Free Polly and the Prince by Carola Dunn Page A

gown rustled agitatedly as she pattered once more to the window to peer into the lane. She even opened the casement and leaned out, conduct she would normally have stigmatized as shockingly vulgar.
    “Ned, where can she be?” she wailed. “Surely Nick must have found her by now.”
    “I really think I had better go and search, too,” he said patiently, not for the first time.
    “No, you are already dressed, and very fine you look.” She spared an admiring glance for his black swallow-tailed coat and pantaloons, modestly striped russet brown waistcoat and well-starched, neatly tied neckcloth with the captain’s carnelian pin. “Much good it will do if Polly does not come soon. We cannot go without her.”
    “Perhaps we should.”
    “Even if she arrives this minute, we shall be shockingly late. I do not know which is most ill-bred, to arrive late, to go without her, or not to go at all.”
    “You had best go on your own, Mother, so as not to upset Lady John’s numbers.” Ned’s attempt at humour fell flat.
    “We shall never be invited again.”
    “Mother!” Nick’s halloo rang through the quiet evening, followed by the sound of the church clock striking six.
    “At last!” Mrs. Howard leaned out of the window again, then sank back onto the nearest chair. “Alone!” She buried her face in a handkerchief.
    Nick pounded up to the window. “Can’t find her anywhere. And here’s the carriage,” he added as the duke’s barouche turned the corner. “I’ll have to go instead.”
    His mother did not appear to find any consolation in the notion, for she burst into tears. Nick was speaking to the coachman and failed to notice this evidence of maternal affection. He returned to the window, grinning.
    “Message from Mr. Volkov. He says to try the mill.”
    “Polly did mention the reflection of the setting sun in the mill pond,” Ned said, going over to him. “You might as well try. And ask the coachman if he minds waiting.”
    “Right, I’m off, but…” He stopped as the drawing room door opened. Ned swung round.
    “I’m on time for once,” said Polly, looking pleased with herself.
    “On time!” screeched her mother, dropping her handkerchief and surging to her feet.
    “Yes. You said six o’clock and the church clock just struck six.”
    “Six o’clock the carriage was to pick us up. It is past six, and look at you.”
    Polly looked down at her serviceable brown walking dress and muddy half-boots. “Oh,” she said blankly. “I forgot I have to change my gown.” She raised a hand to tuck in a bothersome wisp of hair.
    “Don’t touch your face! You have paint on your fingers. Upstairs with you at once.” She shooed her daughter out, calling, “Ella, hot water to Miss Polly’s room, quickly.”
    Nick returned to the window from another consultation with the coachman. “He says he was told he might have to wait.” He laughed. “It looks to me as if Mr. Volkov has everything well in hand.”
    Above-stairs, with Ella and Mrs. Howard getting in each other’s way, Polly split a seam in her hurry to take off her dress. She washed, scrubbing most of the Venetian red off her hands. The church clock chimed the quarter. Her mother pulled the blue silk over her head and started doing up the tiny buttons down the back as Ella eased her feet into the blue kid slippers. She sat down at the dressing table and Ella unpinned her hair, brushed it, and replaited it.
    “No time for a fancy coyffer,” she mumbled through the hairpins in her mouth, fastening the braids into the usual coronet. “Too late for ringlets.”
    “So ill-mannered to be so late,” Mrs. Howard moaned. “What will her ladyship think!”
    Polly stared at herself in the mirror. Her dark eyes were wide with apprehension. They were going to be late. Lord and Lady John would be offended. But what really mattered was that Kolya would be vexed with her for offending his friends.
    Mama fastened around her neck the gold locket with