By the time she was ready, the dancing had already started in the Long Barn. Peter was energetically twirling his bride around in a spirited country dance whilst the villagers, made merry by drink and good food, roared their encouragement. The older folk had retired from the fray, but the Vereys had remained and Lady Laura Marchnight seemed to have persuaded the Duchess to allow her to stay. Polly was immediately swept into the dance by Simon Verey.
Henry was dancing with Therese Verey and Polly attempted the difficult manoeuvre of trying to see his face whilst executing the complicated steps of the dance. She could read nothing there. Nothing of encouragement or liking or interest. He did not even glance in her direction. She sighed inwardly. Perhaps they were back as they had been a few short months ago, mingling at the same social events but apart, almost strangers. It seemed intolerable and yet she might have to learn to live with it.
Then Simon Verey was steering her across the floor towards Henry and was saying, “You must grant Lord Henry a dance, Lady Polly, for he has ridden all this way solely for that privilege!”
Henry gave him a droll smile.
“What a good friend you are, Simon, giving all a fellow’s secrets away!”
Simon smiled imperturbably, gravitated back to his wife’s side, and Henry took Polly’s hand with grave courtesy.
“Will you dance, Lady Polly? Good manners might compel you to accept after that introduction!”
“I need no compulsion, sir,” Polly said, looking up into those steady grey eyes and feeling a little dizzy. Hope and fear were warring within her. Did they have another chance?
They danced in silence. The country jigs and figured dances favoured at such rustic gatherings hardly leant themselves to conversation. All about them the chatter and laughter ebbed and flowed, the tankards of ale were drained and replenished, but Polly was only conscious of Henry’s eyes following her through the movement of the dance and the brief touch of his hand on hers.
“You have been good enough to grant me this dance, Lady Polly,” Lord Henry said when the music ended. “Will you go further and grant me a private interview? There are matters we must discuss—”
“Lord Henry!” It was Hetty, bright-eyed and beaming with happiness, who was at his elbow. “Oh, I am so glad you were able to be here!”
She stood on tiptoe as Henry bent to kiss her cheek and wish her happy. Polly wondered fleetingly how Hetty had managed to achieve such an easy friendship with him. But then, Lucille had also found him both friendly and charming. It seemed that she was the only one who had difficulty in achieving such intimacy and that was only because she could not escape that powerful attraction he held for her. As Henry had said only a few months before, they could never be comfortable with each other.
“You must not be angry with me, Lord Henry,” Hetty was continuing sweetly, “but I am come to take Polly away! She has promised to attend me this evening and my new Mama…” she nodded towards the Dowager Countess “…tells me it would be fitting for me to retire now! It seems a shame…” for a moment Hetty looked at the revellers a little enviously “…that I must miss the party!”
Henry stepped back with a slight bow. “Then I shall hope for an opportunity to continue our conversation later, Lady Polly.”
Polly hoped that her disappointment did not show as sharply on her face as she felt it inside.
It was much later that she was able to rejoin the party. Hetty had retired to bed with becoming modesty and there was only a small moment of awkwardness when both mothers clearly felt they should make mention of what to expect on the wedding night, only to remember that this was hardly necessary. Mrs Markham had become quite tearful now that her only fledgling was married and had to be dosed with medicinal brandy in the library. As Lucille had been too tired to stay late, this duty fell to Polly, who patiently listened to Mrs Markham’s rambling tales of Hetty’s childhood. Eventually Mrs Markham hauled herself to her feet a little unsteadily and went off to bed and Polly cut through the empty ballroom, where the chandeliers still blazed, and out through the conservatory.
It was very dark on the terrace. The sound of music and laughter still drifted through the trees from the Long Barn, and the torchlight glowed faintly. As Polly closed the conservatory door behind her, a slight figure came hurrying along the terrace and almost collided with her. There was a muffled exclamation, then the figure put back the hood of its cloak and revealed herself to be Lady Laura Marchnight.
