“Everyone is so cross at the moment,” Polly sighed to Lucille, after Jessie had grumbled ceaselessly over her decision to change her chosen dress for a soirée one night. “Have you noticed how the heat makes people quicker-tempered? It’s very strange. Thank goodness there is to be no dancing tonight! I feel sure we should all melt into a puddle!”
Lucille fanned herself vigorously. “I hear that there were riots in The Strand last night,” she said, frowning. “Some windows were smashed and shops looted. I am sure that this weather can only add to people’s grievances. I shall ask Nicholas to give all the servants a day off on Saturday, and perhaps we may all go out of Town to somewhere cooler. Hampstead Wells, perhaps? A walk on the Heath might be quite refreshing.”
Even the Dowager Countess agreed to the proposed trip, feeling that the village air would be less noxious than that in London. The day was sunny but not too hot and they spent a most enjoyable few hours strolling on the Heath, playing bowls, and taking the waters at the spa. Polly declared the water so unpleasant that she needed a cup of tea to wash away the taste, so they retired to one of the honeysuckle-covered tea arbours for further refreshment.
“Oh, do let us stay a little longer,” Lucille urged, catching sight of a sign which promised a concert in the pump-room that evening, followed by fireworks. “There are plenty more of the gardens and grottoes to explore and it would be such fun to stay for the evening’s entertainments!”
The light was fading when the concert finished and they came out on to the Heath for the firework display. It was busy and many of the benches on the edge of the hill were already full.
“Heavens, what a crush!” The Dowager Countess exclaimed. “I had no idea that the whole of Town would have come out for this! Let us walk a little way along and see if we can find any seats!”
Polly was dawdling along behind the others, pulling her velvet cloak closer, for the evening was cool now that the sun had gone. A florid gentleman and large lady, amorously entwined, bumped into her and almost sent her flying without noticing. Polly stumbled. The first of the rockets soared into the sky above her and scattered a trail of bright stars. Suddenly it was very dark and she could not see the others at all. The crowd pressed about her; ladies, gentlemen, servants, tradesmen, cits and people of quite another sort.
A voice said: “All alone, lady? Let me take care of you!” He was young and attired as a gentleman, but Polly knew him to be no such thing. He was also drunk. And as she looked around wildly for her family, he took her arm.
“Your help will not be necessary, sir,” a voice said smoothly, from behind her. “The lady is with me, but I am grateful to you for your consideration.”
Polly recognised the voice even before she swung around to see Lord Henry Marchnight standing so protectively close to her. Something in his demeanour also communicated itself to the man who had accosted her, for he mumbled something about meaning no harm, and stumbled away. Lord Henry watched him go with a slight smile then turned his attention back to Polly.
“Tell me, Lady Polly,” he said conversationally, steering her out of the crowd to the edge of the path, “is this part of your claim for independence, to wander alone on Hampstead Heath in the dark? It seems rather foolhardy!”
“Don’t be absurd!” Polly snapped. Reaction was setting in now and she was horrified at what had almost happened to her. “I have become separated from my party, that is all! We were looking for seats for the fireworks—” Another rocket soared overhead as though to illustrate her point.
“Well, they could be anywhere now,” Lord Henry said resignedly, looking at the crowds. “It will be best for me to escort you back to your carriage, I think. They should have no trouble in finding you there. Is Seagrave here with you?”
Polly nodded.
“Thank God. He at least will have the sense to keep the others calm and search for you in a sensible fashion! Now, if we go down this path it should take us to the Well Walk. Did you leave your carriage there?”
Polly nodded unhappily. She knew that the Dowager Countess would be beside herself with worry and could not but regret spoiling the end of such a lovely day.
“We were having such a nice time,” she said regretfully. “I am sorry that it has had to end this way.”
It was very dark down the steep little passage that led to the street where the carriages were waiting. The scent of honeysuckle still hung in the air and the stars arched above them. Polly, trying to find her way in the dark, suddenly remembered that she had not even thanked Lord Henry for rescuing her.
