miss. “Well, the round of parties and balls and entertainments is much like it was last time. Perhaps I am becoming a little jaded after all these years—”
Lord Henry burst out laughing. “Yes, you have a great many years in your dish, ma’am!” He lowered his voice. “Perhaps it is just that you need a change of scene? Do you go to Brighton in the summer?”
Polly nodded without much enthusiasm. “We do. But it is the same people and the same diversions!” She brightened. “I love the sea though, and find the air most refreshing. I don’t know why I should not be looking forward to it…” Her voice trailed away. She was regretting telling him of her boredom with the endless, superficial round of society events, for it sounded as though she were simply complaining.
“Perhaps you prefer the country?” Lord Henry was saying thoughtfully. “Suffolk is a beautiful place to be. You seemed very happy at Dillingham last year.”
“Yes…” Polly smiled “…I love Dillingham. I can ride, and paint and walk and please myself…”
Lord Henry flashed her another smile. “So you are a rebel at heart, Lady Polly! You wish to please yourself rather than follow the fashion!”
It was an appealing concept. “Gentlemen are more fortunate when it comes to such matters,” Polly observed judiciously. “You may do as you please, but we are watched over and instructed and restricted…And if we marry, the tyranny of our parents is exchanged for the tyranny of a husband!” Filled with a sudden sense of absurdity at her own words, she started to laugh.
“I wondered whether that was why you had never married,” Lord Henry said quietly. “Is that the reason, ma’am? That you had no wish to exchange a circumscribed girlhood for an equally restrictive marriage?”
Polly’s laughter faded and she fell silent. The only sound was the noise of the phaeton’s wheels and the cooing of the doves in the shady trees.
“No,” she said slowly, “that was not the reason that I have never married.”
“Then will you tell me what it is?” They had reached a quiet stretch of the road and Lord Henry was allowing his team to slow down while he concentrated on her. Their eyes met for a split second of tension.
“No,” Polly said again, half-lightly, half in earnest, “I shall not, sir! You have no right to ask so leading a question on so small an acquaintance!”
She saw Lord Henry smile as he accepted her refusal and allowed her to retreat.
“I protest,” he said easily. “I have known you for years, ma’am, yet you insist we are as strangers!”
“We may have been acquainted for years,” Polly agreed, equally casually, “but for most of that time you have been away, sir, travelling or entertaining yourself…” She frowned as it occurred to her that she did not actually know what it was that had taken Lord Henry away so often. Society whispered that it was scandal—women, gambling, racing—but no one actually knew…
“Very true, ma’am,” Lord Henry agreed, clearly unprepared to enlighten her further. “Like you, I find Society stifling if I spend too long in its company! I have noticed a change in London lately. Oh, the ton enjoy themselves as much as before, with as many outrageous amusements as they can devise, but the rest of the populace is not as tolerant as it used to be!”
Polly knew what he meant. There were so many of the dispossessed on the streets, looking resentfully as the rich and fashionable passed by, so many men who had served their country at war and now had no occupation in peace time. There were many who preached against the accepted order and agitated for change and some who would be prepared to resort to violence to get it.
“There is a sort of anger about the city at times,” Polly agreed, shivering in the cool air. “I sometimes wonder how long things can stay unchanged…”
“Melancholy thoughts for so bright a day,” Lord Henry observed. “My apologies for striking a discordant note. Why, look, is that not your esteemed relative Lady Bolt, over there? Your brother will be desolate that she has found a richer man in the Duke of Garston!”
“Oh, dear!” Polly looked across to the approaching curricle, where Lady Bolt was arrayed in a dress of scarlet silk entirely unsuitable for an afternoon’s drive. A hat adorned with curling ostrich plumes framed her face. Polly felt both dowdy and insignificant in comparison.
“Henry!” Lady Bolt was hailing them now, with more familiarity than Polly liked to see. “How delightful to see you! Why—” her eye fell on Polly in amused scorn “—hardly your usual taste, my dear? So sweet and tediously dull!”
Polly flushed with anger and mortification. It would have been impossible to miss Lady Bolt since the two carriages had to pass each other, and as she and Henry had slowed down to talk, the Cyprian had come upon them almost unawares. Nevertheless it was unfortunate. The Dowager Countess would have a fit if she heard of the meeting, and as for Lady Bolt’s barbed insults, it strained Polly’s natural courtesy to accept them without retaliation.
“How do you do, Lady Bolt.” Lord Henry spoke very coldly. “I fear I was so engrossed in Lady Polly’s delightful company that I missed your approach! Good day, ma’am!” And he gave the horses the office to move off.
“Oh, dear,” Polly said again, when the infuriated Cyprian had been left behind, “it is so very difficult! Lucille is so charming and her sister so much her opposite! I would not for all the world cut her dead, but—”
“But you have little choice,” Lord Henry said grimly. “Society dictates that a lady such as yourself should not even know what Lady Bolt is, let alone speak to her—as well you know, ma’am!”
“Yes, but—” Polly was a kind girl; although she detested Susanna Bolt’s nature, she could not help but feel uncomfortable. “Lucille once said that they were both obliged to find the means to support themselves, and Susanna chose one course and Lucille another! It is easy to judge when one has not had to make such a choice!”
“You are all generosity, Lady Polly!” Polly knew Lord Henry was laughing at her, albeit somewhat ruefully. “Console yourself with the fact that Susanna Bolt is a harpy and you will then feel no need to sympathize with her!”
“You seem to know her very well,” Polly said unguardedly, piqued by his amusement.
“I know her type,” Lord Henry conceded. They turned through the park gates and back towards Brook Street. “I am happy to continue this entirely improper conversation,” he added, “but only if you are willing to admit to being its instigator! I will not take the blame for discussing matters unsuitable for a lady’s ears!”
“Society can be very foolish,” Polly said crossly, “dictating what a lady may and may not do, or hear, or say! It puts me out of all patience!”
The phaeton stopped and Lord Henry jumped lightly down, holding out a hand to help Polly descend. He did not allow their bodies to touch as he swung her to the ground, nor did he hold on to her hand for longer than was strictly necessary. Polly found herself disappointed. For some reason the drive had ended on an unsatisfactory note. Polly was inclined to blame Lady Bolt’s interruption, although honesty prompted her that this was not really true. It seemed that she was dissatisfied when Lord Henry behaved properly and nervous when he did not. Flirtation was clearly not a game she could play with anywhere near Lord Henry’s aplomb.
