"If he had driven with a little more consideration, he would not have smothered me with mud!" Polly retorted tartly. "Is one not entitled to object in such a circumstance?"
"There are ways… and ways… of doing so," Nick said, carefully circumspect. "So what did the gentleman say when he had climbed out of the carriage to find himself confronted by your outrage?"
Polly frowned. "He was most apologetic and desired to drive me home. He was most insistent." She shrugged. "Maybe that is not in itself strange, but there was something about the way he looked at me."
Nicholas felt himself stiffen. He could well imagine how the unknown would have looked at Polly-with unbridled lust. He had seen it often enough; but then, so had Polly, and she usually had little difficulty dealing with it. So what had disturbed her particularly this time? "You did not accept his offer?" It was a rhetorical question.
"I think that had I not been so close to home, I might have found it difficult to gainsay him," Polly said frankly, putting her finger at last on what had so disturbed her. The
gentleman had given the impression of one who possessed both the power and the inclination to take for himself what was not freely rendered.
"I told you to have a care," Nick said quietly.
"But this was not one of those of whom I was supposed to be careful," Polly pointed out. "There were arms emblazoned on the panels of his coach. He was no footpad or street rogue. I would not have been afeard of such as they."
"You did not discover his name?" De Winter put in.
"Yes… he offered an introduction in a most proper manner. I did not return the courtesy but walked away. I imagine he must have thought me sadly lacking in manners."
"If you were accosted, I do not think you were obliged to be mannerly." Nick offered reassurance.
"But you could say that it was I who did the accosting," Polly said with ruthless candor, this matter of manners seeming suddenly to assume an inordinate importance.
De Winter prompted again. "What name did he give you?"
"Oh, yes… Villiers," she said, still frowning. "George Villiers. I think that was it."
"Buckingham!" Nick's eyes met De Winter's over the honey-hued head, and read the warning. He mastered the mixed emotions of surprise, anger, and unease. "Well, it appears that you made the acquaintance of His Grace, the Duke of Buckingham, moppet." Tipping her off his knee, he stood up, sauntering over to the table to refill his goblet. "You will undoubtedly meet him again when you become one of the king's company. Indeed, you may well perform in one of his plays. He is considered an accomplished playwright."
"I did not care for him," Polly informed them bluntly. "I had liefer not meet him again."
"Oh, you are being fanciful," Nick said with a feigned easiness. "He has the king's ear, my dear, and is a most important gentleman. You should be flattered rather than alarmed to have caught his eye."
"I had somehow formed the impression that he is no friend of yours?" Polly gave him a searching look.
Nick shrugged. "He is an acquaintance with whom I am on good terms, as is Richard. Only a fool would make an enemy of Buckingham. Is it not so, Richard?"
"Most certainly," De Winter agreed, blandly smiling. "When you meet him in different circumstances, Polly, you will see him in a different light."
"But he will surely remember the manner in which I addressed his coachman, and the fact that I treated his introduction with less than courtesy." Polly nibbled her thumbnail worriedly. "And if he is so important a figure, it is surely a disadvantage to stand in his bad graces."
"If that were so, it would be a disadvantage. But I think you may safely assume that you have merely piqued Buckingham's interest." Nick put his goblet on the table and smiled reassuringly. "Fetch your cloak now. If we are to go shopping before sunset, we had best make a move."
The prospect diverted her, as he had hoped. She ran downstairs to retrieve her cloak from the kitchen, where Goodwife Benson had taken it for brushing.
"An unfortunate meeting," De Winter observed.
"Damnably! If she has taken him in so much dislike, I fail to see how we are to achieve her cooperation." Nick paced restlessly.
"Wait until she has embraced her ambition, my friend, and has become a member of those circles where Buckingham is so courted and adored. She will see him in a different light then. She will, I am certain, respond to his flattering advances, as all the other fair frailties have done, and continue to do so. He is too grand a prize to reject."
Nicholas winced at this cynicism, but could not find it in his heart to disagree. There was no reason to suppose that Polly, once her enchanting ingenuousness had been superseded by the sophistication of the courtier, would prove to be any less worldly than any other lady of the stage with her sights set on an assured and comfortable future in the hands of a wealthy and influential protector. It was to this end, after
all, that he was instructing her in the devious tricks of the world she would enter.
"And once she is safely ensconced in Buckingham's bed," De Winter continued with a calm that Nick found supremely irritating, "you will hold fast the chains of gratitude and pleasure, so that she is never far from your bed, where you may glean what you will. 'Tis not unusual, after all, for a lady to spread her favors."
"Such a neat and pleasing plan," Nick said. Richard did not miss the sardonic undertone, but he refrained from the obvious comment that the plan had been Nick's originally.
"I am ready!" Polly bounced into the room. "Where did I put my drawings? Oh, there they are." She scooped up the sheets from the sideboard. "You should know, sir, that Lord De Winter has been most helpful with the designs. Our morning was not spent entirely in idle pleasure."
"I am glad to hear it." Nick laughed, pushing away the sour taste of the last half hour. "D'ye care to accompany us, Richard?"
"If you think I might be useful, I should be glad to."
As the afternoon wore on, Nick found himself immensely grateful for Richard's support. Polly flitted from shop to shop in an ecstasy of indecision. One minute she would be fingering a bolt of white damask, the next had abandoned the eager mercer in favor of one of his competitors who had a flame satin on show. She stood ankle-deep in a river of unrolled bolts, exclaiming over the flowered sarcenet or the mulberry wool, before a tall black beaver hat with white plumes caught her eye in the milliner's across the court and she was off again.
"Think you 'tis perhaps time to take charge?" De Winter asked Nick gently, after Polly, having discarded countless hats, had succeeded in reducing the milliner to a state of gibbering anxiety.
"I suppose so," Nick replied with a regretful smile. "But seldom have I enjoyed another's pleasure so. It is a shame to bring the play to an end."
"But take pity on the poor mercers and milliners," chuck-
led Richard. "They have given of their best, and so far not a single purchase has been made."
Nick nodded, squared his shoulders, and entered the fray. "The felt copintank and the beaver," he said with brisk decision. "The muslin headpiece with the satin ribbons, and the lace mantilla."
"Yes, sir. A pleasure, sir." The relieved milliner smiled radiantly. "If I may say so, an admirable choice."
"Oh, do you think so?" Polly said doubtfully. "I had thought to purchase the gauze scarf rather than the mantilla."