hadn’t mattered. Now apparently she gave herself airs, her father’s connection with trade abhorrent to her cousins...
She hesitated. Since when had she cared what a mere country rector might think of her? But she had always liked Alex Martindale. A much older schoolboy, he’d been kind to the little girl visiting her cousins. Sometimes she’d watched him going to and fro from his lessons at the rectory, dazzled when he’d given her a kindly greeting. The same friendly greeting he’d given to the village children, a smile in the grey eyes—the Alex Martindale she remembered was not one to look down on those less fortunate than himself.
People changed, though. Or perhaps as you got older you simply learned more about them. A great deal of it unpleasant. She knew a pang of regret for the innocent young girl who’d had a definite tendre for a handsome boy. Brought up to know her duty, she had obediently turned her eyes to her Cousin Tom, who she was assured by her aunt had a great fondness for her.
She snorted and kicked at a clod of mud. Alex Martindale had probably changed anyway. Everyone grew up. And her idea was a foolish one, especially since it would be bound to get back to her aunt and cause even more trouble.
Polly had half-turned away from the rectory gate when she realised what she was doing: giving in before she’d tried, bowing meekly to her fate instead of doing something about it as she had decided yesterday while her cousins were in church. Her aunt had decreed her bonnet and cloak far too shabby to attend church with the family—although apparently not too shabby to walk in to the village on an errand today—and there had been a pile of mending. So if Mr Martindale thought her an ungrateful, grasping, ill bred—that comment of Aunt Eliot’s had really stung—pushy baggage who gave herself airs, then so be it. That pile of mending had been the final straw in a week of slights and snubs.
Gritting her teeth, she stiffened her wilting spine and set her hand to the gate. He would either listen to her, or not. Think ill of her, or not. A lady with only herself to depend on could not afford scruples about being thought forward. And if she had not her own good opinion, then that of others counted for nothing.
* * *
‘Miss Woodrowe to see you, Rector.’
Alex looked up from the letter he was writing to the bishop, outlining his plans for the school and his intention to employ a curate. ‘Miss Woodrowe?’ For a moment he was puzzled. Then it came to him. Miss Hippolyta Woodrowe, of course. Niece to Sir Nathan Eliot, that was it. The wealthy Miss Woodrowe. Heiress to a mill-owner. Quite possibly the fortune had been exaggerated, but she had visited often with her widowed mother, a welcome and fêted guest, even as a child and young girl.
‘Show her in, Mrs Judd.’ He put his pen back in its holder and rose as Mrs Judd stood back to admit his visitor. He frowned. Perhaps it was the light. The day was gloomy and he’d only lit the lamp on his desk, but he could not reconcile his memory of the lively, well-dressed Miss Woodrowe, who had always had a shy smile for him, with this unsmiling young woman in the drab cloak with its mud-spattered hem. Perhaps he was remembering the wrong girl?
‘Miss Woodrowe—do come in. Mrs Judd, tea if you please.’
Miss Woodrowe came forwards and put back the hood of her cloak. Something inside him stilled. Hair the colour of fine sherry, confined severely at her nape, and those eyes, the exact colour of her hair, fringed with dark lashes...this was indeed the girl he remembered. He’d always been fascinated by the matching colour of hair and eyes. But, heavens! She’d been a child when last he’d seen her.
‘Good day, Mr Martindale. I hope I’m not disturbing you?’
Girls grew up. He knew that. But—
‘No, no. Not...not at all.’ What the deuce did one do with a young lady when she called on one alone? ‘Er, won’t you come nearer to the fire?’
‘Thank you.’
He hurried ahead of her and pushed the chair closer to the hearth. It clattered against the fender and he suppressed a curse at his clumsiness. ‘You are visiting the Eliots?’ he said, and she nodded. ‘When did you arrive?’ He brought another chair to the fire.