Lady Polly
Page 23
“Dear me, Lady Polly,” Lord Henry said mildly, “just when I thought it impossible that you could surprise me, I find myself being utterly astounded!”
To Polly’s relief, Lord Henry behaved with perfect chivalry. He made no comment about her state of undress but found her a huge, soft blanket to wrap about her and cover her modesty. Then he almost undid all his good work.
“You will find me an adequate lady’s maid, I am sure,” he said with a grin. “I have had some practice at such things!”
The colour flooded Polly’s cheeks and she pulled the blanket closer. “I am in no doubt as to that!” she said tartly.
Henry was still grinning unrepentantly as his gaze took in her tousled hair and pink face.
“You look utterly delightful, Lady Polly! Perhaps you would care to join me on the balcony whilst you dry off?”
Before Polly had chance to demur and effect a discreet withdrawal, he had scooped her up in his arms and carried her up the ladder and out on to the balcony. There was another blanket and a couple of cushions on the bare boards and the remains of what looked like Henry’s breakfast. For a long time they sat together under the shelter of the eaves, watching the rain upon the river. Neither of them spoke. Polly was possessed by the most extraordinary feeling of peacefulness and did not wish to break the spell. Eventually the rain retreated and the first streaks of pale blue sky appeared again. She stirred.
“Whatever are you doing here, Harry? I thought that you had gone…”
Henry gestured towards the rod and line lying discarded on the edge of the balcony. “I was fishing—until you came to disturb the peace of my retreat!” He hesitated. “Truth to tell, I was thinking…” He shot Polly a glance. “I was coming to see you later, but you have beaten me to it.”
The sun came out suddenly, swirling across the dark river water and dazzling them.
Polly suddenly found that she could not meet his eyes.
“What were you coming to discuss with me?” she asked shyly, tracing a pattern in the dust with one finger. “I thought—last night you intimated that there was nothing more to say.”
Henry shifted a little, leaning back against the wall. “Yes, that was wicked of me. I could no more lose you now than I could cut out a part of myself. Please—” suddenly there was raw feeling in his voice “—tell me that we may put all the misunderstanding and misery behind us and that you will marry me.”
At last Polly was able to look at him, but with astonishment rather than anything else.
“But I haven’t had chance to explain why I did not tell you—” she began.
“I don’t need explanations.” Henry took her hand in his and drew her closer. “I knew last night that you trusted me enough for me to be the first one you came to with a secret. That is enough for me. I know that you must love me as much as I love you.”
“Harry—” Polly’s voice broke. “I believe you are almost too forgiving…”
His strained face broke into a smile. “Do you feel that I should castigate you for the business with Tristan Ditton? I had felt that we had grown closer over the past few months and the business with Ditton did set me back.” He grimaced. “I did not understand—still do not, to tell the truth—why you could not confide in me. You must have known that I would not have shamed Miss Markham by making the knowledge public, and yet you did not trust me—”
The pain in his voice caused Polly to look up at last. “I wanted to tell you,” she said hesitantly. “That night at the assembly, I was on the verge of telling when Tristan came in and put a stop to our conversation. I know I should have trusted you more—all those times I doubted you, the foolishness over the smuggling, my suspicions over your activities in London—you must think me so stupid!” Her voice broke. “I don’t know why I could not commit myself, Harry…I was so close to trusting you, yet I always held back, perhaps because I have loved you for so long that I could not bear to take the final risk and gamble on losing it all! I found it very difficult to forgive myself for refusing you all those years ago!”
Henry slid an arm around her and pulled her to him so that her head rested comfortingly against his shoulder. “I must take my share of blame,” he said, very softly. “I fostered the impression of a wastrel and a rake, which is scarcely the kind of behaviour that would encourage a gently bred girl to rely on me! I could have warned you about Ditton—I knew you would not tell anyone, but I was afraid that you would not be able to behave naturally in his company if you knew he was a criminal. If I had to take the same decision now, I would have to do the same…”
“I know,” Polly said softly. Henry looked so wretched that she touched his cheek. “You did the right thing. When I was thinking about it all last night, I remembered how you had risked the whole endeavour to save me in the riot in London. You must have cared a great deal to do that for me…”
They sat quietly for a long time, Henry’s arm warm about her, his cheek rough against the smoothness of hers.
“Polly,” Henry said at last, his voice muffled against her hair, “you have not yet agreed to marry me!”
“Oh!” Polly turned to him and their lips met with a tenderness that was both sweet and instinctive.
“I assume,” Henry said, much later, “that that is an acceptance. I should not allow another rejection anyway!”
