Venus (19 page)

It was a short walk along Drury Lane. Just as she reached her destination, a coach, arms emblazoned upon its panels, swept past her to come to a dramatic halt at the theatre steps. A clod of mud flying up from the wheels landed on Polly’s
arm, splattering her liberally. In a fury, she assailed the coachman, who was in the act of climbing down from his box, castigating him roundly on his careless driving. Since she chose to do this in language with which the coachman would be familiar, it was not surprising that he should enter the argument in spirited fashion.

“God’s good grace! What is going on!” An elegant voice preceded its owner’s head, appearing in the carriage window.

“You have a most discourteous coachman, sir,” Polly said, switching her accent to one more suitable for discourse with so manifest a gentleman. “He drives his carriage in such a manner that no one is safe on the same street with him, and then has the impertinence to blame his victim!”

George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, was bereft of words for a moment as he took in the ravishing beauty before him. Never had he beheld such a diamond. Indignation glittered in a pair of magnificent eyes—like forest pools, he thought—flushed a perfect complexion with a delicate pink, stood out in every line of a matchless form. At the same time, he noticed that she was well, if modestly, dressed, and she spoke with a lady’s breeding. Except that if it had been she berating his coachman, then she knew well how to assume a different accent.

“Your pardon, madame,” he managed, swinging open the carriage door, springing lightly to the ground. He bowed. “I pray you will permit me to make amends. If you would direct me to your lodging, I will convey you there myself.”

Polly curtsied automatically as she examined the gentleman covertly. He was most magnificent, with three curling ostrich plumes to his hat, dyed red to match his wine-red velvet coat and breeches, a full-bottomed periwig upon his head, diamonds upon his fingers and on the buckles of his shoes. She raised her eyes to his face as she swam upward, and suffered a slight shock. It was not a pleasant face, although the expression was one of studied amiability—hard eyes under heavy, drooping lids; a thin mouth, with more than a hint of cruelty to it, beneath a long, pointed nose that
reminded her of a hawk’s beak. It was the face of a cynic and a dissolute, and the examination to which she was being subjected was frankly calculating. Polly quite suddenly wished she were well away from his vicinity.

“There is no need, sir,” she replied. “I live but a short distance and would prefer to walk.”

“Oh, but you cannot do so,” he protested. “Allow me to present myself. George Villiers at your service, madame.”

The name meant nothing to Polly, who had never heard the Duke of Buckingham referred to by his family name. She responded with a polite murmur and another curtsy before turning abruptly, walking off down the street.

Buckingham stood motionless, his eyes riveted on the figure until she turned the corner from Drury Lane onto Long Acre. If she lived but a short distance from here, it should not be impossible to discover her address and identity. Such rare beauty would not go unremarked in the taverns and shops. He beckoned to his footboy.

Polly, finding unaccountably that all desire to continue her walk was vanished, returned home by way of Bow Street. The enticing aroma of roasting fowl and a mug of buttered ale before the crackling luxury of her own fireside offered some measure of compensation, and she was sitting before the fire, wriggling her toes in its warmth, feeling completely in charity with the world, when she heard De Winter’s voice in the hall belowstairs.

Jumping up, she went to the parlor door, appearing on the small landing as his lordship mounted the stairs. “Why, sir, are you come to visit? Nicholas is gone to his house.”

“Then may I be permitted the conceit of thinking you might be glad of my company?” He smiled, bowing as he reached the landing.

“’Tis no conceit, sir, but the truth.” She gestured to the parlor. “Pray come in and let me pour you wine.”

“Y’are a most accomplished hostess, Mistress Wyat,” Richard said, smiling, as she took his hat and cloak.

Polly hesitated, then said, “If you would care to join me for dinner, my lord, I would be very happy to have your
company. Goodwife Benson has gone to some trouble to dress a fine pullet.”

“Prettily said!” Laughing, he flicked her cheek with a careless finger. “I should be delighted. The prospect of the goodwife’s pullet quite sets my mouth to watering!”

Thus it was that when Nicholas came hotfoot up the stairs into his mistress’s apartments, he found a cozy scene. The two diners were quite clearly upon the easiest of terms, and Nick was surprised by a most unjustified pang of what he could only recognize as jealousy. He knew that Richard would under no circumstances set up a flirtation with another man’s protégée, and even more vital, he knew that Richard would never lose sight of the greater goal. De Winter was a dedicated politician, committed to his country’s well-being; no personal whim would be permitted to intrude upon that commitment. Polly Wyat was necessary to the furtherance of that cause.

Nevertheless, the ripple of Polly’s laughter, the provocative flash of her eyes as she responded to a sally, the flush of enjoyment painting her cheeks, twisted a malevolent skewer in his gut.

“Oh, you are well come, Nicholas!” Polly sprang from her chair, running to greet him, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. “How is Lady Margaret?” An imp of mischief danced across her face before she schooled both expression and posture to those of a devout sobriety. “She has not, I trust, found too much to aid the devil’s work in the past days?”

“Minx!” declared Nicholas with some satisfaction, finding his moment of unease now fled into the realm of irrelevancy. “You have been amusing yourself, I see.”

“Oh, famously,” she agreed, pulling him over to the fire. “Lord De Winter is a most entertaining companion.” She poured wine for the newcomer. “He has been telling me about fox hunting. I should like to learn to ride a horse.”

“Then so you shall,” promised Nick, taking the proffered goblet with a smile of thanks. “When the weather improves.”

“Oh, I should tell you: I had a most strange encounter this
morning,” Polly said thoughtfully, remembering for the first time the man in wine-red velvet. A little shiver prickled her spine, but she could not really imagine why. There had been nothing sinister in his manner or words.

“Yes?” Nick prompted. “A strange encounter with whom?”

“It was outside the playhouse. His carriage splashed me!” The statement was underpinned with remembered resentment. “I was having a fight with his coachman …”

“You were what?” interrupted Nick at this somewhat horrifying image.

“Well, I was telling him exactly what I thought of him,” Polly elucidated. “And in no uncertain terms, when this gentleman climbed out of the carriage.”

“He might well,” murmured Nick, picturing the scene. “I might have shown a degree of interest myself if my coachman was engaged on my time in a verbal brawl with a foul-mouthed wench.”

“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 wouldjtnake 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.”