“I am sorry,” she said in a small voice, “I should have thanked you. Your arrival was most timely, my lord. I hope that I have not taken you away from your friends?”
“I am here alone,” Lord Henry said, sounding preoccupied. “It is comforting to think that you feel safer with me than with that ruffian!”
This was an aspect of the situation that had not occurred to Polly at all. She stopped in an arched doorway. It was not possible to see Lord Henry’s face in the pale light. “Oh, I never even thought—” she said, uncertainly.
“Perhaps you should have done.” Lord Henry sounded grim. “You were flatteringly quick to entrust yourself to me, but my reputation is scarce such that a young lady should consider taking a walk in the dark with me!”
“Well!” Polly had had time to become indignant. “I think it most unfair of you to ring a peal over me for trusting you, sir! I had little choice but to consider you the lesser of two evils!”
She heard Lord Henry laugh at that. “Better the devil you know?” His shoulder brushed a spray of honeysuckle and released fresh scent into the air. He was very close and Polly suddenly became intensely aware of his physical presence. Her throat felt constricted.
“Besides…” she was clutching at straws now “…on the last occasion that we met, sir, you behaved with perfect propriety! It led me to believe that what I had heard of you was grossly exaggerated—”
She had taken a cautious step forward as she spoke, missed her footing on a step, and felt Lord Henry’s arms go around her to steady her.
“You misjudged me,” Lord Henry said with satisfaction, “and this, Lady Polly, is where I have been wanting you ever since I saw you this evening.”
The dark night was intimate and warm. Polly felt curiously anonymous, as though she could say anything, do anything, without it really mattering. She did not try to break away from him, but stood in the circle of his arms, their bodies touching lightly. In the silence she could hear him breathing.
She raised her mouth to Henry’s, waiting in a fever of anticipation for the gentle persuasiveness of his first kiss to deepen into passion. She pressed herself against him, entwining her arms about his neck to hold him close. He was keeping his kisses frustratingly light, but when Polly slid her hands into his hair she heard him groan and his mouth returned to hers with more force and more demand. She parted her lips beneath the sensual pressure of his and leaned back against the doorway, drawing him with her. It was as though she had become a creature of sensation only. Her cloak had slid back and she could feel the warmth of his body against hers creating a delicious, seductive need within her. One of his hands brushed the cloak aside and moved to caress her breast very gently. His mouth was rough on hers now and she revelled in it, gasping his name against his lips. And then, suddenly, it was over and she was left shivering in the chill breeze.
“Enough, sweetheart! It seems I misjudged you, too. Such sweet responsiveness will be my undoing!”
There was an undertone of laughter in Henry’s voice, but he still sounded shaken. “My innocent, wayward Lady Polly—have you any idea just what you are doing?”
With great deliberation he pulled her cloak close about her and turned her around.
Polly felt cold and bereft. She wanted to be back in his arms, wanted it quite dreadfully. And yet, all she had ever been taught suggested that this had to be wrong. It was desperately confusing.
“I�
�m sorry—” she began, in a small voice, but Henry took her arm in a comforting hold.
“Do not be. It was my fault. I thought I knew what I was doing, but you proved me wrong.” She saw him grin. “You may have been smothered in propriety but it seems there may be a chance to redeem you!” He took Polly’s face in his hands and kissed her again lightly. “Now, we must go down to the Well Walk before I forget myself even further.”
He took her hand and drew Polly reluctantly down the remaining steps, taking care to let her go before they emerged into the lamplight. The carriages were all drawn up on the Walk and Lucille and the Dowager Countess were already there, turning hopefully at the sound of footsteps, their faces breaking into relief.
“Polly! Poor child! Whatever has happened to you? You’re shaking!” Lucille enfolded her in a comforting hug. Over Polly’s head she said to Henry, “Nicholas is scouring the Terrace, but he should be back directly! Oh, he will be so grateful, Henry! We were so worried!”
