Page 61 of A Sense of Turmoil
A little bemused by her royal welcome and the efficiency of the servants—herservants—Flora stepped dutifully into the cottage, closely followed by Zeus. She removed her outdoor garments and handed them to Polly before strolling into the drawing room, where another good fire was burning. Flora was almost overwhelmed by the perfume given off by a large vase of flowers arranged on the window ledge.
‘Where did they come from?’ she asked Polly, who hovered behind her, awaiting further instructions.
‘They were delivered this morning, miss. There was a note.’
Flora sat in front of the fire—herfire—and took the proffered note from Polly’s hand. She recognised the seal at once and knew who the flowers must be from, quelling her disappointment because Luke had not sent them. Well of course he had not! He was engaged to married to another lady and had not even emerged from his library that morning to wish her farewell.
Welcome to Fox Hollow, Flora,she read.I hope you will soon feel at home. I will call in a day or two but if there is anything that you need in the meantime, send word.
The note was signed with a flourishingA.
‘How the devil did he know…’
Flora shook her head and berated herself for her stupidity. He would know everything that went on in the local villages. He was a marquess and his people would keep him informed. She narrowed her eyes when the possibility of his actually owning this cottage occurred to her. It would account for the low rent and the fact that the furnishings exactly suited her taste, right down to the baby grand piano. She recalled discussing the matter with him once when he complained about some of the old-fashioned décor at Felsham Hall that hadn’t changed in decades. He asked her what her preference would be, given a free hand, and she had described something very like the room she was currently sitting in.
He also knew of her love of the piano, a love that she had seldom been able to indulge while growing up, unless it was to hammer out hymns, dirges or anthems—the only sort of sombre music that her father considered acceptable. Anything frivolous was frowned upon in the Latimer household, but as mistress of Fox Hollow Flora revelled in the knowledge that she was free to do as she pleased and answerable to no one.
Mr Renshaw’s unwillingness to reveal the landlord’s identity convinced Flora that she was in the right of it. Archie would have given strict instructions in that regard, aware that Flora wouldn’t accept his charity. She was furious with him now, and with herself for being so easily duped. She ought to have learned by now that if something appeared to be too good to be true, then it almost certainly was. She tapped his note against her fingers, feeling hot and cold all over when it occurred to her that Archie might well expect something in return for his kindness. The countess had been quite wrong to suppose that he would want her for his marchioness.
But there was every possibility that he would require her as a mistress.
How very presumptuous of him, she thought, smiling despite herself. But still, he could hardly turn her out or increase the rent when she refused him. She had made sure that she had a long tenure. Besides, there was also the possibility that she would not decline his advances. She felt rather decadent simply entertaining the possibility but then, she was an independent woman and very curious about…well, about certain aspects of marital relations.
Flora’s salacious thoughts were curtailed when Beatrice bustled in with a tray bearing tea-things and a generous slice of cake. Flora knew some sort of response was required, first impressions being so vital. She picked up the plate, took a bite of the sinfully delicious cake and closed her eyes in appreciation.
‘You are a miracle-worker, Beatrice,’ she said, meaning it.
Beatrice’s cheeks flushed with pleasure. ‘We’ll soon have you fattened up, miss. There’s nothing of you.’
And with that pronouncement, she left the room again as quietly as she had entered it, light on her feet for such a large woman. Polly lingered, looking increasingly uncomfortable.
‘Did you want to talk to me, Polly?’ Flora asked, taking a sip of her tea and putting the cup aside.
‘I think I should, miss,’ the girl said, linking her fingers nervously together in front of her body and staring fixedly at the floor through those startling silver eyes. ‘Best you know what I am. In all likelihood you’ll want me out of the house before the end of the day.’
‘That I very much doubt.’ Flora smiled at the girl, to whom she had already taken a liking. Her aura wasn’t dark, so whatever it was that worried her, Flora knew she couldn’t be the one at fault. ‘Sit down and tell me what it is. Are you a local girl?’ she asked, when Polly perched on the edge of a chair but seemed unable to find her voice.
‘I grew up here, miss,’ she said, briefly looking up from her folded hands and appearing to fight the urge to flee from the room. ‘My ma died a while back.’
‘I’m sorry to hear it.’
Polly shook her head and dashed her fingers at the single tear trickling down her lovely face. ‘Died of shame, most like.’
‘Tell me what has got you into such a taking,’ Flora invited in a soft tone. ‘I am sure it can’t be so very bad. Besides, I am near impossible to shock.’
‘I hear tell that you are the daughter of an important clergyman,’ Polly replied, making it sound like an accusation. ‘That being the case, I don’t see as how I can…’
‘I am, but as you can see I intend to live here alone.’ She grinned. ‘And unmarried too. Quite shockingly avant-garde, I’m sure you will agree. Anyway, it must be clear to you that my family and I are not on the best of terms, and that their rigid moral code is not necessarily the standard that I myself choose to live by.’
Polly managed a tentative smile and some of the tension left her rigid shoulders. ‘I was in service in a big house in Swindon. It was a good position and I worked hard in the hope of making something of myself. I aspire to being a lady’s maid and don’t want to be polishing and sweeping all my life.’ Flora nodded her encouragement when Polly’s words stuttered to a halt, suspecting that she knew what was to come. ‘The long and the short of it is that the master got me into trouble,’ she added in a garbled rush.
‘I am sorry to hear it, Polly,’ Flora said, tutting and shaking her head.
‘You blame me, too, despite what you said earlier.’ She stood, looking resigned. ‘I knew you would.’
‘Please stop putting words into my mouth, Polly,’ Flora replied, motioning the girl back into her chair. ‘What he did was wrong. It was a despicable thing to do, but sadly it is not that uncommon. I cannot abide men who take advantage of servants who depend upon them for their livelihood.’ She sent Polly a reassuring smile. ‘I imagine you are telling me this because a child resulted.’
Polly widened her eyes and managed to nod. ‘Yes, miss. The master denied all responsibility when I told him of my condition and said he would ruin me if I spread lies about him. Anyway, I was too scared to tell the truth and I knew no one would believe me anyway. When I couldn’t conceal my condition any longer, the mistress turned me out without a character. I came back here to live with Ma and had the child, but no one would employ me. Then Ma died, like I say, from shame, more than likely.’