“Oh, Lady Polly!” Laura gasped. “How you startled me! I did not see you there!”
She cast a swift look around. “Please could you pretend that we have not met? Indeed, it is of the utmost importance, for you see, I am eloping!”
She brought the words out with a certain flourish and in the moonlight her eyes were bright with excitement.
“Mr Farrant—” Polly began.
“He is waiting with the carriage at the end of the lime drive!” Lady Laura interrupted excitedly. “He was a little unhappy with the plan, but I persuaded him! Mama was quite immovable over the scheme to send me to Northumberland and I knew I should not see my dearest Charles for an age were I to comply! Oh, dear Lady Polly, say you will not betray me!” She caught Polly’s hands in a desperate grip.
“Of course not,” Polly said hastily, giving Laura’s hands a reassuring squeeze. “But are you certain that you are doing the right thing? Your family will be very displeased by a runaway match—”
“If I am Charles’ wife I shall have my whole happiness,” Laura said confidently, her eyes shining like stars, “and though it grieves me to go against the wishes of my family, I cannot lose that which is most precious to me! Wish me joy!” She reached up to give Polly an impulsive kiss. “I am so happy!”
“I wish you all the luck in the world,” Polly said, a lump in her throat at such transparent happiness. “Now, you had best begone before anyone else sees you!”
Laura paused on the edge of flight, fumbling in the deep pocket of the coat. “Oh, I almost forgot! I was going to leave this with a servant, but perhaps you would be so good…It is for Henry, but please do not give it to him until the end of the evening. I could not bear for him to worry about me, but rather that than that he should catch up with us!”
The letter was crisp and smooth between Polly’s fingers. She watched Laura’s hurrying shadow disappear along the colonnade. Polly was not sure how long she stood there alone in the darkness, but it was long enough for the glow of the carriage lights to fade away between the trees.
“Do not give it to him until the end of the evening…” She did not want to break her word to Laura, but even less could she lie to Henry or keep a secret from him. She thrust the letter into the bodice of her dress and walked slowly across the cobbled yard towards the barn. There had been a break in the dancing whilst the guests partook of supper and Polly spotted Henry quickly, deep in conversation with Nick Seagrave. As she hesitated to approach them, Henry looked up and their eyes met. Seagrave said something, smiled and sauntered away, leaving Henry alone.
“My lord, I must speak with you…There is a very urgent matter—” Polly was amazed to find that she was out of breath, sounding quite shaken. “It concerns your sister—”
Henry’s attention sharpened. He took her hands in a strong grasp.
“Concerning Laura? What is it? You are shaking, Lady Polly! What can be the matter?”
Polly glanced around instinctively. Most of the guests were preoccupied with the serious business of eating and drinking, but a few glances were being cast their way.
“Not here,” she said softly. “I have a letter for you. It is a delicate matter…”
Henry nodded, offering her his arm. “Perhaps you will be good enough to show me your father’s sculpture collection before supper, Lady Polly? I have heard tell that it is very fine.”
It was dark outside and not secluded enough for a private conversation. They re-crossed the courtyard hastily and went in through the long library doors. The li
brary was in near darkness, only one branch of candles throwing its shadowy light over the sculpture which was indeed accounted very beautiful. Henry shut the door behind them and Polly moved to light some more candles. From a purely practical point of view, Henry would hardly be able to decipher his sister’s script in the gloom. Her hands shook a little as she lit the wavering flame and turned back to him. Henry was standing with his back to the door and Polly felt once again the little leap of her heart that his presence always caused.
“Here.” She took the letter from the bodice of her gown and passed it over, still warm from the contact with her skin. “You will be wanting to read it in peace, I am sure, my lord—”
But she was not to get away so easily.
“Just a moment—” Lord Henry said, sounding preoccupied. He had already unfolded the missive and scanned its brief contents, but when he looked up at Polly, his gaze was intent.
“When did Laura give this to you?”