Polly snuggled closer to him. “How much time we have wasted! When may we be married, Harry?”
“In the interests of making up for lost time,” Henry said seriously, “I suggest the wedding should be very soon. Tomorrow, perhaps?”
Polly sat up and stared at him in confusion. “Tomorrow? But how—”
“I thought, perhaps, that you might be persuaded to elope with me.”
Polly looked at him for a long time. “You mean—to come away with you now?” she asked, a little breathlessly. “But—”
She saw the faint look of withdrawal that came into his eyes. “I understand if you do not wish to do so—”
“No!” Polly put out a hand quickly and touched his. It was suddenly essential to make him understand. “Henry, listen. I will gladly go with you. I would follow you anywhere, or do anything you asked.” The tears gathered in her eyes. “Oh, I am so very happy to have the chance to run away with you!”
Suddenly they were both laughing like children, tumbled back once more in each other’s arms.
“I had not intended to go to Gretna,” Henry said after more kisses had been exchanged, “but my home at Ruthford is but a day’s journey from here, and I have a special licence and a priest who would be very happy to marry off another of the Marchnight brood! Indeed, I imagine he would be particularly glad to officiate at my wedding since he has been deploring my bachelor life this age!”
Polly stood up. “I had best return to the Court and gather my belongings. Oh!” She looked down at the blanket still clutched about her. “I had forgotten—my dress is still by the pool! I can hardly return to the house like this or we would have to be married even sooner to avoid Mama falling into the vapours!” She looked suddenly shy. “Will you help me down the steps, Harry?”
Henry got to his feet. “Of course—but take care that the blanket does not slip!”
He tactfully stepped outside whilst Polly was donning her dress again, and gave her a critical look-over when she emerged into the sunshine.
“Not bad, although I do not think it would stand the scrutiny of a discerning eye! You could always tell them the truth, of course!”
Polly came close to him. “I should like to be able to tell Lucille and Nicholas where I am going,” she said, a little hesitantly. “I know it seems strange, but…”
Henry gave her a brief kiss. “If you wish to do so, let it be so. I am confident they will not stop us.”
Polly had one last question. “Henry…” She did not quite raise her gaze to his. “If we are to be married tomorrow, what happens tonight?”
When she finally looked up into his face it was to see a mixture o
f amusement and speculation that made her blush all over again.
“What do you think?” he said.
It was just over an hour later that the Earl of Seagrave, striding in at the door of Dillingham Court, was distracted by the sound of his own mother in strong hysterics. Hastening into the drawing-room, he found the Dowager prostrate on the sofa and Lucille hovering with a bottle of smelling salts whilst the Dowager’s maid tried ineffectually to calm her mistress and Peter and Hetty stood helplessly by.
“Nicholas!” the Dowager Countess said, immediately sitting up and recovering at the sight of her elder son, “Do something! Your sister is eloping with Lord Henry Marchnight! I have seen them with my own eyes—the carriage has been gone but five minutes!”
Nicholas Seagrave strolled over to the table and poured himself a glass of wine. “But, Mama, I thought that you liked Lord Henry! You have been forever praising him these months past!”
There was a snort of laughter from Lucille, quickly suppressed. Peter bit his lip and Hetty turned a smile into a sort of cough.
The Dowager looked outraged. “Like him! Of course I like him! He is precisely the sort of man I would wish to marry Polly! But what is that to the purpose, pray? She is to be married at St. George’s, Hanover Square! I have it all planned!” The Dowager wrung her hands. “The foolish chit told me that they were running away together, and when I told her that there was not the least need to do so, she told me that there was every need! I have no notion what she meant!”
Nicholas’s eyes met Lucille’s and they exchanged a smile of complicity.
“Do something, Nicholas!” the Dowager besought again.
Nicholas crossed to his wife’s side and took her hand. “But Mama, there is nothing more I can do! I had already met them at the gates and offered them the use of my travelling carriage! Harry assured me that they should make Ruthford late tonight and are to be married in the morning!”
The Dowager Countess gave a muffled squeak. “Tonight! But Polly is unchaperoned! Even if they are to be married tomorrow, what is to happen tonight?”
There was a brief silence. Peter and Hetty studiously avoided each other’s gaze. Nicholas Seagrave raised his eyebrows.
“What do you think?” he said.
It was early evening when they reached Ruthford. Polly had fallen asleep on the journey, her head resting on Henry’s shoulder, and awoke just as the carriage pulled up in front of the house. She had a confused impression of mellow stone and part-timbering before Henry ushered her up the steps and into the hall, handing her over to his housekeeper, Mrs Owen, to show her to her room. They ate alone in a small but tastefully appointed dining-room and, after the meal, took a turn along the terrace as dusk was falling. Away to the west the clouds were building and Polly shivered at the sound of distant thunder.
