“Sarah’s grandmother is Countess Gregory,” Polly explained. “She holds a country ball to ring in each summer solstice.”
Sarah gave a conspiratorial grin and wrinkled her nose. “It’s amatchmakingball.”
Eliza’s back stiffened. “Oh, I’m not looking for a husband.” She gripped the arm of the chair, counting the rounded upholstery tacks beneath her fingers. She was wary of this sort of conversation—the same one she’d had every year since her eighteenth birthday, in parlors just like this one an ocean away.
“Surely you and your sister are of marriageable age and status?” Polly prodded.
“Yes, but ...”
“Well,” Sarah interrupted, “I’mwed this past spring, but my husband dislikes social functions. They give him dyspepsia. I’d rather like to see the two of you there. I’d imagine you cut fine figures on a dance floor.”
“Do theyhavecoming-out balls where you’re from?” Polly asked.
“Of course, Miss Whitby,” Lydia said, her tone measured.
Polly sniffed. “Yet, neither of you have married?”
Eliza sighed.Mon Dieu, this one wasn’t giving up. “Obviously not.”
“But who controls your inheritance and your allowance?”
“We do,” Eliza and Lydia answered in unison.
Sarah clapped her hands and perched on the arm of a nearby chair. “Independent women. How admirable!”
“Still,” said Eliza, “it would be lovely to have the occasion to dress up. It’s been too long since we danced. If your grandmother is receptive to two more guests on her list, we’d be honored, Mrs.Nelson.”
“It’s settled! I’ll send a carriage to your door at nine o’clock next Tuesday night!”
CHAPTER 3
Eliza inspected the brass shingle above the tatty, wooden door,ARTHURBRAINERD, SOLICITOR, then grasped the lion-head door knocker and rapped three times. There was a muted shuffling on the other side, followed by the low barking of a dog.
“Settle, settle, Monty!” a gruff voice muttered. The door swung wide, and a well-dressed gentleman of advanced years peered out at her, squinting his watery blue eyes as he clutched the collar of a monstrous wolfhound.
Eliza stepped back.
“Never mind Monty, love. He won’t bite. He’s all legs and tail but no teeth.”
The dog whined and looked up at her through his fringe of coarse gray hair. Eliza put out her hand. He sniffed her glove, his great tail whisking from side to side.
“You’re Miss Sullivan, I presume?”
“Yes, sir. Lady Sherbourne’s grandniece.” She scratched Monty behind the ears. His tongue lolled from his mouth as encouragement.
“Right, right. Have a seat in the parlor and I’ll have Myrtle bring a spot of tea while I fetch the documents.”
Eliza crossed over the threshold into the dim light of a squarish room. It was lined floor-to-ceiling with messy stacks of gold-embossedbooks, their spines a confusing array of letters and numbers. A desk stood in the corner, its legs ending in gryphon’s claws, the top laden with sheaves of paper and a typewriter. Eliza removed her gloves and sat in the high-backed chair facing the desk. Monty circled the floor at her feet three times, then lay down, resting his hoary head against her shin.
Mr.Brainerd came in, muttering to himself and carrying a green leather portfolio. A woman with eyes like raisins and gray-streaked brown hair done up in a topknot followed him. She set a tea service down on the spindly Italian-style table next to Eliza, then gave a peck to Mr.Brainerd’s cheek as he wedged himself behind the desk.
“Thank you, Myrtle,” he said, patting her red-knuckled hand. She nodded at Eliza, then disappeared, sliding the pocket door shut behind her. “I take it your passage was satisfactory?” He produced a pair of demilune magnifiers from his pocket and perched them on the end of his bulbous nose.
“It was, although I’m not much suited to sea travel. I don’t care for water. I’m only now recovering from being tossed about.”
“I’m a creature of the land myself, I daresay.” He gave a dry chuckle and held a sheet of parchment up to the feeble light. “Ah. Here are the deed to Sherbourne House and the clauses set forth in Lady Sherbourne’s will.”
Eliza took the documents from him and scanned them. The deed was simple, describing the dimensions of the house as well as a surveyor’s appraisal of the land. She shuffled the deed behind the next document and read. Everything was standard until she came to the final clause. She put her hand to her mouth, pressing her lips against her teeth. “I’m so sorry, but would you mind explaining this clause, sir?” Eliza converted the Roman numerals in her head. “Number nineteen?” Eliza handed the will back to the solicitor.
