usually help with the church fête,’ Eliza said and looked rueful. ‘He has been a little too attentive of late and I have tried to avoid seeing him other than on Sunday morning, when it is impossible not to meet.’
Betty arched her brows at her. ‘Your papa was a vicar, Eliza. Young Mr Stanley will have his own living one day. You could do worse than encourage him. Not that you need think of marriage just yet, of course. You are only twenty this summer and there is plenty of time, but being the wife of a clergyman may be better than a companion’s life.’
‘If I liked Mr Stanley, I should think it an ideal life, Betty—but he is too prissy in his ways. Had he been like Papa, I should have encouraged him long since.’
‘Well, I suppose he has some odd mannerisms—and he isn’t good enough for a lovely girl like you.’
‘I am not pretty, Betty.’ Eliza blushed delicately. She was tall and slender, her hair a rich dark brown and her eyes the colour some people called hazel. Her complexion was a little on the pale side, but she had a wonderful smile, and it was when she smiled that she was at her best.
‘No, you’re not pretty in the accepted sense,’ Betty agreed. ‘But you have a beautiful nature, Eliza. Any man worth his salt would be fortunate to have you for a wife.’
Eliza laughed, her eyes bright with amusement. ‘Betty, you are so good for me. I feel much better being here. I should have given up the cottage sooner instead of trying to keep it on. I have arranged for the few things that I decided to keep to be brought here on the cart. The rest of it will be sold at the market and I shall use it to pay for my keep until I can find work.’
‘That you will not unless you want to have a falling out with me and my Ted,’ Betty said stoutly. ‘He’s as fond of you as I am and he won’t take a penny of your money, Eliza. You write out your advertisement, my love, and Ted will take it to town this very afternoon when he goes, and send it off for you, but take money for your keep he will not—and that’s final.’
Eliza felt tears sting her eyes. She was so lucky to have such good friends. ‘I do not know what I should have done without you both while Mama was ill.’
‘You would have managed, for you bore the brunt of it,’ Betty told her. ‘I helped where I could and so did my Ted. He was only saying last night as it was time you had some luck, and so it is.’
‘Well, who knows what may happen?’ Eliza said. ‘I shall advertise for a post and perhaps fortune will smile on me.’
‘Go through to the parlour and write your letter in peace and I’ll make us some toast and a nice pot of tea for a treat.’
Eliza thanked her and did as she was bid, going into the neat room that was used on Sundays and for company. She sat down at the writing table in front of the window and picked up the pen. There was paper and ink in the drawer; Ted worked as a clerk at the office of the Earl of Standish’s estate manager and occasionally brought his work home to finish in the evenings.
She wrote out two adverts, one for The Times in London and another for a paper that published in Bath. The receiving office in Norwich would send them off and accept the fee on behalf of the paper.
Eliza sat for a moment, staring out at the view. Betty’s garden was a riot of early summer flowers and their perfume floated in through the open window. While she was here she could at least help with the garden—it was one of her chief pleasures.
Should she also write to Mama’s brother and tell him of his sister’s death? She was not sure if he already knew or even if he were still alive and living in India. She did not wish to appear as if she were asking for help. However, perhaps it was only polite to inform him.
She hesitated and then picked up her pen once more. She would write a brief note giving the bare facts and leave it at that—surely there could be nothing wrong in informing Mr Henry Jarvis of Mrs Bancroft’s death?
Sealing her letter, she picked up her reticule and put on her pelisse. If she hurried to the estate manager’s office, she might be in time to catch Mr Wright before he visited the ancient wool town of Norwich this afternoon.
She wondered how long it would be before she received an answer to her request for work. Would anyone be interested in employing a girl like her? She had no experience, except for a little nursing. Perhaps someone would think that sufficient. She could only hope she would receive an answer; despite what Betty had told her, she could not be a burden to her friends for ever.
Betty smiled when she went through to the kitchen. ‘Have you written your letters?’
‘Yes, I have. I shall walk down to the estate office with them now—unless you need me?’
‘There is nothing for you to do,’ Betty assured her. ‘It is a nice afternoon and the walk will do you good.’
A few minutes later, Eliza set out for the earl’s estate office. It was not too far, for the Wrights’ cottage was on the Standish estate and the morning was pleasantly warm. Eliza liked to walk whenever she could, though she had had little opportunity the previous summer when her mother was first ill, and had been making the most of this one. In consequence, her complexion was not as pale as it had been.
Perhaps because she was dreaming a little, she did not become aware of the horseman until he was almost on her. Startled, she turned to see the great black stallion racing towards her at speed, so she threw herself to the side of the narrow road, landing on her hands and knees in a bramble bush.
‘Damn you, sir! I said whoa,’ a voice cried loudly. She heard more cursing and a horse neighing as if in protest as it was reined in, then, moments later, ‘Forgive me, miss. My mind was elsewhere and I was not thinking that someone might be around that bend in the lane.’
Eliza rose to her feet as a gentleman in riding dress bent over her. He gave her his hand to steady her and she blushed as she found herself looking up into the bluest eyes she had ever seen. He stood head and shoulders above her and Eliza considered herself tall for a woman. The stranger was broad shouldered and of a powerful build; she thought him one of the handsomest men she had met.
‘I… was dreaming myself,’ she confessed. ‘Had I heard you sooner, I should have moved out of your way, sir. I trust your horse has suffered no harm?’
‘That is generously said.’ The gentleman smiled at her, a hint of relief in those devastating eyes. ‘Are you hurt, Miss…? Forgive me, I do not know your name.’
‘I am Eliza Bancroft,’ she replied and her cheeks were pink as he continued to hold her hand for longer than necessary. ‘I grazed my hands as I fell, but they will soon mend.’
‘May I see your hands?’ He turned her hands over and saw the slight graze on the right one and the spot of blood. Bending his head, he licked the wound with his tongue, sending a spasm of shock and incredible feeling curling through her. Eliza jerked and removed her hand from his grasp instantly. He looked surprised, then conscious, as if just realising what he had done. ‘Forgive me. I meant nothing wrong. My mother always said that licking the wound took the sting away. I have nothing to help you—unless my neckcloth as a bandage…’
‘No! It is not necessary,’ she said, feeling embarrassed by her feelings, which were quite inappropriate. ‘Thank you, I shall be home soon enough and my friend Betty will tend my hand for me, though I think it is no more than a scratch from the bramble.’
His eyes seemed to burn into her for long moments, then, ‘My apologies, Miss Bancroft. My mind was elsewhere. I am on my way to visit my uncle. He is expecting me and I did not wish to be late…’ He hesitated, as if unsure of what to do next. ‘If there is anything I can do…?’
‘No, sir,’ she replied instantly. ‘I am perfectly able to manage alone, thank you. Pray continue. I should not wish to make you late for your appointment.’
‘Standish is a testy old devil at times, but he has been ill and I am anxious about him, so I should go…’ He