Lady Polly

by Nicola Cornick

  Lady Laura had caught his eye and was looking hopeful. Polly smiled. “By all means, Lord Henry. I should be delighted.”

  The arrangement was soon effected. Lady Laura took the seat beside Polly and they chatted pleasantly for ten minutes, with Lord Henry adding the odd, laconic comment every so often. Laura expressed herself very taken with Suffolk, although a little lonely in the house out towards the sea on the Orford road. She explained that the Duchess had taken it with the thought that the bracing sea air would do Laura good, although she had not felt herself pulled down by her weeks in London. Polly’s poor opinion of the Duchess’s domineering ways grew. It seemed that she wanted to keep her daughter in what almost amounted to seclusion. Laura admitted to liking the house and its situation near the beach, but regretted the lack of companionship close by. She was about to venture some further comment when Charles Farrant, who had been conversing with Miss Ditton, drew up a chair and asked if he might join them. Laura blushed and fell unaccountably silent.

  Polly observed this development with amusement and not a little surprise. Mr Farrant was hardly so romantic a figure that a young girl would develop a tendre for him. He was in his late thirties, pleasant and slightly earnest, and he had a look of complete doglike devotion in his kindly eyes as they rested on Laura. She in turn, seemed unable to look directly at him, but with shy smiles and sideways looks indicated that she was not indifferent to his presence. Polly, catching Lord Henry’s speculative gaze as he assimilated this unlikely attraction, shared a look of conspiratorial indulgence with him. A moment later, he suggested that they go and admire Mrs Fitzgerald’s gardens together, leaving the smitten couple to progress their surprising romance.

  “Who would have thought it?” Lord Henry said pensively, helping Polly descend the wide, shallow stone steps which led from the drawing-room to the chamomile lawn. “I have the greatest regard for Farrant, but I never imagined he would set the world on fire! Yet Laura seems to find him agreeable enough, and has done so from the moment they first clapped eyes on each other at Fenchurch!” He slanted a look down at Polly’s serene face. “I am further in his debt, for I imagine you would not have consented to step outside with me were you not tempted to play matchmaker! Shall we take a seat beneath that oak tree? You should not walk far until your ankle is fully mended.”

  They were still in full view of the house and it seemed perfectly proper. The tree cast a cool shade and Polly sank on to the seat with some gratitude.

  “Thank goodness! It really is too hot in the full sun!”

  “Are we really mere acquaintances, to be discussing the weather?” Lord Henry asked lazily. “I can think of far more interesting topics!”

  It occurred to Polly that the proximity of the house and the fact that anyone could see them from the window would not deter Lord Henry from his customary outrageous behaviour. His hand was lying along the back of the wooden seat behind her and she was almost certain that he was touching her hair. A moment later he had entwined one of her ringlets about his fingers, just brushing the sensitive skin of her neck as he did so. Polly moved her head sharply away.

  “Will your parents look with kindness on an attachment between Lady Laura and Mr Farrant?” Polly asked, both to distract Lord Henry and also because she had a genuine interest in Laura’s future.

  Henry sighed. “I doubt it. They intend her for John Bellars—” He stopped as he saw Polly’s face. “I know Bellars made you an offer and you refused him, and no doubt you share my opinion of him! But rank and consequence will always be in demand…” He shrugged, as though the thought made him a little uncomfortable.

  “Is Lady Laura receptive to his suit?” Polly asked hesitantly. She did not wish to be thought prying, but she could not believe that a girl who was showing all the symptoms of love, as Laura was, could be easily persuaded to look at another man.

  “She was indifferent to all the plans made for her,” Henry said bluntly, “until she met Farrant. I observed her partiality from the start and wondered at it! But it will make matters devilishly difficult. Well—” he shrugged again “—we will see…” He smiled at Polly. “A little while ago we were discussing my interests here in Suffolk. What do you find to do with your time in this delightful backwater?”

