Free Polly and the Prince by Carola Dunn Page B

Papa’s dark hair curled inside. Ella draped about her shoulders her cloak of blue velours simulé, put her bonnet on her head and tied it, and handed her her gloves. Pulling them on, she followed her mother down the stairs as the clock chimed the half.
    Late, late, late, late, sang the bells. Late, late, late, late.
    “Don’t look so down-pin,” Ned whispered as he handed her into the barouche. “You did your best.”
    She squeezed his hand, grateful but uncomforted.
    The horses trotted along the winding lanes with agonizing slowness. Polly imagined messages being sent to the kitchen, the cook getting hotter and crosser, the fowls on the spit drying out and blackening. Only a sunset which swirled across the sky in swathes of rose and lemon distracted her, and it was over all too soon.
    At last the carriage turned into thelong avenue leading up to Five Oaks. Polly had only seen the Palladian mansion from a distance, impressive and beautiful but merely part of a wide landscape. As they approached, the vast building loomed in the twilight, its pillared façade stretching endlessly ahead. And its inhabitants were all being kept waiting by Polly’s tardiness. She cringed.
    The entrance hall was a marble cavern. The stately butler met the Howards with no hint of disapproval, but then his face might also have been carved in marble for all the expression it showed. An equally impassive footman in green livery trimmed with red was divesting Polly of her cloak, when Kolya strode into the hall.
    He was grinning. Even, Polly thought indignantly, on the edge of laughter. Bowing, he welcomed them to Five Oaks.
    “What is so funny?” she hissed as her mother, looking distinctly nervous, and Ned followed the butler across the echoing chamber.
    He offered his arm and urged her after the others. “You are early, Miss Howard. This I did not expect.”
    “Early!”
    “Not too early,” he quickly soothed her ruffled feelings. “One guest is not here yet. But I thought I had planned all so that you will come at precisely twenty to eight o’clock, and it is only half past the seven.”
    “You planned it?” She was puzzled.
    “I arranged that the coach came at six o’clock, with the message for young Nick to find you by the mill pond in plenty time. You were not by the mill?”
    “Yes, I was. But I remembered to listen for the church clock and I was home by six.”
    It was Kolya’s turn to be puzzled. “Then why you are not here even earlier?”
    “I forgot I needed time to change my dress.”
    He burst into laughter. “This I forgot also!” He stopped and turned her to face him. “I did not look before—was looking at your face only. Is most elegant gown, with the beautiful woman inside.” His slanting eyes were serious now.
    Polly felt hot all over, hot enough to melt inside. Fortunately, at that moment the butler opened a door and announced the Howards, and she and Kolya hurried to catch up. In the swarm of introductions which followed she forgot her embarrassment—and the peculiar sensation which had accompanied it.
    Far from overwhelming with splendour, the drawing room was a comfortable apartment, though several superb pictures hung on the walls. Polly recognized a Canaletto, and she thought one of the portraits might be a Van Dyck. She tore her eyes away and concentrated on the introductions.
    She had scarcely taken a seat when the gentleman who had been presented as Lord Fitzsimmons materialized at her side. Of middling height and slight build, he had classically perfect features and golden locks which might have been envied by Apollo. Though his bottle green coat and brown pantaloons were elegantly restrained, a green satin waistcoat embroidered with daisies, a profusion of fobs, and an intricately tied cravat hinted at a sternly repressed tendency to dandyism. His bright blue eyes held an expression of ingenuous enthusiasm.
    “May I join you, ma’am?” Receiving permission, he sat down at her side.