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There were the usual condolences, exclamations of surprise, and commiserations after the lawyer folded up the parchment from which he’d read, unclipped his glasses from his beakish nose, and immediately sought out Susana—the main beneficiary.
While they were engaged in a quiet corner, together with Susana’s mother, since Susana’s father—Aunt Montrose’s son—was ailing, Lady Fenton and her sister, who’d just arrived, clustered around Eliza’s side as if providing her the shield she so desperately needed at that moment.
“What will you do now?”
“You certainly don’t beat about the bush, do you, Antoinette?” her sister replied, snapping her fan at her. “Can’t you approach the matter with a modicum of delicacy?”
Lady Quamby looked offended, and then determined and business-like. “When time is of the essence, I’d say that getting to the point was the most sensible course of action. Miss Montrose is all but destitute. She has no dowry, though, of course, being in possession of a small landholding will make her desirable to any of the local farmers in the district. Is that what you want, Miss Montrose? To be a farmer’s wife?”
Eliza ran a weary hand across her face. What did she want? She wanted to marry Mr Patmore, but she wasn’t sure she had the courage to confront him with the truth.
He’d certainly been no champion of the innocent offspring of fallen women. He’d made it clear that while he didn’t agree with society’s opprobrium, he accepted that respectability was essential for getting on in the world. It had been a desperately painful illumination of his attitudes which, even though he was charming and in love with her, indicated he held to the societal line—a woman’s reputation was everything and once lost, there was no redemption.
Even if she had the courage to tell him the truth, the consequences could be even worse than his disgust.
Her fear ratcheted up with each thought. What if somehow her crime were made public? If Mr Patmore didn’t want to marry her, would he consider her so beneath the pale he’d warn Mr Bramley about Eliza’s true nature?
Oh Lord, she didn’t know what she should do.
And then she heard it. The happy shout of a young boy and, glancing out of the window, she saw Young George engaged in a playful bout of fisticuffs with her very own Gideon. Jack.
“You brought the boys!” she blurted out, and Lady Quamby swung her head around in surprise. “Nanny Brown had a megrim, and in the end, it seemed easier to take young Jack along too. He’s the only one able to make Young George toe the line, it seems. I thought if I observed them for a few hours, I could learn a trick or two.”
“Oh…what a charming idea,” Eliza said faintly.
“Quamby thought we could employ Jack as the bootboy in a few years when he’s big enough to work, but I think I’ll need him to convince George or what my son ought to be doing rather than what he wants to be doing.”
Eliza found it hard to breathe.
If she married Mr Bramley, she’d live in the same household as her child, enabling her to ensure with her dying breath that Jack became more than the bootboy.
But even though the idea of such a marriage was anathema, it would never come to pass, she thought in terror.
No, she was penniless, except for a cottage and prospects for marrying a farmer, in which case she could try to engage Gideon as a bootboy within the household. The foundling home would gladly give him up for that purpose. But how would that help him? No, she needed to be well connected, married to a man of influence.
The weight upon her shoulders was almost unbearable. Mr Bramley wasn't going to marry her. The wager had not gone her way, now that she offered him nothing more than a pretty face, if that, she thought wryly.
“Miss Montrose must come home with us tonight.”
Eliza glanced at Lady Fenton, who was looking quite decisive as she fanned herself, for the parlour was growing close on this warm September afternoon.
“Yes, you can’t possibly remain here alone,” corroborated Lady Quamby. “Please, Miss Montrose? You must be our guest for at least a week while we decide what can be done for you?”
“I’m not a charity case. But I thank you, of course.” She pulled herself together. Her self-absorption in her dilemma mustn’t make her cold and bristly. The offer she’d just received was the best she could possibly have hoped for under the circumstances, giving her the opportunity to work on Mr Bramley while, of course, enabling her to see Jack. Helping Jack was her first priority, and if that failed, she’d see if her future could be salvaged in some other way. For without money, family or prospects, she had nothing to offer anyone, least of all her son.
Susana sidled up to her when she was for a moment alone. “My dear cousin, this is simply too terrible a situation for you to be in, but do not fear being left all alone. I wish to help you.”
Before Eliza could manage the suspicious response that came naturally to her lips, Susana rushed on, “Poor Papa, bedridden as he is, would be only too glad of a nurse to aid him in his ailing dotage. In fact, we’ve already spoken of it, suspecting Aunt Montrose’s greater fondness for me.”
Fierce, boiling heat rose to the surface of Eliza’s skin. She put her head close to her cousin’s and hissed, “I will never play nursemaid to anyone, ever again, do you hear? How dare you gloat in this manner?”
“Gloat?” Offended, Susana drew her shoulders back, saying crisply over her shoulder, “You’ll be sorry you were rude to me, Eliza Montrose, when I’m in a position to grant you what you want, and when I shall soon be elevated so far above you. You’ve always thought yourself superior—I don’t know why—but I shan’t forget the way you spoke to me just now. Oh, Mr Bramley, I beg your p
ardon.”
For she’d swung right into the barrel chest of Eliza’s erstwhile betrothed, who perhaps even now was on his way to break off his unconventional arrangement with Eliza.
Eliza couldn’t bear to see any more. Glaring at both Susana and Mr Bramley, she pushed through the throng in the parlour, only keeping her tears at bay in time to breathe in the less poisoned air of the great outdoors.
