Sue looked uneasily at Polly. "Why's His Grace sendin' ye invitations and gifts, Polly? 'Tis not right when y'are livin' under my lord's protection."
" 'Tis something I must do for my lord and Lord De Winter," Polly told her. "Rest easy. My lord knows all about it."
"Doesn't seem right to me," muttered Sue, taking the package.
It wouldn't, of course, Polly reflected as the door closed on the departing Susan. Sue could not begin to comprehend the hypocrisies and contradictions of court life, where a married woman could bear another man's child and her husband would cheerfully claim the bastard as his own, where harlotry was practiced as openly as in the stews of Covent Garden, yet did not go by that name. Beauty, good manners, and the ability to play the game with discretion were the only virtues.
And Polly, who came from Sue's world where no distinction was drawn between mistress and whore, frequently found herself unsure of where she fitted in the scheme of things. As far.as the court was concerned, she was the mistress, open and acknowledged, of Lord Kincaid. If Prue and the other inhabitants of the Dog tavern knew of it, they
would call her his lordship's whore. So which was she? And did it really matter, anyway? It was how Nick regarded her that mattered, and he had made that very clear… Yet he had been ready to ask a whore's work of her…
When had they first thought to use her in this way? Who had thought of it? It is possible we may be of service to each other… Lord of hell! she thought in furious imitation of the man in question. What did it matter? She was now involved in this of her own free will.
She went to the window, looking down on the lane to see how the duke's servant received her message. He did not look very comfortable as Sue pressed the package upon him; indeed, seemed to be putting up some kind of argument. Perhaps it would be considered that he had failed in his mission, Polly thought, and he would be judged culpable for her refusal. Well, there was little she could do about that.
" 'E didn't want to take it back," Sue informed her, returning to the parlor. "Said as 'ow His Grace would be angry."
"It is hardly the lad's fault." How angry would the duke be with her? Polly shrugged, dismissing the question. It was a bridge to be crossed when she reached it. "I must send a message to my lord… The Bensons' lad can take it." She pulled the bell rope, suddenly filled with a restless energy, as if, now that the business was launched, she would have it in full play without delay.
The Bensons' lad did not have far to go, as it happened, to deliver his message. As he trotted down St. Martin's Lane, he espied Lord Kincaid astride his raking chestnut gelding.
"M'lord… m'lord…" Breathlessly, the lad jumped into the middle of the cobbled street.
Sulayman came to a well-trained halt, and his rider peered down at the panting urchin, demanding sharply, "Is something amiss?"
"Don' think so, m'lord." The boy looked puzzled at the question. "Mistress Wyat jest sent me to fetch ye as soon as may be."
"Which you proceeded to do at all speed." Kincaid
laughed, reaching into his pocket for a coin. "For your speed and your trouble, lad." He left the boy in the middle of the street, examining this unexpected bounty with the speculative eyes of one who could not decide what amongst a plethora of delights to purchase with his sixpence.
Nicholas found Polly pacing restlessly between the parlor and the bedchamber in a state of halt undress. Sue had given up attempting to get her to stand still long enough to lace up her corset and had returned placidly to her earlier task of examining the contents of Polly's wardrobe, exclaiming occasionally at its magnificence.
"Oh, Nick, you are come at last," Polly greeted him as he stepped through the door.
"I cannot have been so very long," he said with a smile, tossing his hat onto a chair and drawing offhis gloves. "I was on the way here when your messenger came up with me in St. Martin's Lane. What is all the hurry? Why are you not dressed at this hour?"
"I did try, m'lord," Sue said hastily, as if Polly's dishabille were due to some dereliction of duty on her part.
"Oh, 'tis not your fault, Sue," Polly declared impatiently. "I am quite able to dress myself, you know. I have been doing so for almost the last seventeen years."
"Then why have you not done so this morning?" inquired Kincaid. "Are you excused attendance at the rehearsal? 'Tis near ten of the clock, you know."
"I have some news," Polly said, turning back to the bedchamber. "I thought it urgent."
"Then you shall tell me while you dress," Nick said in soothing tones. He followed her into the bedchamber, closing the door on Sue in the parlor. "What is it, sweetheart, that has so thrown you into such disarray?"
"Why, 'tis Buckingham, of course." Polly picked up her corset and gave him her back in mute request. He fastened the laces, listening as she told of the duke's gift and invitation, and of her response.
"Tomorrow night?" he mused. "I heard mention of the gathering at court last even. 'Tis to be one of Buckingham's
revels-the entertainments he puts on for his intimates." He frowned. "You will not be the only woman there, moppet."
"Women are part of the entertainment at these revels, then?" Polly stepped into her gown, under no illusions as to what Nick meant.
"Aye," he said slowly. "But there are also always women guests."
Those who would not find the prospect of such entertainment a matter of disgust. Polly nodded thoughtfully. There were plenty such at court. "Will there be opportunity for me to glean impressions of some import, think you?"
"Undoubtedly," Nick said. "These are the gatherings that are closed to all but his most intimate friends and those he provides for their entertainment, of course," he added. "But since the entertainers are unlikely to have any understanding, let alone interest in, the political undercurrents, on such an occasion there will be no dissembling. If you know what to look for, you will see it."
"And you will tell me what to look for?" She sat before the mirror, beginning to comb her hair, the automatic movements serving to calm her, to still the restless energy.
Nick came up behind her, laying his hands on her shoulders. "You will be told exactly what to look for, Polly. But it is not too late to call a halt to this. You have but to say." She looked into the eyes fastened upon hers in the mirror. They were calm and matter-of-fact. How long had he contemplated this role for her? Since Buckingham had shown interest in her? Or before? The question would not lie down, yet she could not ask it for fear of the answer.
" 'Tis not unlike a part I played before," she said, dragging her eyes away from his. "I have played lure-"
"There is no similarity!" Nick exclaimed, anger chasing away his composure. "How can you talk such foolishness, draw such a stupid comparison?"
Polly shrugged, letting the question go by default. She could see the similarity, if Nick could not. She tucked her hair under a lace-trimmed cap and stood up. "I had best make haste if I am not to be late."
"I will accompany you to the theatre, then I must go and talk with Richard and the others." Nick spoke briskly. "And if you wish for there to be peace between us, you will not speak in that fashion again." He strode into the parlor, picking up his hat and gloves, waiting by the door for Polly, his lips set in an uncompromising line.
They walked in silence to the Theatre Royal. It was as if this shared conspiracy, this partnership that ought to have drawn them closer, had instead raised up a barrier between them, a prickly tension where before there had been laughter and love.