Part 37 (1/2)

'put up for the night at Famforth,” Sir G.o.dfrey was saying, 'at the Rose and Crown. Not a bad hostelry, but a little overcrowded...”

Polly was still gazing after Lord Henry's retreating figure, but spun around at a faint noise from Hetty. The other girl had gone chalk white, her hands to her breast as though pierced by an arrow.

”Gaston! A chair for Miss Mark ham!” Lady Bel- ling ham, hearing Polly's exclamation of concern, had hurried forward to take control of the situation.

”Con- chita! My hart shorn! There now, my dear...” With infinite gentleness she helped Peter ease Hetty into the chair.

”Have no fear, you will feel better directly...”

Hetty was drooping like a cut flower. She was still alarmingly pale, but her eyelids fluttered. Peter, kneeling beside her, was the picture of concern.

”The heat...” Lady Belling ham was saying excusingly, although it was still early and a very fresh day, 'and the wedding preparations no doubt. You must take care not to overtax yourself, my dear! ” ”Yes, ma'am,” Hetty said submissively, and Polly saw a tear slide from the corner of her eye and make a trail down her pale cheek. For a moment Polly had the horrible thought that Hetty might not wish to marry Peter and that that was what was making her so unhappy. Yet Hetty was gazing at Peter with the concentrated regard that was surely a sign of love rather than dislike, and was clutching his hand as though her life depended on it. And there had been nothing in their behaviour to suggest anything other than they were both pleased to be marrying so soon. Polly frowned. She had discussed Hetty's strange behaviour with Lucille, but neither of them could understand why Miss Mark ham, normally so ebullient, had become so tense and woebegone.

She was not ill. She should have been happier than ever before in her life.

It made no sense.

Hetty was struggling to get to her feet, a little colour coming back into her face.

”I am so sorry... I cannot imagine what is the matter.”

She saw Lady Belling ham looking at her with thoughtful concern and looked as though she was about to burst into tears. She scrubbed viciously at her eyes.

”We had better start for home. Lady B.,” Peter said hastily, a protective arm around his betrothed.

”It will be best for Hetty to rest. Shall we see you at the ball tomorrow?”

The atmosphere lightened as Sir G.o.dfrey added his pressing persuasions.

”Dear lady, of course you must be there! You will be the belle of the ball, putting all others in the shade!”

Lady Belling ham acceded graciously to his invitation and they went out to the carriage in a flurry of repeated good wishes and invitations.

Peter and Hetty sat very close together on the way home, Hetty's head against his shoulder, and Sir G.o.dfrey sat in his corner of the carriage with a ridiculously famous look on his face. It was clear that he was dwelling on the delights of renewing his acquaintance with Lady Belling ham.

Polly, despite the promise of encountering Lord Henry again the following day, began to feel decidedly left out. All the world, it seemed, was in love, but she was the only one who had no notion where it was leading.

Chapter Thirteen.

You are in magnificent looks tonight, Lady Polly.

” It was not Lord Henry March night but Tristan Dit ton who bent close to Polly's ear, his sharp gaze appraising her with familiarity, his foxy face wearing an unpleasant smile.

Polly stepped back sharply. For a man who had retreated ignominiously only the two nights before, Mr Dit ton seemed in very high spirits.

Indeed, he was positively effusive in his greetings, as though no matter of embarra.s.sment had ever pa.s.sed between them.

”Save me a dance for later, fair one,” he purred, before moving on into the ballroom, leaving Polly to puzzle over his strange and unwelcome behaviour.

The ballroom was filling rapidly as the guests gathered for the Dowager Countess's impromptu ball. Sir G.o.dfrey, looking as pleased as a dog wagging its tail, was escorting Lady Belling ham. Polly suspected Lady Belling ham of deliberately playing to the gallery, for she was drawing a great deal of attention in a dress of rich ruby velvet and some staggering diamonds. The Far rants and Fitzgeralds were also out in force, but Polly's eye was drawn constantly to the door, awaiting the arrival of Lord Henry March night.

She knew, without the benefit of Mr Dit ton's compliments, that she was looking her best. She had brushed her dark hair until the chestnut lights in it had gleamed with rich colour and the curls tumbled becomingly about her face. Knowing that pastel colours, the favourite apparel of the debutante, could make her look sallow, Polly had chosen a dress of eau-de-nil. The style was appropriately modest, but the cut flattered her neat figure and the material whispered softly as she walked.