Venus

Chapter 13

Where are your wits this morning, Polly?" demanded a puzzled Killigrew the following day as she stumbled for the tenth time over her lines. "You had the part word-perfect yesterday."

"I seem to have forgotten it," Polly said apologetically, stepping to the front of the stage. "Will ye grant me some time to con the lines anew?" She smiled at him, but the smile was really directed over his head to where the Duke of Buckingham sat in the dim light of the auditorium. His Grace was not the only courtier in the theatre this morning, although Nick was absent. Watching rehearsals was one of the favorite activities of those who enjoyed the play, and often enough dabbled in the art of the playwright themselves.

Thomas sighed. "I suppose I must, since we can achieve nothing while you stumble and stutter in this manner."

Polly gathered up her skirts and stepped lightly into the pit. "Mayhap Your Grace will assist me?" She gave Villiers the lodestone of her smile. "If you would read with me, sir, then the task will be all the easier."

Buckingham rose immediately to his feet. "I can imagine nothing that would give me greater pleasure, Mistress Wyat."

"Then let us repair to the tiring room, where we may

have a little privacy." She turned back to the stage, still smiling at him over her shoulder. It was not an unusual service she was requesting; indeed, it was one eagerly performed by those gentlemen fascinated by the theatre and its actors. But this was the first time that Mistress Wyat had requested the help of any but her protector.

Buckingham hid his satisfaction. It was as he had expected. The lady had decided it was time to move onward and upward, and was delicately indicating her willingness to accept the invitation that he had issued at court the previous evening.

He reposed his elegant frame on the scroll-ended couch in the tiring room. "I am honored to be singled out in this fashion, my dear."

Polly merely smiled again, an enigmatic smile that hinted at much. "If you would read the other lines, my lord duke, I will test my memory." She handed him the script before sitting upon the couch beside him, carefully arranging her skirts, using the movements to conceal the quick look she cast up at him. Had he grasped the message? He would have to be a fool not to; and George Villiers, in matters such as these, was no fool.

She had the part by heart, but she made sufficient errors to add credence to her ploy, and to give her companion the satisfaction of correcting her and receiving her blushing thanks in return. Members of the company wandered in and out of the tiring room while Polly played her game. The lack of complete privacy suited her purposes perfectly. At no point did she wish to find herself in the position of having to declare herself openly as interested in the duke's patronage. With hints and innuendo she would intrigue him, and it was much easier to offer these tantalizing clues on a public stage than in private, where he might reasonably expect more openness.

"I am so grateful to you, sir." At the end of an hour, she stood up. "I think I now have it to Thomas's satisfaction. You have been most helpful."

"May I, perhaps, ask a small favor in return?" He took snuff, the eyes beneath drooping lids searching her face.

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.

Polly had no woman she could call friend. There were men like Killigrew and De Winter whom she thought of as particular friends, in whom she reposed absolute confidence. In Nick she had thought she had everything one could want in the way of friendship, companionship, love-for as long as she had his undivided attention, of course. That rider had wormed its way unbidden to undermine her complacent satisfaction on more than one occasion. Nick would have to take a wife at some point. However, on this occasion she squashed the unpalatable thought as resolutely as always, and returned her attention to Sue.

Until this moment, she had not had a moment's yearning for the easy companionship of one of her own age and sex. Now, as she slipped without thought into a delicious discussion of Bridget's courting by a local ostler, she realized how much she had missed this. And she realized with slow appreciation exactly what Nick had given her. No maidservant, but a companion who would benefit from the situation every bit as much as Polly.

She stretched her fingers to the fire and smiled. "I am famished, Sue. Let us dine."

Susan paused. "I cannot dine with you. I'm to take me dinner in the kitchen, with the goodwife and 'er folk."

"Nonsense," declared Polly, reaching up for the bell rope. "When my lord is here, then I daresay that will be best. But when he is not, I am damned if I'll dine alone when I can dine with you."

Susan giggled nervously, clearly shocked by this forthright speech, but not unwilling to hear the sentiment thus expressed. However, she retained sufficient presence of mind to forestall Polly with the bell rope, saying that she would go belowstairs herself to fetch up the fricassee of rabbit and

chicken that the goodwife had prepared for her lodger's delectation.

Nicholas heard their laughter drifting down the stairs when he returned to the house some three hours later. He paused outside the parlor door, feeling strangely as if he should knock to alert them of the arrival of an intruder. Then, with a little shake of his head, he opened the door as noisily as he could.

Both girls were sitting on the floor before the fire, glasses of wine in hand, the remnants of dinner still laid upon the table. Polly turned as the door opened, her cheeks flushed with wine and the fire's glow. "I swear you are as full of surprises as a bran tub, my lord," she declared in mock reproach, rising to her feet. "Although the last time I put my hand in a bran tub, at the Martinmas Fair last year, I pulled out the most meager surprise-a tin whistle, as I recall. And I had had such hopes that my farthing would bring me something wonderful!" She laughed, her pleasure glowing in her eyes as she came across to him.

"It is the disposition of bran tubs," said Kincaid, slipping his arms around her waist. "There is always the hope that blind fingers digging into the bran will produce the grand prize, worth far more than one's farthing. But, of course, 'twould hardly be a commercial proposition for the fairman if that were the case." He chuckled. "It is part of human nature, this triumph of hope over experience."

"I seem to have found myself a bran tub where the prizes far exceed the outlay," she said softly, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. "But I should tell you, sir, that I think you very devious in achieving your own object."

