the woolly feeling in her head, Polly remembered the fruit punch, so apparently innocuous and yet so dangerous. Oh, how could she have been such a fool, she who had been out for five years! Drinking spirits, becoming flirtatious, crowning her folly with a drunken encounter on the terrace with Lord Henry Marchnight! No doubt he thought her the most unutterable fool! She squirmed, turning her hot face into the cool linen pillow in an attempt to wipe out the vivid memories which were flooding back.
“I’ve tried to wake her once already, my lady,” a voice was saying, and Polly shot bolt upright, suddenly terrified that her mother was at the door. But it was only Lucille, who came into the room and pulled back the bedcurtains with a resounding rasp that echoed through Polly’s head.
“Oh! Do not!” Polly’s groan was heartfelt. She slumped back on the pillows, feeling dizzy. Her sister-in-law paused in surprise.
“Polly? Are you ill? I thought that you were coming with me to Lady Routledge’s picnic?”
The light was making Polly’s eyes stream. She squinted at Lucille through the brightness. There was a rhythmic pounding in her ears although she had no recollection of any major building works currently taking place on the house. “Oh dear…I think I may be sick…”
“If I did not know better, I should say that you were foxed,” Lucille was saying severely, eyeing her sister-in-law closely. “I had no idea that Lady Phillips’s ridotto had been such a hotbed of iniquity! Or was it the prawn patties you ate, perhaps? Yes, so much better for it to be the prawns, I think…That is what I shall tell your Mama. I will come and see you later…”
Polly was beyond replying. She turned over and was asleep again at once.
It was the afternoon when she awoke again, feeling marginally better.
“Lady Seagrave said that I wasn’t to disturb you on account of you being so sick, ma’am,” Polly’s maid said sympathetically, when summoned at last by the bell. “Can I fetch you anything, ma’am? Some food?”
A spasm of distaste crossed Polly’s face. “I think not, Jessie. Just a very large glass of water, if you please. I have seldom been so thirsty! And I shall get up now, I think.”
Jessie looked dubious. “Well, ma’am, if you’re sure you’re ready! My brother usually takes a day to sleep off his excesses…” She caught Polly’s outraged expression and dropped a submissive curtsy. A country girl from the Seagraves’ Suffolk estate, Jessie had a kind heart but no tact. “As you wish, ma’am!” she finished hastily. “Shall you be going out?”
“Yes!” Polly snapped, suddenly anxious to refute the suggestion that she was a drunkard to rival Jessie’s brother. “We shall go to the circulating library! My lilac walking dress, please!”
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!”
