"A tune that does not have His Majesty's interests at heart," De Winter agreed. "Everyone but the king knows that his favorite has no interest in the affairs of the country, or the attitude of the people. Buckingham is ungovernable, drunk with power, but he cannot be satiated." He sighed. "It is, of course, partly the fault of a system that encourages such corruption. When patronage is the chief method of advancement, and without advancement a man's pockets remain thin, those with the patronage are those with the power."
Richard paused to acknowledge a greeting from a passing lady resplendent in puce satin over crimson. Both men had been talking in low voices, their expressions carefully schooled to ones suited to a light conversation of no particular moment.
"We need to know what the duke intends, Nick. If Clar-
endon falls, then the king will have no wise counselor. If the Duke of York takes command of the navy in this war, then who is to take over the vital post of Lord High Admiral of the Kingdom? If Buckingham and his cohorts persuade the king to leave the position and its responsibilities to be executed by them as a group, nothing will be done. They have too many other agendas to deal in timely fashion with the material needs of the navy that must fight this war. 'Tis said that Buckingham wished for such a division, however. If we have a friend in his most intimate circle, then we may hear the truth." Richard waited patiently, respecting his friend's struggle, even as he knew what the outcome would be.
"And his mistress could have access to the secret conclaves…" Nick kept his voice muted with immense difficulty. "D'ye think I do not know that? 'Twas my idea, was it not? But hell and the devil, Richard! I will not ask it of her myself. Do you put it to her. You will be more objective than I. You may tell her that the scheme has my approval, but do not, if you can help it, tell her that the plan was originally my own. I'd not have her believe that this has lain behind-" He smiled with wry bitterness. "You understand me, Richard?"
"Aye, I understand, and will put it to Polly tonight." De Winter spoke now with brisk decision. "Your scruples may do you honor, my friend, but this is not the time for them. They are a luxury we cannot afford. She'll not come to harm, and indeed, may do herself some good. The patronage of the Duke of Buckingham can only be to her advantage."
"More so than mine, I take it," replied Nick with that same wry smile.
"She is your mistress, not your wife, Nicholas," De Winter reminded him.
"I am aware of that," Nick said in a tone that caused his friend to look at him sharply.
"Is that your intention, Nick?"
"Not even this court would accept with credulity a man's lack of interest in his bride's infidelity, my dear Richard. There are some elementary courtesies, after all. A delay of a
few months, surely, would be needed before a bride and groom could openly look around for fresh adventures?" Sarcasm lay heavy in his voice. "If she's to find her way to Buckingham's bed soon, she must do so unencumbered."
"It is a necessary sacrifice you make, Nick," Richard said quietly.
"How right you are, Richard." Self-mockery laced Kin-caid's voice. "I am in no danger of forgetting the realities for a moment." He glanced around the room. "Perhaps I will go and amuse myself with Lady Fanshawe. She is always willing to play a little. I will leave you to take Polly back to her lodgings when the king dismisses her. You may tell her that I will come to her later." He offered De Winter a small mock bow before sauntering across the room in the direction of the egregious Lady Fanshawe, who turned her powdered and painted countenance upon him with undisguised eagerness; the ostrich plumes in her headdress bobbed wildly as she curtsied; her breasts, lifted almost clear of her neckline, showed rouged nipples.
"La, my Lord Kincaid! You have been neglecting us sorely, I swear it! You have barely shown your face at court since you found your pretty little actor." Full, vermilion lips pouted; eyebrows, arched and lengthened with a black pencil, assumed an impossible quirk over the top of her vigorously fluttering fan.
Nicholas smiled, allowing his gaze to travel with lascivious admiration over the charms thus displayed as he picked up his cards in the old, familiar game. At least while he was playing it, he could distance the inconvenient emotions that went with loving Polly.
It was a full hour before Polly was released from the king's Presence chamber. When she reentered the Long Gallery her eyes instantly and automatically went in search of Nicholas in her eagerness to show him that she had survived the ordeal. In fact, it had not been that much of an ordeal. The king had been all condescension, and she had really quite enjoyed herself. But there was no sign of Nicholas.
She scanned the brilliant, chattering throng. Dusk was
falling beyond the long windows, and servants moved to light the flambeaux and many-branched candlesticks so that the room, already heated with so many bodies, grew rapidly stuffy, sweat and the ripe overlay of perfumes mingling, heavy in the air. Coiffures grew limp, and many a lady surreptitiously dabbed at her face, examining her handkerchief for signs that her paint was running.
"You look weary, Polly. I will escort you home." Richard De Winter spoke at her shoulder. She looked up at him with a start.
"That is kind in you, Richard. But I will wait for Nick."
"Nicholas is somewhat occupied." De Winter took snuff. "He has commissioned me to see you safe home, with the message that he will come to you later tonight."
"I suppose he is occupied with another of his painted dolls," declared Polly, looking mischievously at Richard. "Perhaps I had better find him."
Richard gazed into the middle distance, observing casually, "My aunt did enjoy your company on Wednesday. She has expressed the desire to introduce you to others of her friends. You would find their discourse most edifying, I assure you."
"It is not friendly in you to fail to see the jest," Polly told him, somewhat aggrieved at this thinly veiled threat. "Why must you take me home, and not Nick?"
De Winter sighed. "Let us achieve a degree of privacy and I will explain. This is not the place for argument. If you have no objection, we will go by water. 'Tis a pleasant evening, and I have need of the air."
For all that they had become fast friends, and she had been using his first name for several weeks now, Richard could on occasion be irritatingly dictatorial, Polly reflected with a grimace. She much preferred Nick's methods of ensuring her compliance! However, she yielded to necessity without further objection, allowing De Winter to tuck her hand beneath his arm as he escorted her from the palace.
"Well?" she requested, once they had attained Whitehall Stairs. "Where is Nick?"
"Have a little patience, child," her companion advised, gesturing to a wherryman on the lookout for passengers to bring his small riverboat up to the steps. "Let us enjoy the evening on the water."
Polly compressed her lips, stepping into the wherry, managing her skirts with considerable dexterity as she sat down. De Winter took his place opposite her and instructed the wherryman to row to the Somerset Stairs. He smiled at Polly's indignant expression but said nothing, gazing about him instead with every sign of pleasure in the fine spring evening, as he hummed a little tune.
In fact, Richard was nowhere near as easy in his mind as he appeared. How best to broach the upcoming subject to Polly was exercising him considerably. He must somehow ensure that she did not feel betrayed by Kincaid; must somehow convince her of the vital political purpose that lay behind their request; must somehow couch the imperative in terms of a request, he amended to himself.