"My object being your compliance in matters where you show an unfortunate intractability," he returned, kissing the corner of her mouth. "I see that I have achieved that in this instance." He looked over her head to where an embarrassed Susan stood, unsure where to put herself, or to direct her eyes in the face of this display of affection.

"Susan, are matters arranged to your satisfaction?" he asked affably, in an attempt to put the girl at her ease. Unfor-

tunately, such condescension merely served to render her speechless with discomfort.

"Oh, of course, they are!" Polly exclaimed impatiently. "And we have been having the most comfortable time until you appeared."

"My apologies, madame." He bowed low. "I will remove myself forthwith."

"Idiot!" Laughter sparked in her eyes. "That is not at all what I meant, as well you know."

Nick took pity on Susan. "Why do you not clear the table, Susan. It seems that the dishes have lain overlong."

Her relief patent at having a customary function to perform, Susan mumbled apologies and set to, disappearing from the parlor with a laden tray.

"Does Susan please you?" Nick pinched Polly's chin, looking deep into her eyes. "You are at ease with her, and she will have no difficulty understanding what you require of a helper."

"Aye, she pleases me," she said, touching his lips with a delicate finger. "As no one else could." She drew back from him as the cold shadow of the morning obtruded into this love-lit warmth. "You had a pleasant walk with His Grace, I trust?"

"He was at some pains to indicate his interest in my mistress," Nick said evenly. "As I was at pains to appear totally indifferent."

"Aye, 'twas what I thought would be discussed." She turned back to the fire. "I made it clear this morning that I was available. But I refused an invitation for this evening. It seemed wise to appear not overeager."

"How did he react to such a refusal?" Nicholas went to the sideboard to pour wine. "Have you had sufficient, or shall I refill your glass?" He held the decanter, an eyebrow raised in question.

"There is no performance this afternoon, but I have to return to the theatre for another rehearsal," she said with a grimace. "I had best have no more, lest I make further er-

rors. Thomas is like to prove uncommon difficult in such a case."

"Further errors?"

Polly shrugged and told him the story of her morning's ploy. "It worked well enough," she finished. "But to answer your question about the duke's reaction to my refusal: I do not think he was best pleased, at first. But then he seemed to take it in his stride." She poked the fire, sending sparks shooting up the chimney. "I do not think 'twill be long before I receive another invitation-one that I will accept."

The following morning, the household quiet was shattered by the hammering of the door knocker. Polly, in the absence of Nicholas and his strictures on correct deportment at mealtimes, was consuming a peripatetic breakfast while she roamed the parlor muttering lines between rnouthfuls, and improvising gestures as they came to her.

"I'll see who 'tis," Sue said, putting down one of Polly's gowns she had been examining for tears and stains. "Ye'U get the indigestion if ye don't stop all this muttering an' movin' whilst yer eating." She went to the parlor door.

"Y'are as fussy as my lord," Polly said with a chuckle, going to the window to see if any clue as to the visitor would be found on the street. A lad in the Duke of Buckingham's livery stood in the lane. All humor left her, to be replaced by a quiet stillness, the same stillness that always followed the moment of panic before she went onstage, one that allowed her to assume a persona not her own.

' 'Tis a message and a parcel for ye." Sue came into the parlor, bearing a small package and a folded paper. "From His Grace of Buckingham, the boy says. He's waitin' on yer answer."

Polly opened the paper. The script was bold and black, the invitation couched in flowery language and hedged about with compliments. She opened the accompanying package, and Sue gasped. A delicate brooch, shaped like a

daisy, made of silver filigree studded with diamonds and seed pearls, lay on Polly's palm.

" Tis exquisite," Polly murmured, half to herself. Her refusal of such a gift would certainly intrigue His Grace, particularly when the returned present was accompanied by acceptance of his invitation to a small gathering at his house in the Strand the following evening. He would not know what to make of such mixed messages.

"Sue, ye must give this back to the messenger." She wrapped up the brooch again. "But tell him that Mistress Wyat is very happy to accept the duke's invitation for tomorrow… Of course," she added, a touch disconsolately, " 'twould be better if I were to write the message, but I cannot be sure of spelling it correctly, and I cannot wait for my lord's help."

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.

"Will you stay with me this night?" Polly asked as they reached their destination. She looked up at him, her face framed in the demure blue and white cap, and he was dazzled afresh by her beauty. Familiarity did not blunt its effect in the least.

"I would have this last night, before we begin in earnest, just for ourselves," she said softly.

Nick nodded. "After the performance we will go to supper at the French house that you are so fond of, and you shall have the finest Rhenish with lobsters and lamprey pie."

"And cheesecakes," added Polly, entering into the spirit of this effort to return matters between them to their customary humorous ease.

"And cheesecakes," he agreed with mock solemnity. "And afterward…"

"Having plied me shamelessly with all my favorite good things in my favorite eating house, you will have your way with me." Polly chuckled and gave an involuntary skip at the prospect.

"Exactly so."

"Shame on you, my lord!"

They stood for a moment enmeshed in the promise, with no need of words when their eyes were so articulate. Then Nick shook himself free of enchantment. "Be off," he said. "Thomas has a short way with the tardy."

"Aye." Polly turned to the door behind her. "Until this afternoon, my lord."

Nick saw her into the theatre, then went back to the lodging for his horse. Why would Polly say something like that? Surely only if she suspected that he had had an ulterior motive all along. But Richard had said there was no suggestion of such a thing in the discussion he had had with her. And surely he himself had put the possibility of such a suspicion to rest with his angry responses. He must not allow these shadows to fall between them, must not allow his own apprehension to spill over to her. She needed all the strength he could impart; and her greatest strength would come from the rigorous, matter-of-fact preparation he and the others could give her.