  Polly accepted that he wished to change the subject. “Oh, I go riding when it is not too hot, and I walk and read and paint. I have a fondness for watercolours, although I would say my talent is small. And as you have seen, there is much company to be had.”

  “Yes, though not all of it congenial,” Lord Henry observed. “I find myself becoming ever less tolerant of poor company these days. I rate intelligent conversation and good company above all other claims of rank and importance!”

  “Outrageous!” Polly said, trying not to laugh. “You were not always so selective, sir!”

  Henry raised an eyebrow. “Can you be taking me to task, Lady Polly?”

  There was a martial light in Polly’s eye. “Your attentions are bestowed somewhat indiscriminately, my lord!”

  “I protest! There is no truth in those rumours!”

  Polly looked sceptical. “How can you deny it, sir? I suppose that at the least I should commend your taste in admiring my sister-in-law!”

  Lord Henry raised a lazy eyebrow. “I collect that you refer to Lady Seagrave?”

  “How many other sisters-in-law do I have, sir?” Polly snapped, wishing she had not started on this line of conversation. “Can you deny that you hold her in great esteem?”

  “Certainly not!” Henry said promptly. “She is a woman of great good sense and I admire her extremely! But that is all there is to it!”

  Polly noted how relieved she felt and perversely wished to punish him.

  “That at least could be understood I suppose! But as for Lady Bolt! Do you forget that I saw you with my own eyes at Richmond?”

  “Ah.” Lord Henry stretched his long legs and admired the polish on his boots. “I wondered whether you would ever have the courage to challenge me with that particular incident!”

  “Courage!” Polly was really annoyed now. “It does not require courage, sir, only a little less regard for convention than you would usually find in me! I certainly have the fortitude to accuse you of trifling with my feelings and of falling prey to Lady Bolt’s blowsy charms!”

  Henry was laughing now, which only added to Polly’s anger. Normally she would never have spoken thus. To challenge a gentleman about his behaviour was simply not done, particularly if that behaviour involved a member of the demi-monde.

  “How unladylike in you to disparage a rival! I would never have thought it of you, Lady Polly!”

  Polly was incensed. “Lady Bolt is no rival of mine! She is welcome to you, sir!”

  She tried to rise, but Henry caught her wrist and held her still. “You think, then, that I had arranged to meet Lady Bolt at Richmond?”

  Polly tried to sound scornful. “I had assumed that to be the case! Or perhaps I misjudge you! Perhaps you simply seized an opportunity that presented itself to you?”

  Henry was still looking amused but there was now a grim edge to his smile. “Oh, no, you are quite correct! I did arrange to meet Lady Bolt, but perhaps not for the reason that you suspect!”

  “I am sure we were all able to guess what that reason was, sir!” Polly was smarting now from having her suspicions confirmed, and in so apparently unconcerned a way. Evidently Lord Henry was dead to all sense of propriety!

  “And if I were to say that I was more sinned against than sinning? More kissed against than kissing, perhaps—would you like to know how that feels, Lady Polly?”

  Their gazes locked for a heated moment, then Polly glanced instinctively towards the house, a bare twenty yards away.

  “You would not dare!”

  “A dangerous assumption!”

  Afterwards, Polly was never quite sure how much had been duress and how far she had moved of her own volition. Certainly Henry had kissed her and when he had stoppe
d she had been in his arms, with no indication of how she had got there or how long she had been there. Indeed, she had no memory of anything other than the delicious pleasure of being kissed by him, a pleasure it would have been foolish to deny since her body was betraying her enjoyment by pressing closer to him.

  “Oh, dear, Lady Polly,” Henry said with regret, “it seems that the experience was not so repulsive for you as it was for me with Lady Bolt!”

  He gave her a mocking smile that made Polly want to slap him and with an unforgivable breach of good manners, abandoned her on the garden seat and strode off indoors.

  “Oh!”

  Polly only realised that she had spoken aloud when she saw the Dowager Countess hurrying across the lawn towards her.

