Lady Polly

by Nicola Cornick

  He had gone down on one knee beside her in the grass now. “This is no time to be missish.” He had taken her ankle in his hand now and was exploring it with gentle fingers warm against the silkiness of her stockinged foot. Polly closed her eyes in an agony of confusion and mortification. Still shocked and aroused by their confrontation in the fishing-house, she found his touch almost unendurable.

  But there was nothing remotely suggestive in Lord Henry’s behaviour.

  “You have sprained your ankle,” he said in matter-of-fact tones. “I doubt that you could walk on it even if you wanted to! I will take you back to the Court. It is not far.” He scooped her up in arms that made nothing of her weight.

  Polly had started to feel very unwell. The heat and the pain were making her head swim and the colours all seemed too bright and blurred. She turned her head against Lord Henry’s shoulder, forgetting for a moment her earlier discomfort in his presence.

  “Oh, no, you cannot! I cannot allow—” Her qualms surfaced again before they had gone more than twenty steps. Lord Henry did not even slow his pace.

  “Indeed? Can I not?” He sounded grimly amused. “And how do you intend to stop me?” He settled her more comfortably in his arms. “Close your eyes, if you cannot bear to think of being in my arms!”

  After the bright glare of the sun, the cool entrance hall at Dillingham Court was blissfully shaded. Polly, who had been lulled into comparative peace by the gentleness with which Henry had carried her, opened her eyes with reluctance. Medlyn was hurrying across the hall towards them, his brows almost disappearing into his hair at the sight of Polly clasped close to Lord Henry yet again. It was beginning to look like a habit.

  “Lady Polly! Lord Henry! Whatever has happened, sir?”

  “Lady Polly has fallen and hurt her ankle,” Lord Henry said tersely. “Send someone for the doctor please, Medlyn, and if you could show me to Lady Polly’s room—”

  “Put me down!” Polly hissed in a mortified whisper.

  “Certainly not,” Lord Henry said, in exactly the same terse tone. “Do not be so foolish! You cannot stand!”

  “I can try!” Polly said obstinately, her mouth set in a tight line.

  Lord Henry looked as though he would have liked to have slapped her if he had had a hand free. “Pray do not martyr yourself—”

  Fortunately, the drawing-room door opened at that moment and the Dowager Countess and Nicholas Seagrave came out into the hall, stopping dead at the sight in front of them.

  “Polly!” the Dowager Countess said faintly. “What on earth—”

  “Lady Polly has sprained her ankle,” Lord Henry said again, with commendable patience. “If someone could show me to her room?”

  “Of course.” Nicholas Seagrave had recovered himself and now appeared to be trying to suppress some amusement as he considered his sister’s flushed face and her unwilling rescuer. “Bring her this way, Marchnight! Has Medlyn sent for the doctor? Oh, good…Here…”

  Polly’s pillows were soft beneath her head. She could feel her mother fussing around her as Seagrave steered Lord Henry out of the room.

  “Wait…” It came out as a croak. She opened her eyes. Despite her mortification, there really was something she had to say.

  “Thank you, sir,” Polly said, reluctantly looking at Lord Henry, and for a moment she saw the expression in those dazzling grey eyes soften as he smiled at her. It made her feel quite weak, and not from sickness.

  “At your service, Lady Polly. I hope that you will be feeling better shortly…”

  “We’re indebted to you for your help yet again, Marchnight,” Seagrave was saying pleasantly, shaking his hand. “A glass of something before you go, perhaps? If you come down to my book room…” The door closed behind them.

  There was a moment of silence, then, “Polly,” the Dowager Countess said imperiously, “I demand that you tell me what is going on!”

  Polly’s lashes flickered. For a moment she hesitated, but it really was easier to pretend that she had fainted. She gave a little sigh, turned her head on the pillow, and lay still. She heard the Dowager Countess sigh with exasperation.

  “Polly Seagrave! I vow and declare that you are the most trying child sometimes!”

  Polly vouchsafed no reply.

  “So,” Lucille said, patting the bed beside her to encourage her sister-in-law to sit down, “you may now tell me precisely what happened between yourself and Harry Marchnight!”

