"Well, I am determined not to allow her to trouble me anymore," Polly said, reaching up to adjust the starched folds of her cravat. "If the ladies will not talk with me, then I shall devote my attention to the gentlemen with good conscience.
Mayhap His Grace of Buckingham will accord me more than a cold nod." Brave words, she thought, but she must try to overcome these surely fanciful fears that every time she felt the duke's eyes upon her, he was contemplating the price that he had promised to find.
She was as good as her word that evening. Sue had entered with enthusiasm into the idea of a May Day milkmaid, and the two girls spent the afternoon adapting a daintily flowered cambric petticoat that Polly would wear over her smock, without gown or kirtle. The gardens yielded pinks, marigolds, and daisies, which Susan's nimble fingers entwined in the loose ringlets tumbling about the milkmaid's shoulders. ' 'Tis not a costume one would wear gladly in winter," Polly said with a chuckle, surveying herself in the glass. "I must go barefoot if I'm to play the part with accuracy."
"You would go barefoot before the king?" Sue, in the process of pinning up the skirt of the petticoat to reveal the shapely curve of calf and the neat turn of ankle, looked up, stunned at the idea of such brazen immodesty.
"I hardly think it is any the more indecent than appearing before the king in smock and petticoat," Polly said tranquilly, adjusting the neck of her smock with a critical frown. "Besides, His Majesty is hardly unfamiliar with the female form in various states of undress."
Sue giggled, in spite of her shocked disapproval at this irreverence. "Lor', PolJy, ye shouldn't say such things."
' 'Tis but the truth," her companion returned unargu-ably. "I am going to my lord's apartments to show myself before appearing below. If there is anything amiss, he will tell me so."
Her chamber, while it was smaller and less luxuriously appointed than Kincaid's, as befitted the anomalous position in the court hierarchy of an accredited mistress with no husband's status to define her own, adjoined his lordship's. Polly had exclaimed at this convenience, until Kincaid had pointed out dryly that the Earl of Pembroke's steward would be apprised of all relevant facts appertaining to his master's guests, and would make disposition accordingly. Such tactful dispo-
sition had converted a dressing room to Polly's bedchamber, enabling her to enter Kincaid's apartments through the connecting door. She did so now, with no more than a light tap to herald her arrival.
"Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. I did not realize you had a visitor. Shall I come back later?" She smiled at De Winter, resplendent in crimson satin embroidered with turquoise peacocks, sitting by the window sipping a glass of canary.
Nicholas, engaged in inserting a diamond pin in the heavy fall of lace at his throat, said easily, "Not a bit of it, sweetheart. We talk no secrets." He turned to examine her, and a smile spread slowly across his face. "What a bewitching jade you are. What think you, Richard?"
"That the knives will be sharpened to a fine keenness," De Winter said with open amusement. "You have courage, I will say that for you, Polly. There will be much wailing and gnashing of teeth amongst your fair rivals when you appear in such fashion."
"Well, I do not care for that," Polly declared stoutly. "If I were to put ashes in my hair and clothe myself in sackcloth, it would not alter Lady Castlemaine's disposition toward me, so why should I care?"
"Why indeed," Richard agreed easily. " 'Tis such an ingeniously simple costume." He laughed in rich enjoyment. "I'll lay odds 'tis that that'll cause the most grief. Imagine how galling to have spent hours and fortunes and positive buckets of paint and mountains of powder, only to be out-; done by a milkmaid in petticoat, smock, and a few flowers."
"If you are not to wear shoes, you had best have a care where you put your feet," Nick said, rising and smoothing down his coat. "And what have you to say about mine own dress, mistress?" He cocked an eyebrow at her, turning slowly for her inspection.
"Magnificent!" Polly breathed, taking in the rich black satin with gold arabesques, the glint of diamond, the wink of silver on his shoes, the deep burnished auburn hair falling in heavy luxuriance to his shoulders, to lie in rich contrast against the dark cloth. The emerald eyes danced, seeming
even brighter against the somber black and gold of his suit. "You are a very prince." She stepped across the room, metal to his magnet, quite forgetting Richard's presence. Placing her palms against Nick's chest, she stroked the silky cloth with its raised golden decorations, then stood on tiptoe to place her smiling lips against his.
"A prince should have a princess as consort, not a milkmaid." Just as Baron Kincaid should have his baroness. The old, unbidden apprehension nibbled again at the edges of her present contentment. Again she quelled it, and fluttered her eyelashes against his cheek in a wicked little caress that brought his nerve endings to prickly arousal.
"That would depend upon the milkmaid." De Winter interrupted the play, rising to his feet with a deceptive laziness. "However, you shall descend upon my arm, Polly, not that of your prince."
"One must not wear one's heart upon one's sleeve," Polly said with an ironic smile. "But Buckingham knows where mine does not lie."
Richard's eyes met Nick's across the flower-strewn honeyed head. "Are you uneasy, Polly?" he asked quietly.
Everyone has a price. I will find yours. Oh, 'twas nonsense to be concerned about a remark made in the anger of chagrin. It had no place in this self-enclosed world, far removed from life's realities, from the monstrous terrors of a plague-stricken metropolis. In this world where the pursuit of pleasure and the fulfillment of desires of whatever kind were the only object, why would Buckingham concern himself with an old and private thwarting? Nick was right. The coldness would soon dissipate as other interests took over, and she would not have these two concerned about her sinister fancies.
"Indeed not, Richard." Polly spoke firmly. "What is there to be uneasy about? In truth, I prefer the duke's coldness to his attentions. I do not find that familiarity has lessened the repugnance I feel for him."
With a smile of sweet innocence, she dropped De Winter a curtsy. "Are you sure, my lord, that you are not paying me
too much attention? After all, I arrived here under your escort, and I am as often upon your arm as upon Nick's."
"Jackanapes! You are going to make a very bad end," Richard declared with feeling, taking her hand and laying it upon his arm. "Strive for a modicum of conduct, if you please."
Polly gave him a smile glinting with mischief before glancing over her shoulder at Nicholas, dropping one eyelid in a conspiratorial wink that brought a shout of laughter from him.
"Be off," he said. "We will dance the coranto later, if you can remember the steps."
"If you, my lord, will promise not to tread upon my toes," she said, wriggling one bare foot pointedly; on which Parthian shot, she left him still searching for rejoinder, herself well satisfied that she had dissipated that moment of tension.
Her entrance, as had been predicted, caused no small stir. "What a rustic simplicity, mistress!" trilled Lady Castle-maine. "But one must have the simplicity of mind to accompany such a costume."
"Indeed, the least sophistication and one would look perfectly ridiculous," concurred Lady Frobisher, fanning herself vigorously.
"You are too kind, my ladies." Polly sank into a deep obeisance, each movement in the sequence radiating insolence. "I am most complimented that my poor performance should be so convincing."