he’d become a prudish shadow of himself. “They’ll be calling me a witch soon enough, won’t they?”
“Oh! They already are. But if you’d like news of your wicked ways to spread even further, I’m sure I can manage to help.”
Eliza laughed, and Polly joined in. “I’m so glad you came, Polly. Aren’t we friends now? In full?”
Polly reached across the table to squeeze Eliza’s fingertips. “Yes. Friends indeed.”
CHAPTER 25
Someone was screaming.