Polly shrank into the shadows whilst the Dowager Countess pressed her slightly more grudging thanks on Lord Henry. She was sure that she must look as bemused and dazed as she felt.
“Thank God she came to no harm,” the Dowager was saying gruffly, eyeing her daughter’s flustered face and fortunately attributing her confusion to the shock of being lost. “We are indebted to you, sir.”
Lord Henry smiled. “By great good chance Lady Polly came to no lasting hurt this evening.” His eyes met Polly’s and she saw the wicked twinkle there. She hoped desperately that it was dark enough to hide her burning face. “Do not be too hard on her, ma’am! I have taken her to task enough for her behaviour!”
“Harry Marchnight playing the moralist!” the Dowager Countess said as the coach rumbled home. “Who would have thought it! Evidently he has an understanding of proper behaviour after all! I expect he was most uncompromising!”
Polly shivered, remembering the explosive heat of the encounter with Henry. There had certainly been little of compromise about it. “He was indeed, Mama!” she said, and only Lucille saw the shadow of a smile that touched her sister-in-law’s mouth as she sat back in her corner of the carriage and dreamed.
It was much later that night when Lord Henry Marchnight strolled unobtrusively into the cardroom at White’s and glanced around with apparent lack of interest at the games that were in progress. At one table an older gentleman of military bearing was winning steadily at whist, a shrewd look in his eye and a glass of water at his elbow.
“Fitzpatrick has the luck of the devil,” Simon Verey said in Lord Henry’s ear. “How does he do it?”
“Easily,” Lord Henry said laconically, without turning his head. “He is sober—the others are drunk. It is an unequal contest.”
Verey grinned. “You look as though you could do with a drink yourself, Harry! You’re uncommon serious tonight! Is it love or business that prompts such severity?”
Lord Henry smiled reluctantly. “A little of both, perhaps…Mr Ditton is losing heavily,” he added with apparent irrelevance, nodding towards a table where a dandy clad entirely in yellow was slumped in his chair, scowling ferociously at the cards in his hand.
Verey was no fool and he knew more than most about Lord Henry’s preoccupations.
“Ditton has always been intemperate in his habits,” he observed quietly, “but lately…”
“Yes, he plays too deep—” Lord Henry broke off to greet an acquaintance and turned away from the card tables, moving to a quieter corner.
“Another one for whom matters do not prosper,” Verey said, watching Peter Seagrave weaving his way a little unsteadily between the tables. “Extraordinary, I always thought him the most straightforward of the family! Nick Seagrave was the very devil for gambling and women before his marriage and now he’s as quiet as a lamb and it’s Peter who has lost fifty thousand in one sitting!”
Lord Henry winced. “As bad as that?” he asked. “And in one of Lady Bolt’s preferred gaming hells, I have no doubt!”
Verey shrugged. “She has her claws into him now, for all she’s after Garston’s fortune as well! He would have done better to settle for that sweet little Miss Markham!”
“In praise of marriage, Simon?” Lord Henry said mockingly. “You have become quite the old married man yourself these two years past!”
Verey grinned a little self-consciously. “I’ll not deny that I count myself the most fortunate of men to have found Therese,” he said, a little gruffly. “I am only here tonight because my sister Jane is up from the country and the two of them sent me out so that they could have a gossip in peace!”
“How does the Duchess?” Henry asked lightly, smiling as always to think of Jane Verey with so weighty a title. Her brother laughed.
“She does very well, I thank you! I shall pass on your regards! I doubt she will be in Town for long, for Delahaye returns from the continent shortly and will no doubt be in haste to claim his wife! Ah, these tales of married bliss! One might almost consider it fashionable to dote on one’s spouse these days!”
Henry took a glass of wine proffered by a passing waiter. “Almost you convince me, Simon!”