“I have spoken to Father Beckham and he is very happy to marry us in the morning,” Henry said conversationally. “You are very quiet, Polly. I hope…” he took Polly’s cold hand in his warm one “…that it is not a sign that you have changed your mind!”
The warmth of his touch helped to reassure Polly. “It is just that it seems so strange,” she said excusingly, “and so unexpected, for all that I have been wanting to marry you these five years past! And suddenly we are alone…”
“Yes.” Henry tucked her hand comfortingly through his arm. “It is bound to seem a little strange at first. Perhaps we should retire to the drawing-room and I shall read my paper and you may essay a little needlepoint, and we shall be like any old married couple!”
Polly laughed. “I had no idea that marriage to you would be such a dull affair, my lord! Perhaps I should change my mind—”
“Too late,” Henry said cheerfully. “You are compromised beyond redemption, I fear, and…” he drew her closer “…should there be any doubt I should be happy to confirm that I had seduced you thoroughly!”
“I wonder how Hetty and Peter ever came to—?” Polly broke off, blushing rosily. “Well, no doubt I should not speculate…”
“Were you shocked when the truth came out?”
Polly considered. “Not shocked, precisely, at least not at what they had done. It was…understandable. But I was surprised and perhaps a little—”
“Envious?” Henry’s grey eyes held a spark of mischief. “A pity then, that we are to be so respectably married on the morrow!”
“There is always tonight,” Polly said, casting him a look under her lashes.
Their eyes met in a long moment of tension, then Henry shook his head reluctantly.
“For once in my life I am determined to behave in an honourable fashion!” he said.
It did not seem, however, that Henry’s scruples prevented him from kissing Polly goodnight in the most thorough way imaginable. They made slow progress back inside and up the wide wooden staircase, entwined as they were in each other’s arms. They stopped again outside Polly’s bedroom door.
“What marvellously discreet servants you have, Harry,” Polly observed. “No doubt they are accustomed to melting away as soon as you appear with a lady who is not your wife!”
“Minx!” Henry pulled her into his arms. “They are all well aware that tomorrow you will become Lady Polly Marchnight!”
He kissed her gently, lovingly. It was not what Polly wanted. She parted her lips beneath his, rejoicing as she felt the kiss turn from sweetness to sensual demand. Henry, that notorious rake, had exercised endless self-control in his dealings with her and she was determined to make him lose his restraint.
“I protest,” she said against his lips, “that your reputation is undeserved, Harry! You are no rake—”
In reply, he turned his mouth back to hers driving out all thought with the explosive demand of his lips and his hands. When he finally let her go, Polly had to lean back against the door frame to steady herself. Henry stood back very deliberately.
“Enough! I must go—”
Polly had her hand on the doorknob and the door was already half-open. As Henry turned away she said, very softly, “Henry, I am afraid of the thunder. Don’t leave me…”
She saw him hesitate, and smile, before he took her arm, drew her through the doorway, and closed the door very firmly behind them.
Neither of them heard the thunderstorm that raged about the house, being too concerned with the storm within. At some point during the night, when the thunder had died away, Henry stirred and raised himself on one elbow.
“The storm has gone,” he said softly. “Would you wish me away, madam, now that you need be afraid no longer?”
Polly could hear the smile in his voice. She reached out to pull him to her. “I have not mentioned it before, my love, but I am afraid of the dark. I fear you must stay with me until the morning!”
In the light of the new day, Polly woke again and spoke drowsily.
“Henry? Do you still wish to marry me?”
Henry leant across to kiss her. “More than ever now, my love! Who would have thought that marriage would promise to be so enjoyable!”
Polly glanced across at the clock. Somehow they had never managed to draw the bed curtains.
“At what hour is the wedding?”
“At ten o’clock, the earliest that I thought that we could respectably arrange it…” Henry’s kisses were becoming more persuasive, more determined. Polly pushed him away.
“That would be the ten o’clock that was a half hour ago?”
Henry sat bolt upright. “Good God! It cannot be ten-thirty already?” He put his head in his hands. “How could I miss my own wedding as a result of being in bed with my future wife? Father Beckham will be saying prayers for my immortal soul!”
Polly leant across to give him a consoling kiss. “I am persuaded that he knows you so well, Harry, that he would expect no less of you!” she said.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-4012-8
LADY POLLY
First North American Publication 2001
Copyright © 1999 by Nicola Cornick
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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