Polly glanced at the clock. “No more than fifteen minutes ago, my lord.”
“Then why does she imagine that I will be reading it several hours hence?” He tapped the letter. “She states quite clearly here that she will have been gone for several hours, yet you say it is only fifteen minutes! I could catch them up quite easily if I chose!”
“Yes.” Polly struggled a little, wishing she had beaten a retreat sooner, “that is…she asked me to give it to you in a little while but—” She broke off with a slight gesture. “I thought that you should know at once—” Polly stopped again. This was coming out all wrong and Henry was frowning deeply as he watched her.
“Why?” he demanded. “Were you so determined that I should put a stop to this? I have not forgotten your aversion to elopements!”
“No!” Polly was stung. “It is unfair of you to bring that matter up between us again, my lord! I wish Lady Laura every good fortune! But I could not just stand by with your letter for a few hours and then give it to a servant to pass to you and pretend that it had not been in my possession all the time! I just hoped that you would make the right decision—” She broke off. “Truly, my lord,” she finished, a little desperately, “it is best that I leave you to consider matters.”
“No,” Henry said firmly, “I do not think so.” He was leaning on Seagrave’s beautiful inlaid walnut desk and was still frowning. “There is a mystery here which I feel must be unravelled. Laura gave you the letter and asked that you give it to me in a few hours’ time, to give them a good head start. You say that you wish them well and indeed it must be so, for in here—” he flicked the letter as it lay on the desk “—she also says that you advised her most kindly to follow her heart.” The look he gave her was sardonic. “I cannot believe you to have indulged in such double-dealing, Lady Polly, that you advise my sister to elope and then immediately give her away! Pray, sit down and explain the matter to me!”
Polly glanced across at the door. It seemed so much easier just to run away, except for the conviction that Henry would probably run after her and bring her back, and cause a scandal in the process. The deepening smile on his face suggested that he had guessed her thoughts—all of them. She sat down on one of the elegant gilt sofas and tried to marshal her thoughts.
“It is true that Lady Laura confided in me her feelings for Mr Farrant,” she admitted, “and also that I was aware of the objections of her family to the match. You and I have discussed as much! I do not know what part your sister has assigned to me in all this, but I freely admit that my advice to her was that she should do what she thought was right. She has more determination than I ever did at her age—she knew what she wanted and now she has taken it, and I wish her all the luck in the world in her choice!”
“Then why did you pass me her letter so swiftly?” Henry asked. “You must know that I could stop them if I chose.” He had come round the desk and taken the chair opposite Polly’s, watching her all the while. Polly was intensely conscious of his intent gaze resting thoughtfully on her face. She prayed that it was too dark for him to read her expression. This was the most difficult part.
“I did not wish to deceive you,” she said candidly. “Whilst I wish your sister success and happiness, it was more important to me that you should know of her actions and choose for yourself. If you decide to go after them I shall be very sorry, but I will still feel that I did the right thing in entrusting the letter to you now rather than later.”
There was a little silence. Polly’s face was growing hot under that unrelenting scrutiny. “A little late in the day to be speaking of trust between us,” Henry said drily. “You must forgive me, Lady Polly, if I find it difficult to accept that you are finally trusting me with information in the belief that I will do the right thing. There have been other occasions, arguably more important, when you did not show any such confidence in me!”
Polly clasped her hands together tightly. “If you are speaking of my engagement to Mr Ditton then I can only concede that you are right, my lord. However, if we must indulge in recriminations, allow me to say that you are hardly blameless yourself!”
Henry smiled slightly. “Your point, Lady Polly! But it is a little different. I would have done anything I could to save you from Ditton.”
“Almost anything,” Polly said sweetly. “Let us not rake over the past, my lord, for we shall only quarrel! It seems that you cannot forgive me my lack of trust and I resent that you did not fully confide in me! Untrusted and untrustworthy both! But will you go after your sister?”
