"My dear cousin," said Buckingham deliberately, "it is no more in your interests than 'tis in mine to advance the chancellor's cause. You would be better employed in joining forces with me than in amusing yourself at my expense." Almost indolently, he reached out a hand, catching her wrist, shaking back the fall of lace that had obscured a diamond bracelet. The stones caught the light from the chandelier. They were exceptionally fme stones in a most intricate setting, and His Grace made great play of examining them. "An expensive trinket, madame," he drawled, pointing his meaning with an arched eyebrow. "A present from your husband, no doubt?" He dropped her wrist abruptly, and his eyes, cold and hard, met hers. "Take heed whom you make your enemy, my lady. I will govern the king, and when I do I will remember my friends and my foes." With a neat toss of his head to throw back the heavy fall of his peruke so that it should not obscure his face, His Grace bowed deeply.
The irony in the salutation after such a declaration would not have been missed by one much less perspicacious than Lady Castlemaine. She curtsied with matching depth. "I,
too, can be a powerful friend, my lord duke. Much can be contrived in the privacy of the bed curtains."
"Exactly so." Buckingham smiled. "Which is why I would have you remain there, Barbara." The smile touching only his lips widened. "We understand each other, I trust?"
"Perfectly." Lady Castlemaine fluttered her fan. She watched him walk over to where the king sat, surrounded by an anxious court, all clearly racking their brains for some solution to His Majesty's ennui. A deep frown drew the thick royal eyebrows together; slender, beringed fingers drummed on the carved oak arm of his chair; a red-heeled, ribbon-adorned shoe tapped an impatient rhythm. The duke bowed and said something that Lady Castlemaine could not hear, but the result was a deep roar of laughter from the king, followed by admiring ripples in imitation from the surrounding circle.
Her ladyship's fingers combed restlessly through her hair, drawing it across her shoulders. Earlier she had tried, but failed, to do what Buckingham had so signally succeeded in achieving-the return of the king's good humor. It was a lesson she had best take to heart. His grace would soon be the most powerful man in the land, and there was no saying whether his influence could reach as far as his majesty's bedchamber, could prove threatening to the mistress of that bedchamber. But it was not worth putting to the test. The Countess of Castlemaine, all smiles, went over to join the laughing circle around the king.
"Nicholas… Nick! Oh, wake up, do!" Polly tugged at his shoulder. "It is the most amazing thing. You must come and see!"
Nicholas for a moment did not know where he was as the importunate voice and hand penetrated his deep slumber. Then memory returned. He rolled onto his back, blinking sleepily. The bed curtains were drawn back, but the light in the chamber was dim and gray. "You are awake betimes, Polly."
She pulled a mischievous face. "I have become accustomed to early rising in your sister's household, sir. Lying long abed encourages the devil's work." Her voice was an uncanny imitation of Margaret's, and he burst into laughter.
"Come back to bed. You will catch cold."
"Nay… Come and see!" She threw the quilt off him, seizing his hand.
Groaning, Nick obeyed the summons, staggering to his feet. He was not accustomed to leaving his bed until the morning was fairly well advanced, and the sight of Polly, prancing eagerly in her bare skin, was one to encourage a long lie-in, as was the cold air on his own uncovered flesh. "Put on your smock, moppet. You will freeze to death," he protested, reaching for his shirt.
"Oh, 'tis only cold in here because the fire had gone down," she said impatiently. " 'Tis not cold in the parlor." Pulling him behind her, she danced into the other room, where he noted that the fire was newly kindled, last night's supper dishes removed, and the table laid for breakfast. Goodwife Benson was clearly an efficient landlady.
"Look!" Polly gestured dramatically to the window. "We are in a snow house."
Nicholas whistled, crossing over to what had once been a window. It was completely blanked out by snow.
"Could the snow have fallen so deeply that it reached the upper story?" demanded Polly. "Shall we open it and see?"
"If you wish to fill the chamber with snow, by all means do so," Nick said equably. Polly looked so crestfallen as she realized the absurdity of a suggestion made in the throes of excitement that he chuckled. "One would think that you have never seen the stuff before."
"I have always loved it," she told him. "It covers up all the grime and the refuse, and you can pretend for a little bit that it will never come back-that the world will always be fresh and sparkling and white." She shrugged. " 'Tis fanciful, I know. The white cover becomes fouled, then it melts and the filth is still there, only even worse." A metaphor for life, she had so often thought. There would be moments when
hope was high, when the idea of radical change seemed not impossibly chimeric, then reality would intrude, made even more vicious by its destruction of dreams. But this time, the white transmuting cover would not become sullied and melt. It could not, because this time she had been given control over her destiny. The prize was there to be seized if she was capable of doing so.
Nick frowned, wondering why the radiance should have been so abruptly wiped from her face. But the bleakness vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared, and she offered him that heart-stopping smile again.
"Mayhap we will be snowbound."
Nicholas returned the smile. "I can think of worse fates, but I had best get dressed and investigate downstairs." He went into the bedchamber to pull on shirt and breeches. Polly followed, scrambling into her smock.
"I wish to investigate, also," she said in reply to his raised eyebrow. "May I not?"
"I had rather you climbed back into bed and awaited my return. I do not intend to be many minutes; then we have some unfinished business to attend to. I seem to recall that you were rather anxious for the onset of morning. Or do you find the prospect of snow so all-absorbing that you will be unable to concentrate on anything else?"
Polly removed her smock and climbed back into bed. "But if you are a very long time, I shall come to find you."
"I can safely promise you that I shall not be," he said, rendered strangely dizzy by the sight to which he had just been treated. Polly's back view as she had clambered up onto the high feather mattress had set up in an inventive and playful mind an utterly dazzling series of images and possibilities. Finding themselves snowbound could, indeed, prove decidedly entertaining.
"I fear you must be having most improper thoughts, my lord," Polly said demurely, peeping at him over the quilt, which she was holding up to her nose. His own gaze lowered without volition to follow the direction of hers. "I do not think you should go and visit Goodwife Benson just yet,"
she continued. "Not until you have… have, well… subsided, if you see what I mean." The hazel eyes were alight with mischief; her tongue peeked from between her lips.
"I fear you are right," declared his lordship, calmly pushing off his breeches. He reached for the quilt and twitched it out of her hold, flinging it back.