  “Are you unwell, my love?” her mother asked, her face creased with concern. “You sounded quite as though you were suffering from the indigestion! And Lord Henry implied that you are not feeling in quite plump currant. He said that the sun had gone to your head!”

  “Oh!” Polly thought that she would explode with indignation and outrage. “Conceited, intolerable man!”

  The Dowager looked concerned. “Really, my love, I do think you might show a little more gratitude! Lord Henry has done us more than one great service! If you find you cannot like him, at least you could pretend!”

  Chapter Nine

  Polly was mortified when Lord Henry chose to escort his mother and sister to Dillingham the following day. She had spent a restless night tossing and turning, reproaching herself for her hasty words to him and for giving him the opportunity to humiliate her further. It was only when she had become calmer that Polly had wondered what Lord Henry had meant by saying that his reason for arranging to meet Lady Bolt had perhaps not been what people might think. Though she puzzled over it, Polly could think of no explanation other than the obvious. It was another mystery to add to all the other riddles surrounding Henry Marchnight.

  Fortunately Polly was not required to sit in the drawing-room and make polite conversation with him. Nick Seagrave offered to show Henry the stables and the two of them went off, leaving the ladies alone.

  The Duchess and the Dowager Countess Seagrave had never been close friends, but they quickly found common ground in mutual acquaintances and experiences, and when they were comfortably established, Laura turned to Polly with a shy smile and asked if she might see the orangery.

  “I have heard that it dates from the seventeenth century and is very fine,” she confided, as they strolled along the covered colonnade that connected the main part of the house to the conservatories. “Mr Farrant, who was telling me something of the history of the house and the village, said that lemons were grown here as early as 1690 and that your family had wanted to carry on the tradition! Only fancy! He is a very agreeable gentleman, is he not?”

  Polly, who had allowed her thoughts to drift in the inevitable direction of Lord Henry, was amused and a little surprised at the determined manner in which Laura had already steered the conversation on to what interested her. She smiled.

  “Indeed, he is! We have known Charles Farrant for an age and always found him a most pleasant and congenial man.”

  “I was surprised,” Laura said a little hesitantly, avoiding Polly’s gaze, “that such an amiable man was as yet unmarried. But perhaps he has some understanding with…that is, perhaps there is a lady…” Her voice trailed away and she fixed Polly with a hopeful look from her grey eyes.

  Polly pushed open the orangery doors and they entered the humid interior, heavy with the scent of citrus.

  “Oh, no, I think it is simply that Mr Farrant has not yet met a lady who made him wish to give up his bachelor state! He was a great admirer of Lucille—Lady Seagrave—before her marriage, but I believe he has never sought to enter the state of marriage himself!”

  Laura was listening with attention. Polly was diverted by the concentration the younger girl was devoting to the topic. Clearly it mattered to her a great deal.

  “And his family?” Lady Laura pursued, pretending to admire the orange trees in their ornamental tubs. “It is perfectly respectable, is it not?”

  Polly’s lips twitched. “Oh, entirely unexceptionable! But…” she hesitated, thinking it only fair to sound a word of caution “…forgive me, I have no wish to pry, but I am not entirely sure that Mr Farrant would be smiled upon as a suitor for the daughter of a Duke! His estate is relatively small and although the family name is an old one—” She broke off, shocked, as Laura burst into tears and sat down rather heavily on one of the painted wooden benches.

  “Oh, my dear!” Polly, both taken aback and touched, sat down beside her. “I am so sorry! I had no wish to upset you—”

  “No,” Laura said, groping for a handkerchief, “it is entirely my fault, Lady Polly! Oh, thank you—” as Polly pressed her own handkerchief into her hand “—it is just that I love him so much and I do not think that I can bear it!”

  Polly was silenced by this frank admission. Evidently the Marchnight household was not one in which feelings were repressed—or else Laura simply felt so strongly that in her youth and inexperience she could not conceal it.

