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 There was no reason to suppose that Polly, once her enchanting ingenuousness had been superseded by the sophistication of the courtier, would prove to be any less worldly than any other lady of the stage with her sights set on an assured and comfortable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."
"Another time you shall do so," Nick said. "Let us return to the mercer's where you saw the damask." After giving instructions for the delivery of the hats, he ushered the reluctant Polly out of the shop.
"Oh, only see those boots!" Polly exclaimed, just as they had reached his goal. "They are of the softest leather." She turned toward the shoemaker.
"Later," said Nicholas, holding on to her arm with vise-like fingers. "First we are going in here." De Winter, shoulders shaking, followed them inside, where the mercer greeted them in some trepidation, having only just managed to roll up all the bolts that had been previously inspected and found wanting.
On this occasion, however, he had no need to worry. The indecisive young lady was put in a chair, and the two gentlemen, on the basis of her earlier preferences and their own knowledge of prevailing fashion, proceeded to choose white damask and green taffeta to be made up into kirtles, and scarlet velvet and amber satin for the daygowns to be worn over them. Mulberry wool would make a warm nightgown to be worn within doors. Warm twilled saye was chosen for two of the three petticoats that would give fullness to the kirtles, silk sarcenet for the third petticoat, which would be displayed when she lifted her kirtle for walking.
Polly sat, listening as these matters were discussed and dispositions made. In truth, she was not sorry to be excused the final decision making, since the wealth of choice had set her
head to reeling, and Nick and De Winter appeared remarkably well informed about the necessities of female attire, not excluding lace edgings for the sleeves of her smocks, which would be displayed beneath the loose, elbow-length sleeves of the gowns.
"That should suffice for the moment," Nicholas said finally. "It is hardly a complete wardrobe, but we can decide on your further needs at leisure."
Polly's jaw dropped. It seemed impossible that one could possibly need more. The materials were packaged, handed to the coachman, and a visit was paid to the shoemaker, where she got, in addition to her boots of Spanish leather, a pair of the most elegant shoes she had ever seen. They had heels that were all of an inch and a half high, and real silver buckles.
"Is it possible to walk in such things?" Polly regarded them with some disfavor. Elegant they may be; practical they were not.
"You will learn," Nick told her. "All that remains now is the corset."
"Nay!" Polly exclaimed, stung at the last into mutiny. "I have no need of such a garment. They pinch most dreadfully, and one cannot breathe! The lady where Prue was in service was always swooning away, and the bones cut her skin to ribbons, Prue said."
De Winter and Nicholas exchanged looks. While a lady might manage without a corset in private, she could not appear at any fashionable scene without them, and most definitely not on the stage. "I do not know how reliable an informant Prue may be on such matters," Nick said dryly.
Polly's eyes flashed defiance. "I will not wear it even if you buy it, so you will be wasting your money!"
"I see." Nicholas shrugged. He would leave that battle to the combined forces of Thomas Killigrew and ambition. "There seems little more to say on the subject."
Polly regarded him suspiciously. It had been a ready capitulation, but his expression was bland, and when she glanced at De Winter, she saw the expression mirrored there.
"Come, let us to the sempstress to put this work in hand,"
Nick declared as if the preceding moment of potential awkwardness had not taken place.
It was as well to be as gracious in victory as Nick was in defeat, Polly decided, offering her bewitching smile. "I am quite overcome by your generosity, sir. I do not know what I have done to merit it."
Nicholas looked down at her, his own smile a trifle twisted. "Do you not, Polly? That seems remarkably unper-spicacious in you."
Polly was accustomed now to the manifestations of desire, both Nick's and her own, just as she was accustomed to the light tenor of their converse; but this that she saw in his face, and could feel reflected in her own, was quite different. She was aware of the familiar direct physical responses-the tightening in her belly, the sudden jarring in her loins-but much more powerful was the feeling that she was losing herself in his eyes, and his smile; that there was a secret he held that he would have her share, that he knew she did share but had not yet acknowledged. Her heart speeded. She took an involuntary step toward him as if the hustle and bustle of the Royal Exchange had vanished under a magician's wand.
Richard De Winter silently cursed the vagaries of the human heart. It was as he had suspected. They were both bewitched, at this moment both inhabiting some charmed circle, rapt in the wondrous discovery of shared love's benediction. "When beauty fires the blood, how love exalts the mind." Master John Dryden's lines came to mind, troub-lingly apposite.
"It grows late," he said. "If the sempstress is to be visited and instructed before the day is done-"