Ellie didn't move for fear that she'd strangle her future stepmother.
"If you do not marry and leave, you will have to earn your keep," said Mrs. Foxglove.
"Are you insinuating that I must earn my keep in some other way than I am currently earning it?" Ellie thought about all of the chores she performed for her father and his parish. She cooked him three meals a day. She brought food to the poor. She even polished the pews in his church. No one could say that she did not earn her keep.
But Mrs. Foxglove clearly did not share her opinion on the matter, because she rolled her eyes and said,
"You live off of your father's largesse. He is entirely too indulgent with you."
Ellie's eyes bugged out. One thing the Reverend Mr. Lyndon had never been called was indulgent. He had once tied up her older sister to prevent her from marrying the man she loved. Ellie cleared her throat in yet another attempt to control her temper. "What exactly do you wish me to do, Mrs. Foxglove?"
"I have inspected the house and prepared a list of chores."
Mrs. Foxglove handed Ellie a slip of paper. Ellie looked down, read the lines, and choked on her fury. "You want me to clean out the chimney?!?"
"It is wasteful for us to spend money on a chimney sweep when you can do it."
"Don't you think I am a bit too large for such a task?"
"That is another matter. You eat too much."
"What?" Ellie shrieked.
"Food is dear."
"Half of the parishioners pay their tithe in kind," Ellie said, shaking with anger. "We may be short of many things, but never food."
"If you don't like my rules," Mrs. Foxglove said, "you can always marry and leave the house."
Ellie knew why Mrs. Foxglove was so determined to see her gone. She was probably one of those women who could not tolerate anything less than absolute authority in her household. And Ellie, who had been managing her father's affairs for years, would be in the way.
Ellie wondered what the old biddy would say if she were to tell her that she'd received a proposal of marriage just that afternoon. And from an earl, no less. Ellie planted her hands on her hips, ready to give her father's fiancee the blistering setdown she'd been holding in for what seemed like an unbearable length of time, when Mrs. Foxglove held out another slip of paper.
"What's this?" Ellie snapped.
"I have taken the liberty of making a list of eligible bachelors in the district."
Ellie snorted. This she had to see. She unfolded the paper and looked down. Without lifting her eyes back up, she said, "Richard Parrish is engaged."
"Not according to my sources."
Mrs. Foxglove was the worst gossip in Bellfield, so Ellie was inclined to believe her. Not that it made a difference. Richard Parrish was stout and had bad breath. She read on and choked. "George Millerton is past sixty."
Mrs. Foxglove sniffed disdainfully. "You are not in a position to be choosy about such a trivial matter."
The next three names on the list belonged to equally elderly men, one of whom was downright mean. Rumor had it that Anthony Ponsoby had beaten his first wife. There was no way that Ellie was going to shackle herself to a man who thought that marital communication was best conducted with a stick.
"Good God!" Eliie exclaimed as her eyes traveled down to the second-to-last name on the list. "Robert Beechcombe cannot be a day over fifteen. What were you thinking?"
Mrs. Foxglove was about to respond, but Ellie interrupted her. "Billy Watson!" she shrieked. "He is not right in the head. Everybody knows that. How dare you try to marry me off to someone like him!"
"As I said, a woman in your position cannot—"
"Don't say it," Ellie cut in, her entire body shaking with rage. "Don't say a word."
Mrs. Foxglove smirked. "You cannot speak to me like that in my home."
"It isn't your home yet, you old bag," Ellie bit out. Mrs. Foxglove lurched backward. "Well, I never!"
"And I have never been moved to violence," Ellie fumed, "but I am always willing to try a new experience." She grabbed Mrs. Foxglove's collar and pushed her out the door.
"You will be sorry you did this!" Mrs. Foxglove yelled from the walkway.
"I will never be sorry," Ellie returned. "Never!" She slammed the door and threw herself on the sofa. There was no doubt about it. She was going to have to find a way to escape her father's household. The Earl of Billington's face danced in her head, but she pushed it aside. She wasn't so desperate that she had to marry a man she'd scarcely met. Surely there had to be some other way.
* * *
By the next morning, Ellie had devised a plan. She wasn't as helpless as Mrs. Foxglove would like to believe. She had a bit of money tucked away. It wasn't a vast sum, but it was enough to support a woman of modest taste and frugal nature.
Ellie had put the money in a bank years ago but had been dissatisfied with the paltry rate of interest. So she took to reading the London Times, making special note of items relating to the world of business and commerce. When she felt she had a comprehensive knowledge of the change, she went to a solicitor to handle her funds. She had to do it under her father's name, of course. No solicitor would handle money on the behalf of a young woman, especially one who was investing without the knowledge of her father. So she traveled several towns away, found Mr. Tibbett, a solicitor who did not know of the Reverend Mr. Lyndon, and told him that her father was a recluse. Mr. Tibbett worked with a broker in London, and Ellie's nest egg grew and grew.