Part 42 (1/2)

She had been so foolish, believing that she could control Tristan Dit ton, thinking it an easy matter to save Hetty's reputation and then somehow save her own future. Now she realised too late that even if she explained everything at once, the barrier she had i placed between herself and Henry March night could never be overcome.

The shadows were falling across the bowling green. ; Polly found it impossible to believe that it was only the previous day that the world had seemed so bright

with promise. But now. She shut her mind to it.

Soon--very soon--she would have to face the c.u.mulative disapproval of her family again, for they had been promised for an a.s.sembly at the The Angel in Wood bridge, and Polly did not trust Tristan Dit ton to hold his tongue were she to cry off.

She had seldom looked so ill as when she descended the stairs that evening.

None of the family had been in to see her as she was dressing, a sure sign of their disapproval, and the pity on Jessie's face as she had viewed Polly's pale and swollen countenance was almost enough to send her back to bed. None of the frills and furbelows, the primping and tweaking, could make any difference. She looked dreadful.

All the Sea graves, Sir G.o.dfrey Or bison and Lady Belling ham, were a.s.sembled in the hall awaiting her. No one said a word. Polly thought that Nicholas looked as angry as when she had refused Julian Morrish--or possibly more so.

His dark eyes were blazing and his mouth was drawn in a very tight line. The Dowager Countess and Sir G.o.dfrey both looked as though they were about to pop with the effort of remaining silent, whilst Peter and Hetty looked both distressed and embarra.s.sed. But it was Lucille and Lady Belling ham with whom Polly knew she had to be careful, for they were fully capable of guessing at least a part of what had happened.

By the time the party reached The Angel in Wood- bridge, Polly felt that she had already reached breaking point. There had obviously been some agreement amongst the family that no one would mention her betrothal, for both Lucille and Nicholas, with whom she was travelling, avoided any subject that had even the slightest overtones of engagement, marriage or Mr Dit ton. Polly found it rather sinister.

Paradoxically, she found this silence, particularly on Lucille's part, made her desperate to confide in her sister-in-law. But Nicholas's dark gaze, resting on her with exasperated resignation, kept her silent.

It was clear that news of the unlikely betrothal had circulated around Wood bridge with the speed of wildfire, for dozens of their acquaintance hurried forward to offer congratulations, and those who had been at the ball were still talking about it. Miss Dit ton fell on Polly's neck as soon as they entered the ballroom.

”Sister!” she said in raptures, 'how delightful to see you! Mama is still aux anges and can speak of little else! ” She stood back, and frowned at Polly's puffy, pasty face.

”Good Lord, you look quite freakish tonight, my dear! I would have expected to see you happier!”

Polly, reflecting miserably on a life in which she had to tolerate Miss Dit ton's malicious pinp.r.i.c.ks every day, could barely face the delight of her mother. Mrs Dit ton was sitting, beaming, beside a potted palm.

Her unctuous son, whose smile was twice as wide, was leaning on the back of her chair and accepting the congratulations of all who pa.s.sed.

As soon as she saw him, Polly began to feel physically sick. There was such an aura of evil exuding from him that she wondered no one else could sense it.

Her torment had only just begun, however. Tristan claimed her for the first dance, and followed it up by pressing for the waltz as well. In vain did Polly protest that she did not care to dance. He swept all her objections aside.

”Nonsense!” he cried gaily, whilst his mother looked on indulgently at his ardour and the Dowager Countess of Sea grave looked considerably less enthusiastic.

”Nothing could be more appropriate! My dear Polly--my very dear Polly, you are mine now to natter and tease and monopolise! What joy!

What delight! ” ”It is perfectly in order for you to dance the waltz, Polly,” the Dowager Countess said, with the sort of weary patience which suggested that she thought it was probably Polly's just desserts.

Mr Dit ton clasped Polly very close. His bony hands seemed to clutch her to him, pressing against her in a thoroughly unpleasant manner. And when she tried to ease away, he pulled her tightly against his spa.r.s.e chest and hissed, ”Do you forget that you must dance to my tune now, Lady Polly? One word out of place and Miss Mark ham's reputation dies forever! Aye, and your brother's happiness too! Smile, my dear!”

Unbidden, an old memory came into Polly's mind from when they had all been children together. Tristan had always been the one who took pleasure in torturing the frogs and toads they found in the woodland ponds, poking sticks at them, or worse. Polly could remember screaming at him to release a small bird that had fallen from its nest and was fluttering helplessly in his greedy, cruel hands. And now he was torturing her, and enjoying himself thoroughly in the process. She hated him. The bile was rising in her throat and a red mist hung before her eyes. The only way she could survive was to deaden all feeling.

Tristan Dit ton stuck fast to Polly's side all night, acting the attentive lover to the hilt. At some point in the evening, the March nights had arrived and Polly's heart had leapt until she had realised that Henry intended to ignore her utterly. The only gentleman who did attempt to break Dit ton's monopoly was an officer of the 21st Dragoons, who were stationed at Wood- bridge Barracks. A number of them were at me ball, their redcoats making a bright splash of colour amongst the more sober black of the evening dress, and the young captain made eager play for Polly's hand in a country dance until Dit ton told him to take himself off. Polly was embarra.s.sed by Dit ton's bad manners as she saw the captain back away in puzzlement and anger.

Nor did her own family evince any interest in her company. It was as though they had abandoned her completely to the Dit tons. Never had she felt so alone.

”Polly, you are looking like the spectre at the feast,” Lucille said, under her breath, pausing briefly beside her sister-in-law whilst Mr Dit ton's attention was temporarily distracted by his sister. Miss Dit ton was begging her brother to confirm that Lady Laura March night was looking positively sallow that evening and Lucille's clear gaze rested dispa.s.sionately on the t.i.ttering brother and sister before coming back to rest on Polly.

”Oh, Lord, Polly, I promised Nicholas that I would say nothing, but when you told me last week that you would marry the first man who asked, I scarce thought--' Polly took a breath to tell Lucille that she wanted to explain, but Mr Dit ton turned back to them and the chance was lost.

”The supper dance!” Mr Dit ton said, still burning with the unpleasant glow of excitement that his torment of Polly engendered.

”Lovely Lady Polly, do me the honour...”

There was no possible way that Polly could eat anything at all. The food at The Angel was very good for a provincial a.s.sembly, but Polly, plagued by the joint torments of Tristan Dit ton's presence and the sight of Lord Henry ostentatiously ignoring her, sat miserably looking at the plate of strawberries and playing with her spoon. Eventually she excused herself and slipped out of the dining-room. Not even Tristan Dit ton would insist on accompanying her to the ladies' room.