“You? Parson’s mousetrap?” Verey looked almost comically surprised. “Do I know the lady?”
“You should do,” Henry murmured. “She is the only one I have ever evinced an interest in marrying!”
Verey spluttered into his wine. “But…I presume you mean…But that was five years ago, old fellow! Mean to say, I thought it was a thing of the past!”
“So it was, but not any more.”
“Well!” Verey sat down a little heavily. “Am I to wish you happy, then?”
“Not yet.” Lord Henry’s gaze returned thoughtfully to the slouching figure of Tristan Ditton. “Certain business is getting in the way. When it concludes…”
There was a crash from across the room as Peter Seagrave tried to take his place at a faro table, clutched unsteadily at his chair and succeeded only in overturning it and drawing attention to himself.
“Hope she has more steadiness of character than her brother,” Verey said gloomily.
Lord Henry grinned. “Oh, decidedly! And it may be unchivalrous in me to say so, but she holds her drink with a great deal more charm!”
Chapter Five
“It will not be long before Mama warns me,” Polly said gloomily as she and Lucille strolled along Bond Street in search of items for Lucille’s belated wedding trip. “Oh, look, Lucille, those satin dancing slippers are the most exquisite things! Why do you not take those with you?”
“I fear they will see little wear in the Lake District,” Lucille observed mildly. “A pair of stout walking boots would be more the thing!”
“And a parasol to keep the sun off! Mama would consider it deplorable for you to return with a tan!”
Lucille laughed. “A fine figure I shall cut in boots and a parasol! Why do you not buy the slippers yourself?”
But Polly’s gaze had alighted on an embroidered reticule which would look perfect with her striped walking dress. “I have only enough of my allowance left for one purchase,” she said regretfully. “Oh, look at those beautiful silk gloves! Now I am in a quandary!”
Lucille laughed. “Do you need any of these things?”
“Oh, no! At least—” Polly wrinkled up her nose. “Not need, precisely, but it would be pleasant to have them! Am I monstrously extravagant?”
Lucille, who privately thought that her sister-in-law was surprisingly unspoilt for all her privileged upbringing, reassured her that this was not the case at all.
Once the reticule had been settled upon and bought, and they were walking on, Lucille said suddenly, “I was attending to you really! What is it that she will warn you about, Polly?”
Polly looked puzzled, then her face cleared. “Oh, about Lord Henry Marchnight! In fact, I am surprised that Mama has not spoken before now! It is unlike her to allow me so much licence!”
In the previous two weeks, Lord He
nry had been much in evidence in Brook Street, calling on Polly, taking her riding or driving, accompanying her to routs, parties and picnics. Polly had tried to take his attentions lightly but it was becoming increasingly difficult not to think that he might have serious intentions and, oddly, Lucille’s next words echoed this.
“I believe that your mama is in a dilemma, Polly,” she said thoughtfully. “She feels that she should warn you against Lord Henry’s advances, but she cannot quite disabuse herself of the hope that he is in earnest! Not even your mama is prepared to offend the Duke and Duchess of Marchnight by suggesting that one of their sons is not a suitable match for her daughter!”
Polly bit her lip. “Do you truly think…I try not to let myself hope too much, but—” She broke off. “I dare say I should not set too much store by his behaviour. After all, he is a shocking flirt!”
“He has not flirted with anyone else since he started to pay serious court to you,” Lucille pointed out quietly.
The colour flooded Polly’s face, then receded to leave her very pale. “No, that’s true! I had not thought…But perhaps he is only flirting with me!”
“You may judge for yourself whether Lord Henry is sincere,” Lucille said with a little smile, “for I see him coming this way!”
It was true. Lord Henry Marchnight, in company with the Vereys and a young lady of schoolroom appearance, was sauntering along the pavement towards them. Polly saw him quicken his step as he caught sight of them and the two parties met and greeted each other with unaffected pleasure.
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