  “It is as you say,” Laura was continuing desperately, dabbing at her reddened eyes. “I believe that Henry had no objection for Mr Farrant is a friend of his, but Mama spoke to me this morning—she said that Mr Farrant, whilst being a perfectly pleasant man, was not a suitable match for me. She felt that his attentions were becoming too marked and that I should discourage him. But I don’t want to discourage him!” Her voice rose. “I am sure Mama will warn him off! Or I shall be sent away! Oh, what shall I do?”

  Polly reflected that she was not necessarily the best person to advise Laura on the wisdom or otherwise of going against her family’s wishes. Laura was the same age as she had been when she had been persuaded to refuse Henry’s proposal, although Laura could not know that. For all her gentleness, Laura Marchnight seemed to have more certitude and determination than Polly had ever felt. She was certain of her love for Charles Farrant and would not scruple to admit it. Polly, remembering her own doubts and indecision, felt curiously unqualified to advise her.

  Fortunately Laura seemed to feel better simply as a result of pouring her heart out, and was now drying her eyes and tidying herself.

  “I expect I look a shocking fright,” she said, with a brave attempt at a smile. “I do apologise, Lady Polly—”

  Polly touched her hand. “Do not! Believe me, I can understand how you feel! And that is why my advice is that you can only follow your heart. But make no hasty decisions! It may be that your parents may relent when they see how steadfast is your affection.”

  The bright light of determination was suddenly in Laura’s eyes. “Oh, I will! Thank you!”

  “You had better come up to my room to tidy up,” Polly said, getting to her feet. “It is unconscionably hot in here, anyway! And it is fortunate that it is such a sunny day! We may tell your mama that the sun has made your eyes water!”

  It was unlucky that they came down the staircase at the moment the gentlemen were crossing the hall from the stables. Henry gave his sister a searching glance and followed it up with a no less penetrating look at Polly, which she tried to meet with equanimity. Laura’s eyes were still a little pink and puffy, and her hastily proffered excuse that she had been out in the sun met with Henry’s look of blandest disbelief. He made no demur, however, when Polly suggested that they join the others.

  “I supppose Laura has been telling you of the scene about Charles Farrant,” he said sotto voce in Polly’s ear as he held the drawing-room door for her. “It is to be hoped that you were suitably unencouraging!”

  Polly’s eyes flashed. “I seem to remember that you professed friendship for Mr Farrant yesterday!” she hissed, under cover of ringing the bell for more refreshments.

  It was impossible to pursue any further conversation, but Polly’s heart sank when she considered the implications of Henry’s words. If he was not
prepared to support his sister, her case looked unhappy indeed.

  Fortunately, the Duchess did believe Laura’s pretence where her son had been more discerning. Scolding Laura for going out in the sun without a parasol, she also scrutinised Polly’s complexion for blemishes and gave a small nod when she failed to spot any freckle.

  “Perhaps Lady Polly might like to accompany me out into the garden—with a parasol, of course,” Henry suggested wickedly.

  His mother frowned. “A splendid idea, my boy, but not today! Had you forgotten that we are promised to the Fitzgeralds shortly?” She lumbered to her feet and gave a gracious farewell. Polly wondered fleetingly whether Laura would ever be as fat as her mama.

  “Charming,” said the Duchess, pinching Polly’s cheek painfully on her way out. “Quite delightful. You are to be congratulated on your daughter, ma’am! We shall see you again soon, I hope!”

  Nicholas Seagrave was trying unsuccessfully to repress his laughter as they watched the coach rumble off. “I believe you have just been given the maternal seal of approval, Poll,” he observed. “What an accolade! The Duchess of Marchnight favours you as a daughter-in-law!”

  Polly, examining her mixed feelings, was obliged to acknowledge that one would have to love Henry very much to willingly accept such a mother-in-law.

  “Well,” the Dowager Countess said fairly, “Laura Marchnight is also a charming child, dutiful and well behaved! Sarah Marchnight was only saying just now that Laura had never given them a moment’s trouble! Why, Polly—” she looked at her daughter with concern “—you look quite pale all of a sudden! Too much sun, I suppose! Oh, the evils of a hot summer!”