"Come, congratulate me on my conquest!"

Nicholas Sea grave stood up. The look of scorn in his dark eyes was so swift it was barely noticeable, but Polly saw and understood. He would not make a scene in front of his guests, but the reckoning would come later.

"Thank you for your announcement, Dit ton," Sea- grave said pleasantly.

"I.

shall look forward to having the opportunity to discuss the matter with my sister and. " his hesitation was barely perceptible 'her trustee.

Sir G.o.dfrey."

Dit ton's lips curved in a sneer. Even he was not so thick-skinned to miss the lack of warmth in the atmosphere. He turned to Polly, his hand at her waist, pushing her forwards into the centre of the room.

"Come, my love," he murmured, 'it is time to tell everyone of our tender romance! Speak up, lest your brother think you half-hearted!

You know you must convince him! " Polly could hear the threat implicit in his tone. His hand was hot and damp through the thin silk of her summer dress. Her skin crawled. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, that might help win the day, though she knew in her heart that the cause was hopeless. Then she met Lucille's eyes.

The Countess of Sea grave had one hand resting lightly on her stomach where the faintest curve of her pregnancy was beginning to show. The other hand was on her husband's arm, in a gesture at once tender, supportive and united.

And the look in her vivid blue eyes as she gazed at Polly was one of direct challenge. A sob tore itself from Polly's throat. Lucille had everything that Polly wanted, everything that she had thought at last she might achieve with Lord Henry March night, and here she was, smashing it to pieces before it had begun.

She looked at Hetty Mark ham and found herself trembling on the very edge of exposure. Hetty's disgrace would be her freedom, but then there was Peter.

Peter, who had never been particularly sensitive but was looking at her with a mixture of puzzlement and concern, Peter who would be so hurt.

"You must excuse me... the heat... I feel so unwell..."

But before she could escape the pitiless stare of all those eyes.

Henry's chair went clattering back. Polly saw the outrage and disgust on his face, the blazing fury as he turned his back on her and stalked out of the room, and then she fainted.

Somewhere beyond the locked door, Polly could hear the Dowager Countess's voice rising and falling like a peal of bells.

"It's madness, I tell you, complete madness! To throw herself away on that loathsome creature well, really, G.o.dfrey! Someone must speak to her! No, not you, G.o.dfrey, you would only make matters worse! Oh, Lord, what are we to do?"

There was a rumble from Sir G.o.dfrey, the words indistinguishable, then Polly heard Lady Belling- ham's soothing tones.

"Dear ma'am, I do not believe for one moment that Lady Polly wishes to marry Mr Dit ton. Surely what is of concern is the reason she feels she must!"

Polly held her breath. She had great respect for Lady Belling ham's perspicacity.

"She has told us that it is that ridiculous business the other night!"

the Dowager Countess was saying tearfully.

"We have told her and told her that it is of no consequence, but she insists that her reputation is damaged!

I never heard such a nonsense! The girl has taken leave of her senses!

And to pretend that she holds him in esteem! It's utterly absurd! "

Polly heard the sound of a door closing across the corridor, then Lucille's tones, soft and questioning.

"Lucille!" the Dowager Countess expostulated. "You must speak to Polly! At once!"

Polly tensed, awaiting the knock at the door. She could hear Lucille's tones, a brief murmur in stark contrast to the Dowager's histrionics, and then there was silence. Polly waited, but no knock came. She felt so relieved that she almost cried all over again, for now she would at least be spared the necessity of lying to Lucille, something she simply could not bear to do.

She slipped off the bed, where her hot, furious tears had soaked right through the pillow, and went across to the open window. The cool evening breeze from the sea was stirring the curtains, caressing her swollen face with its gentle touch. Polly could not bear to look at her reflection, both to avoid seeing her ravaged face but more to avoid the shock of recognising the pain in her own eyes.

She had cried all night and for the better part of the following day, until she had no tears left. She had cried for herself, for her brother Peter, who had inadvertently put her in this situation, and for poor, f.e.c.kless Hetty, whose obsession with glamour and consequence had been her own--and now Polly's-- downfall. But most of all, Polly cried for the death of all her hopes. She remembered the tenderness with which Henry had held her only the previous evening, the stupefied amazement on his face as Tristan Dit ton had made his announcement, and the way he had turned his back and walked away.

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.