very wild and would not be considered a suitable escort for any unmarried lady. And now, there was an even more potent and unexpected reason why she could never hope to re-attach his affections…
The sound of voices at the main door stirred Polly from her thoughts. She straightened up to see her sister-in-law Lucille taking her leave of a couple on the doorstep and hurrying into the hall, pulling off her gloves. As Lucille’s eyes adjusted to the sudden shade, Polly came forward to greet her.
“Oh, Lucille, I am glad to see you back!” Then, as her sister-in-law fixed her with a rather too perceptive gaze, she said hastily, “Who were those people? They looked a little eccentric!”
Lucille laughed. “The lady was a Mrs Golightly, who is a friend of Miss Hannah More, and was telling me all about her work with the Bettering Society! They work to improve the condition of the poor, you know! And the gentleman is a poet, Mr Cleymore, who is accounted quite good, I believe, although I cannot understand his work! They are complete originals, but not people of fashion!”
“Who cares a button for that?” Polly said stoutly. One of the things she particularly liked about Lucille was her lack of interest in worldly concerns. She would befriend people because she liked them, support causes because she believed in them, and gently rebuke even the most high-ranking Dowager who ventured to criticise her for her quaint interests. Lucille had grown in poise and confidence since her marriage to Nicholas Seagrave, Polly thought now, but she retained the innocent interest she had in everyone and everything. It was a quality that added to her novelty value in the eyes of the ton, who were always seeking fresh amusement. Lucille, with her slightly eccentric ways, had been a gift to such jaded palates. And the final titillation, of course, was the dreadful, brassy Cyprian who was Lucille’s twin and had done her utmost to embarrass her sister, seeking her out at public events and trying to hang on her coattails. Lucille had dealt with all the pitfalls most admirably, Polly thought with a smile, taking her sister-in-law’s arm and steering her towards the green drawing-room and away from Sir Godfrey and the Dowager Countess.
“Do you have time to take tea with me?” she asked hopefully, and Lucille’s observant blue eyes scanned her face once more.
“Of course! Medlyn, tea for two in the Green Room, if you please!” She turned back to Polly. “But what has happened, Polly? You look quite blue-devilled! Oh, I know—” She wrinkled up her nose. “John Bellars has made you an offer and you have refused him! And…” she cast a glance towards the closed door of the blue drawing-room “…your mother and Sir Godfrey are on the high ropes over your behaviour!”
“Sir Godfrey has rung a peal over me,” Polly admitted ruefully, as they went into the Green Room. “How did you know that Bellars was about to make me a declaration, Lucille?”
“I guessed,” Lucille said serenely. “And I suspected you would refuse him. The only one I thought you might have accepted was Julian Morrish…”
Polly sighed. “I did think of accepting,” she said reluctantly, “for I like Julian very well, and had I wanted a marriage based on mutual respect and liking, it might have served. But—” she shook her head “—I could not do it, for—”
“For you are still in love with Harry Marchnight,” Lucille finished for her, disposing herself elegantly in a wing chair and looking at her sister-in-law with a rueful amusement.
Feeling a prickle of envy at the casual way Lucille mentioned Lord Henry, Polly sought to defend herself. “It is not that I am in love with him, precisely—”
The door opened to admit Medlyn with the tea. Lucille poured neatly and passed Polly a cup.
Once she had thanked him and the door had closed again, Lucille turned back to Polly.
“Come now, Polly, do you think you can cozen me? It may be that you originally suffered from a schoolroom infatuation for Lord Henry, but I am sure you have discovered that this has turned to something far more profound.”
“You have not forgotten what I told you at Dillingham in the autumn,” Polly said sadly. “I was being foolishly self-pitying! It was simply that your own wedding made me feel sorry for myself and I regretted the opportunity I threw away! But that was all over a long time ago! It is of no consequence!”
Lucille studied her sister-in-law over the rim of her teacup. “But I am concerned for your happiness, Polly! All these gentlemen you refuse are so very eligible and do not take their rejection lightly! You know that you are getting a reputation for pride! And what are you to do if you do not marry?”
Polly shrugged, a gesture which her mother deplored. “Oh, I shall devote myself to studying and good works! And if I miss the excitement of the Season in years to come, I shall set myself up as a chaperon for daughters of rich cits wishing to marry well!”
Lucille sensibly chose to disregard most of this. “Do you think,” she said carefully, “that there is any likelihood of yourself and Lord Henry making a match of it? He has told me that he still holds you in the greatest esteem—”
But Polly was shaking her head violently. “Oh, no, Lucille, that is impossible! Why, I am sure he had nothing but contempt for my poor-spiritness in refusing to elope with him five years ago and now I imagine he scarce thinks of me at all!”
She broke off, evading Lucille’s eyes. Impossible to explain to her sister-in-law that the most potent reason that Lord Henry could no longer have any interest in her was because he had quite obviously formed a romantic attachment to Lucille herself. Polly wondered just how innocent Lucille could be. She had no doubt that the attachment was one-sided and entirely emotional rather than physical. But how could Lucille not have noticed that Lord Henry was forever in her company, seeking her views and advice, valuing her opinion? Why, even Seagrave himself had commented humorously what a lapdog Harry Marchnight was becoming, forever following his wife about.
Polly searched rather desperately for a change of subject. “Do you think that you shall be joining the Bettering Society, Lucille?”
“Probably not,” her sister-in-law answered. “Nicholas has suggested that we travel a little at the end of the Season, and since I am still awaiting my wedding trip, I thought to encourage him! But—” she returned to the previous subject with an obstinacy for which she was well known “—we were speaking of you, Polly, not of myself! If you truly feel that any awkwardness with Lord Henry must be in the past now, why do the two of you spend all your time skulking behind trees or pillars in an effort to avoid each other? It makes matters very difficult for the rest of us! Why, Nicholas was saying only the other day that he wished to ask Harry’s advice on those greys he was thinking of buying, but he hesitated in case you accidently bumped into him! Could you not speak to Lord Henry and put an end to this, Polly?”
Polly stared in disbelief.
“Speak to him,” she echoed faintly. “Whatever can you mean, Lucille? Oh, I could not!”
Lucille’s brows rose at this missish response. She knew that Lady Appollonia Grace Seagrave was a well-brought-up and entirely orthodox daughter of the nobility, but had not thought her merely a pretty ninnyhammer.
“Well, upon my word, I only meant that you should discuss matters with him—clear the air!” she repeated patiently. “After all, you are both adults and cannot be forever behaving in this foolish manner! You yourself have said that it is all in the past! I apologise if I have offended your sensibility, but I should think that one slightly embarrassing encounter must be a small price to pay to be comfortable together in the future! If you truly believe that there is no hope for the two
