Lady Polly. Nicola Cornick
other elderly female relative, which was all very well for a new debutante but decidedly slow for a lady of twenty-three. She risked another look across at the box, to find that Lord Henry was studying her with a concentrated regard which made her pulse beat faster.
The play began, but Polly found it incredibly difficult to concentrate. Normally she became engrossed in a performance, for playgoing was one of her favourite entertainments, but tonight all she seemed able to think about was whether Lord Henry was serious in his pursuit and whether she should respond. On the one hand, he could not have any serious intention and since her feelings were already engaged—and had been so for five years—she would be only stirring up all the old emotions that she should be trying to forget. On the other hand, she could not deny that she derived immense enjoyment from his company. If she managed matters well, perhaps…But could she manage Lord Henry? It would be very dangerous…a challenge, then? No, a risk and a hazardous one at that. Foolish even to consider it, knowing his reputation. But…Polly shivered. A risk worth taking? She had found the Season dull, repetitious. She wanted some excitement…The prim side of her character, the orthodox side, was asking her what on earth she was thinking of, to encourage the attentions of so notorious a rake.
There was a burst of applause, and Polly realised to her horror that the entire first act had passed without her even noticing. The audience started to chatter, to mill around and stretch their legs before the second act. Lucille took Polly’s arm as they strolled out with everyone else.
“What do you think of Venn’s performance, Polly? Is he as accomplished as Edmund Keen, do you think?”
Polly floundered. “Well, perhaps so…Or perhaps not…I need more time to consider—” She broke off as Lord Henry and the Vereys approached, and was not sure whether to be glad or nervous at the interruption.
Lord Henry greeted Lucille very warmly, and once again Polly felt a stirring of jealousy when she considered their friendship. She was not unsophisticated enough to think that just because Lord Henry had suddenly paid some attention to her, he might not be pursuing other interests. But surely Lucille could not rank as one of those! There was an innocence about the Countess of Seagrave which made such a thought seem foolish. Besides, Lucille had now turned her attention to the Vereys, leaving Polly and Lord Henry standing together.
“Are you enjoying the play, Lady Polly?” Lord Henry asked conventionally enough as they strolled down the corridor.
“Yes, thank you, my lord.” Polly was desperately hoping that he would not question her too closely about it.
“You always enjoyed the theatre, did you not?” Lord Henry said with a smile. “You are not one of those who come only to see and be seen! I remember when we came to see As You Like It, you were so enraptured that no one could get a word from you for a full half-hour afterwards!”
Polly blushed. She could remember the occasion to which he referred and the memory troubled her. It had been very early on in their acquaintance, when she was first out, and she had sat through the play in a dream. Although utterly engrossed in the story, she had still been fully aware of Lord Henry sitting slightly behind her, his attention as much on her as it was on the play. He had leant forward, smiling at her enthusiasm, and it had seemed to Polly that his enjoyment had derived as much from her pleasure as from the entertainment.
The bell rang for the second act, saving her the necessity of reply.
“A moment, Lady Polly,” Lord Henry said, when she would have excused herself and returned to the box. “Will you drive with me in the park tomorrow?”
Polly stood still, jostled by those returning to their seats.
“Surely not an unusual request?” Lord Henry said gently, with a smile that made her heart race. “You must be inundated by gentlemen asking to escort you!”
“Yes, but not by you—” Polly stopped herself. “I beg your pardon. What I meant was that you never take a lady up in your phaeton!”
“Not often,” Lord Henry amended, with the same disconcerting smile. “I am, however, accomplished enough as a whip to make the offer!”
Polly knew he was being deliberately obtuse. It was not his skill that was in question but the fact that it would cause a storm of comment if he took her up. Lord Henry handed her back into the box as the lights went down.
“I will see you tomorrow at five,” he murmured, taking her acquiescence for granted, and was gone. Polly saw him slide into his seat in the box opposite and incline his head as he saw her watching. She was annoyed that he had caught her looking at him yet again, rather than at the play.
Chapter Four
“Well, I think it is a famous thing that you and Harry are now such good friends,” Lucille Seagrave declared at breakfast, when Polly shyly confided that Lord Henry was to take her driving that afternoon.
“I do not think Mama will view it in quite the same light, Lucille,” Polly said gloomily. The Dowager Countess had been almost apoplectic on finding her only daughter alone on the terrace at Lady Phillips’s with the most notorious rake in Town. Polly’s repeated statement that she and Lord Henry had only been talking together had met with short shrift. Not only did the Dowager disbelieve her but she had some pungent words to say about young ladies who decided to talk alone with rakehells.
A moment later, the Dowager swished bad-temperedly into the breakfast room and eyed her daughter and daughter-in-law with disfavour.
“What are you two whispering about?” she demanded querulously. She asked for a plate of kedgeree then picked at it so disagreeably that Polly’s heart sank. She could already tell that the Dowager Countess had a headache, induced by her late night at the theatre, and would be in a bad mood.
“I was telling Lucille that Lord Henry Marchnight is to take me driving this afternooon,” she said, rather defiantly. “He is to collect me at five.”
The Dowager flushed an unbecoming puce.
“Driving? With Lord Henry Marchnight? Have you taken leave of your senses, miss? Why, the man’s unsafe!”
“As a whip or as a man?” Nicholas Seagrave enquired lazily, rustling his newspaper. He had given no indication that he had been listening to the previous conversation, but now Polly saw the look of amusement in her brother’s dark eyes and her heart sank still further. If Nicholas objected as well, the trip was as good as ruined. Lucille gave her husband a reproving glance.
“I am persuaded that nothing so very dreadful can happen in the park, ma’am,” she said mildly to her mother-in-law. “There will be plenty of people about, after all.”
The Dowager cast her a darkling look. “You have no idea of what that man is capable, Lucille! And it is not simply the risk to Polly’s person, but the damage to her reputation! If she is seen in company with him, all claim to respectability would be lost—”
“Oh, come, Mama, you are making too much of this,” Nicholas interrupted. “Harry Marchnight is a good enough fellow! He will not do anything to injure Polly’s good name! I say she should go!”
He folded his paper up a little irritably, got up, bent to kiss his wife and murmured that he was taking refuge in his bookroom.
“Some honey in your tea, ma’am?” Lucille said hastily, seeing her mother-in-law glare at Seagrave’s departing back. “You know that it is very soothing for the headache.”
The Dowager Countess smiled reluctantly. She was very fond of her unconventional daughter-in-law.
“Thank you, Lucille. It is good to know that you have so much concern for my health when my own brood seem set on tormenting me! Now, will you be accompanying me to Mrs Manbury’s this afternoon? I realise that Polly—” she glared again “—will be otherwise engaged!”
Polly was to remember Seagrave’s unlikely championing and her mother’s reluctant acquiescence later, when she was ensconsed