Nicola Cornick - Lady Polly

Half an hour later, attired in the lilac and lace dress and with a very becoming black straw bonnet on her dark curls, Polly sallied forth into the fresh air with Jessie trotting along behind. Lucille and the Dowager Countess had not returned from the picnic, but Polly thought it unlikely her mother could object to so innocuous a plan as a trip to the library. After all, no possible harm could befall her there.

It was pleasantly cool within and Polly spent an enjoyable time browsing amongst the shelves and choosing her books. There was something very soothing about the shadowy quiet of the library, something tranquil when Polly still felt a little disordered in both body and spirit. An elderly gentleman was dozing in a seat in the corner and two ladies were whispering together over a copy of Louisa Sidney Stanhope’s The Confessional of Valombre. There was nothing to disturb the peace. Polly leant forward to pull a book from the shelf and found herself looking into a pair of sleepy grey eyes as someone selected a book from the other side at precisely the same moment as she.

“Oh!” She dropped all her books and recoiled a step, causing the two ladies to break off their conversation and hush her noisily. The gentleman came around the end of the bookcase, bent down and gravely handed her back the books of her choice.

“Good afternoon, Lady Polly,” Lord Henry Marchnight said.

“What are you doing here?” Polly hissed crossly, forgetful of the fact that only hours earlier she had privately resolved never to speak to him again. He was looking immaculate in a dove-grey jacket which echoed the colour of those disturbing grey eyes and Polly felt both annoyed and ill prepared to meet him. If only she had stayed at home! The scene on Lady Phillips’s terrace flashed before her eyes once more, adding to her confusion. It was the greatest piece of bad luck to be obliged to face him again so soon.

Lord Henry gestured to the two slender volumes under his arm. “Like you, I am selecting some reading matter,” he said calmly. “A gentleman may attend the circulating library if he wishes!”

“Yes, but I would hardly have considered reading to be amongst your favoured occupations—” Polly bit her lip, aware that her confusion had prompted her to sound less than civil. “I beg your pardon, I only meant that I imagined you had other interests—” Again she broke off. That sounded even worse!

Lord Henry smiled, showing her the books. “Allow me to astound you then, ma’am! I have here Coleridge’s Biographica Literaria and some Homer, which I have not read since I was in short coats! I assure you, I am far more erudite than you think me!”

Polly blinked, unable to refute the evidence of her eyes. It seemed singular that a man whose self-proclaimed aim in life was enjoyment to the point of dissipation should sit in alone with only his books for company.

“I am so glad to see you restored to health,” Lord Henry continued smoothly. “I was at Lady Routledge’s picnic earlier and your sister-in-law intimated that you had been taken ill after the ball last night. Something you ate—or drank, perhaps?”

Polly could feel herself blushing with vexation. The last thing that she wanted was to be reminded of the previous evening and Lord Henry’s scandalous behaviour.

“I am quite recovered now, I thank you,” she said stiffly. “Good day, sir. I must be on my way home for we are promised for the theatre this evening.”

“Perhaps I may escort you back to Brook Street?” Lord Henry suggested politely.

He held the door for her as she went out into the sunny street. It was tempting to accept his offer, but since Polly was still smarting with mortification over her behaviour the night before, Lord Henry’s continued presence could only be a dangerous reminder. She gave him a smile behind which her regret was imperfectly hidden.

“Thank you, sir, but I think not. I have my maid with me for company and it is not far to home.”

“I am disappointed, ma’am,” Lord Henry said, falling into step beside her as though she had not spoken. “Are we not pledged to a better understanding? How may that be achieved if you refuse my company?”

“Pledged to a better understanding?” Polly stopped and stared up at him. The summer breeze was ruffling his thick fair hair and she stifled a sudden urge to touch it. She realised that she was still staring. Hastily, she started walking again.

“Why, yes.” Somehow Lord Henry had taken her arm without her noticing. It seemed churlish to draw away from him. “We are to be friends, remember? You suggested it last night!”

“Friends!” Polly almost tripped up with shock and his hand tightened momentarily on her arm, sending all sorts of strange but delicious sensations through her body.

“Yes, of course you must remember! We were on the terrace—”

“Yes!” Polly squeaked, convinced he was about to remind her of every searing detail. She took a deep breath. “Of course I remember our conversation, sir. I had the particular impression, however, that you did not care for my suggestion!”

Lord Henry turned to look at her. It was a distinctly speculative look. “You did not find my response to you…friendly?”

Polly blushed with indignation. “I did not, my lord! Presumptuous, outrageous, but scarcely friendly!”

Lord Henry’s shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter. “Come now, Lady Polly! You are severe! Was my company so repulsive to you?”

Polly was in a dilemma. Modesty required her to lie but she had been brought up to be exceptionally truthful.

“Your behaviour was not that of a gentleman, sir!”

“Ah, true!” Lord Henry smiled whimsically. “But I find myself rather taken by your proposal, Lady Polly. I have an ardent desire to promote our friendship. Our encounter last night whetted my appetite for it!”

They had reached Brook Street, which was fortunate since Polly was utterly unable to think of a suitable response. Lord Henry kissed her hand. “If you wish to be persuaded further of my erudition, perhaps you might wish to join me in St James’s Square? I have an excellent art collection which you might like to view…” His glance was wicked. “Unless you are already convinced of my scholarship and good taste?”

“I will accept your word on it,” Polly said, still trying to be severe though tempted to giggle. “Good day, sir!”

Art collection, indeed! Polly blushed a little as she considered the implications of his teasing invitation. He must consider her a green girl to be caught by that one! Lord Henry grinned and strolled off down the street, with just one provocative look back. Polly was annoyed that he had caught her looking after him.

“There’s a likely gentleman,” Jessie opined, looking over Polly’s shoulder. “Aye, and a dangerous one, too! You be careful, madam!”

Polly, who had been thinking exactly the same thing, turned away with studied indifference. “Oh, nonsense, Jessie! Lord Henry is just a flirt!”

“A flirt!” Jessie was indignant. “A rake, more to the point! Aye, and you like it, madam!”

Polly did not deign to reply.

As she dressed for the theatre that evening, she repressed a little shiver of excitement and apprehension at the possibility of seeing Lord Henry again. It seemed that her behaviour the previous night had, entirely unexpectedly, caught his interest. But his attentions could never be anything other than dishonourable, and as a result of her own actions he was now pursuing her in a wholly improper way.

The play that night was the farce The Devil to Pay, and the company was a merry one. Nicholas and Lucille Seagrave, the Dowager Countess and Polly, made up a party with Sir Godfrey Orbison and his cousins the Dacres. There was a vast number of their acquaintance at Drury Lane that night and the Dowager Countess spent an entertaining time leaning over the side of their box and identifying members of the fashionable crowd. When she saw Lucille’s twin sister Susanna Bolt on the arm of a distinguished-looking gentleman of military bearing, she dug Lady Dacre in the ribs.