  It was a week since Polly’s accident and she had proved a poor patient. She had kept to her room for the first day or two, resting her ankle as the doctor had instructed, but the enforced inactivity had begun to bore her and she had begged Seagrave to carry her down to the drawing-room, where she could at least have some company. And on this particular morning, she had hopped into Lucille’s bedroom as her sister-in-law was taking her morning chocolate.

  Lucille was much better. The morning sickness that had brought her low whilst travelling had now receded and she looked radiant. She fixed Polly with a wicked look over the rim of her chocolate cup.

  “Do not seek to cozen me! Oh, I know the story you have told your mama! But it stretches my credulity too far to believe that you happened to be strolling by the river and tripped, and Henry Marchnight was just passing and was able to rescue you when you fell! So?”

  Polly hesitated. She could not deny that it was heaven to have Lucille back to confide in. The Dowager Countess was very kind under her starchy exterior, but it would have been impossible to tell her mother the story of what had really happened. And since Lucille had been shrewd enough to guess at the fabrication…

  “Well,” she said cautiously, “it was true that I was walking by the river. Mr Farrant has a fishing-house down there—just beyond the edge of our land—and for some reason I felt compelled to go and explore it. I don’t know why.” The memory of Lord Henry’s magnificent physique came back to Polly, as it had done countless times in the past week. “I wish—oh, how I wish I had not gone in there!”

  Lucille’s lips twitched. “Come, now, it cannot be so tragic! Was Lord Henry in the fishing-house?”

  “Yes!” Polly raised stricken brown eyes to Lucille’s blue ones. “But he was not fishing! That would have been quite innocuous! Oh, Lucille—”

  Lucille raised her eyebrows. “I see! I have not been in the house, but Nicholas mentioned it had a plunge pool below the balcony. They used to swim in the river in the hot summers, he said, but…” Her eyes widened. “Oh, glory, Polly, do you mean to say that Lord Henry was in the pool?”

  Polly nodded. “Yes, but—”

  “But?”

  “He was getting out of the pool—”

  Lucille clapped her hand to her mouth, her eyes enormous. “Oh, Polly! Was he—Did he—Was he undressed?”

  “Completely!” Polly admitted. She saw Lucille’s appalled gaze and added miserably, “I know! And what did I do but stare in the most shameless manner imaginable! I do not know what came over me precisely! But, Lucille, I could not tear my gaze away!”

  Lucille, with her superior experience and understanding of such matters, rather thought that she could understand how Polly had become so transfixed. Despite her years, Polly was rather an innocent, as no doubt she ought to be. It seemed to Lucille that the Earl and Countess of Seagrave had gone to great lengths to protect their only daughter, with the result that Polly seemed like Sleeping Beauty, quite lacking the innate, age-old understanding of the games played between the sexes. Polly seldom flirted or practised her charms on any of her admirers. She seemed quite unawakened, and yet there was something about Lord Henry Marchnight which obviously stirred her, and it clearly both intrigued and frightened her.

  Lucille’s sense of humour began to get the better of her, despite Polly’s tragic expression.

  “I imagine Lord Henry must have been well worth looking at!” Lucille said, trying not to laugh.

  “Lucille!”

  “Well?” Lucille’s blue gaze wa
s amused. “There is no harm in admitting it, Polly! Leastways, not to me, though I dare say your mama would not approve! Come, it is not a tragedy! Lord Henry is a very attractive man, and you have a tendre for him…It would be more worrying if the sight of him had left you unmoved! But whatever happened next?”

  “I ran away,” Polly said baldly. “Which was how I came to trip and fall, and Lord Henry came after me—”

  “Fully dressed by now, I hope!”

  “Yes, indeed! But when he offered to help me I was all missish, for I was so embarrassed to have stared so, and so confused…I have never felt that way before, at least not with anyone else…” Polly’s voice trailed off hopelessly. There was a moment’s silence, then Lucille patted her hand.

  “Listen, Polly, there is nothing to be ashamed of in your behaviour. Such matters are not discussed, I know, but your reaction to Lord Henry was entirely natural!” She looked at Polly’s woebegone face and smiled encouragingly. “You have nothing to reproach yourself for.”

