Polly curtsied. "How may I serve you, my lord duke?"
"I am having a small card party this evening. Just a few of my friends. Dare I be so bold as to hope that you might join us?"
He did not waste any time, reflected Polly. But then, why should he? Once the game had been started, why delay its conclusion?
"I am desolated, sir, but I am pledged to a supper party given by Lord De Winter," she said smoothly.
"Not an arrangement you could break?" he asked, the heavy eyelids drooping even lower.
"I am afraid not. I could not be so discourteous, Your Grace." She showed him a face free of guile, an expression of genuine regret in her eyes, an apologetic smile upon her lips.
There was a moment's silence while the duke considered her with narrowed eyes, his displeasure undisguised. Her heart began to speed. Did she truly know what she was doing by deliberately risking so much more than his simple displeasure? Then he smiled, shrugged, dropping his snuffbox back into his pocket.
"I can see I must ensure in future that my invitation is received early enough to take precedence, Mistress Wyat."
"That would please me greatly, sir," she responded, putting a wealth of promise into the soft voice, the inviting curve of her lips.
That naked hunger leapt into Buckingham's eyes, was for a moment etched upon that dissolute countenance. He bowed, raising her hand to his lips. "Your servant, madame."
"Polly!" Thomas strode into the room, then paused. "Your pardon, Buckingham, but if this play is ever to be performed, I need Mistress Wyat's presence onstage straightway."
"I am quite ready," Polly said, moving past the duke toward the door. "His Grace has been infinitely patient with me, and most helpful."
"Then I am in his debt," Thomas said somewhat caustically. "I do not know what came over you, to forget the part in that fashion."
And I trust you never will, thought Polly, fervently hoping that she would not again have to incur Master Killigrew's annoyance with a display of professional ineptitude. He was not inclined to the long-suffering and had no scruples about fining any member of the company for failing to perform to standard, regardless of excuse.
The duke returned to the auditorium, settling down to watch the remainder of the rehearsal, not a flicker disturbing the smooth impassivity of his expression. But when Thomas at midday released the company, Buckingham appeared at Polly's side.
"You will permit me to escort you to your lodging, Mistress Wyat." There was no question mark, and Polly did not make the mistake of pretending that there had been one.
"You are too kind." She returned the formal platitude, allowing him to help her with her cloak. "Your company will be most welcome, sir, although 'tis but a step."
They went out into the fresh spring day. Drury Lane was busy and bustling, women crowding around the stalls selling fresh meat and fish, haggling vociferously with the baker over his price to bake their own dough. Doors and windows stood open to the street in honor of the sun. Children tumbled in the kennels. Scrawny dogs yapped. It was London town on an ordinary March Tuesday, and Polly could force herself to relax, to talk naturally to her companion as they strolled through this familiar scene.
At the door of her lodging, she turned smiling to her escort. "I must bid you farewell, sir." It was at this moment that Lord Kincaid stepped through that same door onto the street.
Nicholas stood for a bare second, making rapid assessment. He could detect nothing out of the ordinary in Polly's face, as radiant as ever, upturned toward the duke as she placed her hand in his. "I give you good day, Buckingham," he said casually, drawing on his gloves. "It is rare to see you
on foot, but for such company, what would a man not sacrifice?"
"What, indeed?" replied Buckingham, brushing the fingers he held with his lips.
"Why, my lord," Polly said with a cool smile, turning her attention toward Nicholas. "You did not say you would visit this morning. Are you come to dine?"
"No, I cannot. I had a commission to execute, but now I must be on my way."
"Oh." Polly frowned. "What commission?"
"You will see," he said, moving out of the door. "If you go to the Strand, Buckingham, I will bear you company."
Both men bowed in farewell to Polly, who curtsied politely, then stood watching them stroll in the direction of the Strand, talking companionably. Nick, she knew, would be making sure that Buckingham realized he had a complacent lover on his hands, one who would be quite indifferent to whatever sidelines his mistress might contemplate. The game was begun.
Polly turned into the house, wondering what Nick had meant by a commission he had had to execute. In the parlor, she found the answer to the puzzle. A familiar figure from the days of Lady Margaret's rule was tending the fire.
"Sue!" Polly exclaimed. "Whatever d'ye do here?"
Susan turned, a shy smile on the plain, good-tempered countenance. She looked hesitantly at Polly, who was dressed in working attire, a simple print gown over a plain kirtle. There was nothing in the figure to alarm, and Sue beamed. " 'Is lordship brought me. 'Tis wonderful, Polly. I'm to live 'ere with you." Prancing delightedly across the room, she embraced Polly with her usual warmth.
Polly returned the hug with equal enthusiasm, but then drew back, surveying the other girl in utter bemusement. "I do not understand, Susan. What do you mean that his lordship says you are to live here with me?"
"I'm to look after ye," Susan explained, her smile broadening. '"Is lordship says ye've need of someone to keep yer wardrobe in order and 'elp with yer dressin' and
things…" Her voice faded as she saw the look on Polly's face. "D'ye not want me?" she said, a stricken look in the brown eyes. "Oh, pray don't say so! I'm to 'ave me own chamber in the attic-all to meself, Polly, just imagine! And jest to 'elp the goodwife when she needs, and go with you to the theatre and 'elp ye there." Her eyes were very round. "Is it true? Y'are a famous actor now?"
"I do not know about famous," Polly demurred. "But I am an actor." A rueful smile touched the corner of her mouth as she remembered the conversation between Bridget, the cook, and Susan in Lady Margaret's kitchen, after Big Rob's visit. "Do you truly wish to live with a brazen hussy of Covent Garden breeding, Sue? And his lordship's whore into the bargain?"
That was how Susan would see it, Polly knew. Once a girl of their class lost her maidenhead without benefit of clergy, she was branded by her own kind as whore regardless of the circumstances. However, the words were no sooner between her lips than she looked guiltily over her shoulder at the door, as if afraid to see an irate Lord Kincaid as audience to the forbidden description.
"Gawd!" murmured Susan. " 'Is lordship don't behave as if you'm a whore, Polly. Talked to me about you as if y'are a proper lady, 'e did."
"Aye. Well, his lordship is a proper gentleman," said Polly a little tartly. "And he will not understand that when one has been a servant, it is very uncomfortable to have someone to wait upon one."
Susan's face fell to her boots. "I'd not make ye uncomfortable, Polly. Don't tell 'im ye don't want me, please. You don't know what it's been like since ye left. Lady Margaret's been in a pucker, summat awful! What with 'is lordship 'ardly ever in the 'ouse, and 'er knowing it's something to do with you."
Polly had little difficulty imagining the situation. It was not one to which she would condemn her worst enemy, and Susan had stood her friend through her own trying times in that household.
"Tell me what has been happening since I left," she invited, moving to the fire that, despite the sunshine, was still necessary to keep at bay the March wind.
Sue seized on the invitation with gusto, chattering cheerfully, filling the room with her merry presence, making Polly laugh with her gossipy prattle.