Henry shook his head slowly.
“No, I will not. I never opposed the match, although I cannot deny that it will cause a great deal of trouble. But…” he sighed “…it is not my choice to spoil Laura’s happiness!”
Polly let out a long, unsteady breath. “Oh, thank you!”
“And,” Henry added, with the ghost of a smile, “as long as neither of us admits that we knew of the elopement only fifteen minutes after it occurred, we may avoid any censure!”
For a moment they were drawn into a tenuous alliance. Polly felt hope and despair stir in equal measure. Was this how it was always to be, forever wanting more, hoping for more, when Henry had made it clear that he could not forgive her lack of faith in him and she had just demonstrated that she still blamed him for telling her only half a story?
It seemed heartbreaking.
“I must go,” she said, a little uncertainly. “Mama will be wondering, and I have had no supper…”
Henry stirred a little in his chair. “I shall bid you farewell then, Lady Polly. I am returning to London tomorrow. Perhaps you will be in Town for the Little Season?”
“Perhaps,” Polly echoed dully. She felt her spirits sink like a stone. There would be the Little Season and then the following Season and the year after, forever in Lord Henry’s company, forever set apart from him, summers in Brighton, or Bath, or Dillingham, becoming the spinster aunt, wearing the willow forever…
She swallowed hard. “Good night, my lord,” she said.
Chapter Eighteen
There was a curious air of quiet about Dillingham Court the following day. Both Lucille and the Dowager Countess stayed in bed resting, but Polly found herself full of a restless energy that compelled her out of doors. After breakfast, she took her watercolours down to the lake and sat in the summerhouse trying to paint, but somehow she could not transfer the pretty pastoral scene onto her paper and tore up her efforts in a fit of temper. It seemed that she would not find solace for her broken heart through her painting.
The lake was very calm under the blue sky of early autumn, but the air was warm and the sky was heavy with gathering rain. The light was interesting and Polly was frustrated that she could not convey it onto paper. She put down her brush and leant her elbows on the railing, watching the distant clouds roll towards her. With a sigh, she pushed her paints to one side. A quiet walk was almost always enjoyable, although she would have to be careful that she did not get caught in the rain.
She took t
he path that skirted the lake, walking slowly down towards the River Deben. The breeze whispered softly in the grass and stirred the leaves on the trees. It seemed almost unnaturally quiet. The river was running quickly, little eddies pushing at the muddy bank and lapping at the soles of Polly’s shoes. She could see the roof of the fishing-house a little further downstream, and wandered towards it. The skies opened almost as suddenly as they had done that day at Shingle Street, and the rain began in a steady downpour. By the time Polly reached the fishing-house, she was drenched and hurried towards the shelter it provided. The door swung open with one touch of her hand and, as before, she stepped into the dim interior.
Unlike the last time, the pool was empty. The mermen and mermaids watched her with blank eyes. There was total silence. Polly paused. A completely insane idea took hold of her. She had gone seabathing with the Dowager Countess at Brighton the previous summer and had enjoyed the fresh sensation of the cool water. Of course, the pool was not like the sea, but it would be most refreshing and she was already soaked through. Without further thought, she stripped off her dress and, wearing only her chemise, eased herself into the plunge pool. The chill of the water made her gasp, but once she had become accustomed to it, it was immensely invigorating. Closing her eyes, she floated on her back, listening to the drumming of the rain on the wooden roof above her head and enjoying the curious sensation of being immersed in water whilst it poured down outside. She could feel her hair floating free of its pins and almost laughed aloud. How delightful to feel so free from inhibition, to indulge herself, relish the sensation…She was almost happy.
She opened her eyes, gasped, swallowed what felt like a gallon of water and almost choked. Through streaming eyes she could quite clearly make out the laughing face of Lord Henry Marchnight as he stood beside the pool looking down at her. As she struggled to regain her breath, he crouched down by the pool’s edge and caught one of her arms, holding her above water.
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