  “No,” Polly said wretchedly, “but Lord Henry already has a low enough opinion of me, Lucille! He will be thinking me the veriest lightskirt! I did not tell you before, but do you remember the morning you went on the picnic, and how poorly I was feeling?” At Lucille’s nod she rushed on. “I became intoxicated with the fruit punch at Lady Phillips’s Ball the night before, and then I tried to tell Lord Henry that I wished us to be friends, but I got it all wrong and he ended up kissing me on the terrace and it was dreadful—”

  Lucille was looking thunderstruck. “Wait, wait! What on earth were you doing drinking the punch?”

  “I thought it was fruit cup,” Polly said, suddenly and unaccountably wanting to giggle. “It was a very hot night, you see, and the drink was so refreshing…Anyway, such a peagoose as I was, I did not realise that I was intoxicated! So when I had the chance to speak to Lord Henry I felt marvellously brave, but he did not interpret my words in quite the way I wished and before I knew it he was kissing me—”

  Suddenly she felt the laughter welling up again, and once she had started she could not stop. Lucille put her cup down and sat in amused bewilderment.

  “Polly, Polly! Whatever happened?”

  “I told you,” Polly said, between giggles, “he kissed me!”

  “And you said it was dreadful.” Lucille finished.

  “Well, no…” Polly’s giggles started to subside at last. She wiped her eyes. “The kiss itself was not dreadful, it was quite delightful…” Again, her voice faded away as she remembered the stirring of her senses, so intriguing and yet so frightening. “I wanted him to go on kissing me for ever,” she finished naïvely.

  “Well, what is so wrong with that?”

  Polly’s eyes were enormous. “But, Lucille, a lady does not kiss a gentleman before they are married!” She frowned. “And then, when he rescued me at Hampstead Wells…” again she found herself repressing a giggle at Lucille’s rapt expression “…why, I positively threw myself at his head! He must think me very fast!”

  “I doubt it,” Lucille said drily. “It all sounds highly comical to me and hardly the stuff of which loose women are made!”

  Polly, to her own surprise, started to laugh again, “Yes, I do see what you mean! Although I have to say that there were certain similarities between my conduct and that of Lady Bolt at Richmond!”

  “No, truly? I have underestimated you, Polly!”

  “That is what Lord Henry said!” Polly admitted with a giggle, provoking a look of speculative amazement from her sister-in-law.

  “Now, Richmond…” Lucille tried to look severe. “I assume that you have not discussed it with Lord Henry?”

  Polly sobered slightly. “No, and I cannot see that we shall ever do so. I am still resigned to the fact that there is no future for me with Lord Henry, for he is clearly unable to abandon his rakish habits.” A shade of colour crept into her face. “Indeed, it is one of the reasons why I feel particularly badly about my behaviour.” She struggled a little for the words. “It is not as if…that is…were we betrothed…”

  But Lucille was smiling again. “It does not do to worry too much about such things, Polly! I have the strangest feeling that all will turn out for the best. Lord Henry, I am persuaded, thinks no less of you for your conduct.” Her eyes twinkled. “Your folly in becoming foxed, however, is a different matter!”

  Polly found herself laughing again in spite of herself. “Yes, it was unforgivable in me and really very unpleasant to boot! I am sure Lord Henry thinks me a complete fool, which is dreadful! And now this business at the fishing-house…Oh, Lord, I really have made a complete cake of myself!”

  And she collapsed into fresh giggles.

  Lucille was also laughing. “And you think this a calamity? It’s the funniest thing I have heard this age!”

  “Yes!” Polly raised eyes brimming with tears of laughter. “I see now that it is! Oh, thank you, Lucille! I feel so much better!”

  “Our encounters seem to be becoming ever more dramatic, Lady Polly,” Lord Henry Marchnight murmured, taking the seat next to hers in Mrs Fitzgerald’s drawing-room a week later. “Is it possible for us to converse in a seemly fashion, do you think, or will something untoward occur simply through our proximity?” There was a blend of mockery and amusement in the low tones which Polly found infinitely disturbing, but she was not going to allow him to put her out of countenance.

