Nick thought. "I do not think that I did," he said.
"He is a footman, and most comely," Polly went on. "And Sue is smitten with Oliver and Oliver is smitten with Sue. So you see, 'tis not at all convenient for the one to be here and t'other in Wiltshire."
"No, I can see that it is not at all convenient," Nick agreed. "It could well cause a permanent cold in the head. Well, what's to be done?"
"It seems that Oliver is only an underfootman at present and cannot begin to think of marrying; but what he really would like is to be a gamekeeper in a little cottage, and Sue could have a tribe of babies, which would suit her very well-"
"Just a minute." Nick tugged on a strand of hair to bring
this vision of domestic bliss to a conclusion. "How is this ambition to be achieved?"
"Well, I do not see how it can be if you do not take a hand." Polly turned 'round, kneeling up to rest her elbows on his lap. "I have been meaning to bring it up this age, but-"
"You have been somewhat occupied," Nick finished for her.
"And you have been somewhat distracted," Polly said quietly, examining his face with grave attention. "What is troubling you, Nick?"
"Nothing of any moment." He shrugged. "To return to Sue and her headcold; in what fashion am I to take a hand?"
"It is obvious, is it not? You must employ Oliver as a gamekeeper on your estate in Yorkshire. Then they may marry and live happy ever after."
Nick scratched his nose thoughtfully. "Yorkshire is a very long and arduous journey away. 'Tis a very different life from the one to which they are accustomed. Would you really be doing them a favor? Mayhap Oliver can find such work in Wiltshire. It is a softer life, and not so far removed from London for Susan."
"You will not help, then?" Polly sounded as disappointed as she looked, and more than a little surprised.
"I did not say that. I suggest that you think about it, and consult further with Sue before we make any decisions."
"But if she thinks it a good idea, you will agree?"
"I will write to my steward to see what work and accommodation are available," he promised. "But do not be in such a hurry, moppet. You are not so anxious to lose Susan, are you?"
"No, of course not. I shall miss her most dreadfully. But I cannot be so selfish as to hinder her happiness for such a reason."
Nick smiled at her very clear indignation at such an implication. He pinched her nose. "Your pardon, madame; I did not mean to cast aspersions on your character."
Polly's chuckle was swallowed in a yawn. Nicholas stood
up, drawing her up with him. " 'Tis past your bedtime, sweetheart. And I must away."
"You will not stay?" She looked at him in that same searching way, but could see nothing more than weariness. "Where must you go at this time of the night?"
"To Sir Peter's. There are some matters we must discuss." He reached for his cloak. "But if it is not too late, I will come here afterward. Although I'd not wish to wake you."
"Then I cannot imagine what point there would be." Polly pouted in mock vexation, receiving an ungentlemanly swat for her pains. She skipped to the door and opened it for him. "Begone, sir. The sooner you are about your business, the sooner will it be done, and you may return."
Nick pulled on his gloves, picked up his rapier stick, and turned up the fur collar of his cloak against the January winds. "I had better find you asleep on my return." Tilting her chin with a gloved finger, he kissed her closed mouth, lingering on its soft, pliant sweetness for long minutes before reluctantly releasing her.
Polly stood at the head of the stairs, shivering at the cold blast of icy air as he opened the street door. Then it had closed behind him, and the draft set the fire in the parlor spurting orange. She went over to the warmth, hugging her arms across her breast, a small frown buckling her forehead. Whatever Nick might say, something was causing him powerful worry. Yet if he would not confide in her, how could she help him?
She sighed, staring down into the fire as if, within its constantly shifting pattern, she would see answers. But the pictures formed and dissolved, offering no enlightenment. Turning her attention to a matter in which she could be helpful, she strode to the door.
"Sue! Sue, are ye busy?"
The girl appeared from the kitchen quarters, coming to the foot of the stairs. "D'ye need summat?" she asked apathetically.
"Only some company," Polly coaxed. "I have some news that might cheer you. And there's chestnuts we can roast."
Susan, looking as if she could not imagine being cheered by such offerings, came up to the parlor. " 'Is lordship gone out, then?"
"Aye, some business he had to attend to. But pray listen, Sue. I have talked to him about you and Oliver, and guess what he has said." Eagerly, Polly expounded her plan and the positive part of Nick's reaction. She could see no reason to depress Sue further by explicating possible drawbacks to the scheme.
''D'ye think he really means it?" Susan breathed, all evidence of tears vanished. "Why, t'would be the most wonderful thing." Reaching into the coals, she hitched out a glowing, ashy chestnut, dropping it abruptly onto the hearth, licking her singed fingers.
"But Yorkshire's a mighty long way." Polly decided that in good conscience she should perhaps point out this fact, at least. Picking up the chestnut, she tossed it from hand to hand, in the hopes that the movement would cool it.
Susan, however, disregarded this disadvantage completely. "I've no family 'ere," she said. "An' Oliver's folk're in Cornwall, so 'e don't pay them no mind as 'tis."
"Well, perhaps you should write and ask him what he thinks," suggested Polly, peeling the steaming nut. "Before my lord writes to his steward. Just in case Oliver does not care for the idea."
"Oh, 'e will," Sue said with confidence. She looked dreamily into the fire. "Just think on't, Polly. To be married, with my own 'ouse, and babes, and a cow, and a chicken…" The thought of such plenty rendered her speechless for a minute, then she said curiously, "D'ye think of marrying, Polly?"
The question triggered the old unease, the uncertainty that she usually managed to suppress by refusing to think beyond the loving glories of the present. Now she lied. "I've never thought on it, Sue. I'm an actor, and there's Nick. Why would I want to marry?" She smiled slightly, reaching into the fire for another chestnut so that Sue could not see her face. "There are wives and there are whores in the world
you and I come from, Susan. You are made to be wife, and I to be whore." She shrugged and made the lie complete. "I am content with my lot. Cottages and chickens and cows and babes would not please me half so much."
"But what about when 'is lordship takes a wife?" Susan asked diffidently. "Will 'e keep you, d'ye think?"
That was the nub-the aspect of the future that Polly dared not dwell upon. Nicholas, Lord Kincaid, would need a wife-and it could not be a Newgate-born, tavern-bred bastard. Society might not frown too heavily on an actor's becoming a baroness, but Polly Wyat had more than just the stage in her background, as she and Nick knew. Women with her dubious origins did not make the wives of noblemen and the mothers of their heirs, however much they were loved. So what would happen when Nick did take a wife? Would a wife look complacently upon an established mistress? Or would she demand he throw up his whore and devote his full attention to the marriage bed? In the shoes of this putative wife, Polly felt that she would most certainly insist. It was a desolate thought. "One day I must ask him," she said with a light laugh, another shrug. She was not an actor for nothing.