  He had not called to see her during her convalescence and that alone was enough to make her treat him coolly. Although she would never have admitted it, Polly had waited in vain through the hot summer days, hoping that each peal of the doorbell might be Lord Henry, or that each floral tribute might be his. She should have known better—it was all of a piece with his behaviour in London—but it made it no easier to bear.

  She gave him a cool smile. “Provided that you are able to behave yourself we may do tolerably well, sir,” she said lightly. “And now that I am so much better, I shall at least be able to make my escape! But—” her smile gained a shade of warmth “—I have not yet had the opportunity to thank you for the service rendered to us in London that night—”

  Lord Henry touched her hand so briefly, so quickly that no one noticed; Polly thought she might have imagined it were it not for the sensation of warmth his touch aroused. She looked away, confused.

  “Do not speak of it. I am just glad that no real harm came of the occasion.”

  Polly reflected that Lord Henry’s attractions lay not only in his undeniable physical attributes but also in his charm of manner. She had hardened her heart against him and yet she could feel herself weakening already. He spoke as though she were the only person of importance in the room and the intent look in those cool grey eyes was for her alone. And yet it had to be an illusion, for Polly had seen him charming a dozen other women with that mixture of concentrated attention and lazy grace.

  In the days of Henry’s absence, Polly had taught herself to be sensible. She had accepted Lucille’s dictum that the feelings aroused in her by Lord Henry were perfectly natural, but she was not at all sure that she wished to experience them again. Lord Henry was a rake who understood such matters; Polly was aware of her own inexperience and timidity and she had no intention of letting Lord Henry, whose intentions could only be dishonourable, complete her education. But avoiding him would be difficult in the small social circle of Woodbridge, and remaining impervious to his charm was even more of a problem.

  To distract herself, she turned her brightest smile upon him. “And what do you find to amuse you in Woodbridge, sir? It must be intolerably dull for one accustomed to more sophisticated amusements!”

  Lord Henry raised his eyebrows. “And what other pursuits do you imagine me preferring, Lady Polly?”

  Polly blushed. “Now, sir, I warned you—”

  “I assure you it was a genuine question,” Lord Henry said idly. “People have the most extraordinary preconceptions about my behaviour, you see!”

  “No dou
bt completely without foundation,” Polly said with asperity, meeting his bright, guileless gaze. She smiled. “Tell, me then, sir, to avoid misunderstandings, what it is you find of interest in this part of the country.”

  “Well…” Lord Henry looked thoughtful “…for a start, my father has commissioned me to oversee the making of his new yacht down at the boatyard, so that keeps me busy for part of the time. Charles Farrant, over at Leetwood, is a good friend of mine, so I have spent some time there. Then there is the society to be had here and the entertainments in the Town. But above all, Suffolk is so pretty a county I feel I could walk and ride and swim—” he cast Polly a wicked sideways look “—for as much time as I have available to me. So you see, I do not lack amusement.”

  Polly had been feeling quite in charity with him, until the mention of the swimming, for she found Suffolk the prettiest and most tranquil place on earth. Now, however, the vision of Lord Henry emerging from the pool was before her eyes again and she knew she had turned bright red. Worse, she knew that he knew what she was thinking of, for he said, very softly, “It was a most stimulating encounter, Lady Polly.”

  “I would call it shocking, sir.”

  “No, not at all…enjoyable, provocative…”

  She knew he was teasing her, pushing her to see how much licence she would allow him. And indeed, it was most difficult, Polly thought, for he made her feel so much less prudishly conventional than normal. There was a quickening in her blood in response to this banter and he could read the signs, knew she was responding to him even against her better judgement.

  “Enough, Lord Henry!” But Polly could not prevent herself smiling and she saw him incline his head, though his eyes were still bright with challenge, as if to say: “I will accept your decision this time but I know that you are weakening…”

  “You will be wishing me away, then, ma’am,” he said politely.

  “You must consult your own inclination, sir.”

  A faint smile touched Lord Henry’s eyes. “Oh, as for myself, ma’am, I could sit here all day! But I promised my sister I would ask you a favour.” He nodded in the direction of Lady Laura, who was sitting under the watchful eye of the Duchess. “Laura feels a little isolated out at Fenchurch alone and I know she longs for a change of company! You have been good enough to show her some kindness in the past. May I beg the pleasure of bringing her to you now?”