“Pray do not remind me.” There were things an older brother never wanted to contemplate. “Although I concede that he is not the bounder that I thought him to be and I have no reason to stand in the way of his suit, I still don’t understand why a good girl like Polly would want a man with his past.”
“You could ask Emma or Thea the same question,” Marianne teased. “It seems your sisters have an attraction to tortured rakes.”
He grunted. “At least Violet chose a decent chap for herself.”
“That’s because she’s the wild one in that relationship.” Leaning up, she murmured in his ear, “Personally, I’ve never understood the attraction of rakes. I prefer a good, upstanding man myself. Especially,”—her hands wandered, the delicate caresses setting fire to his blood—“theupstandingpart. Mmm… it seems I’m in luck.”
Even as desire surged through him, he managed, “Are you certain it’s safe?”
“The doctor said I could resume my regular activities.” Her smile was sultry. “Which means you had better see to your husbandly responsibilities, darling.”
Never a man to shirk his duties, he obliged.
Chapter Twenty-Six
For the first time in her recollection, Polly was enjoying herself at a ball. Accompanied by Em and the duke, she made the rounds of the Hunts’ flower-festooned ballroom, determined to do justice to her beautiful new gown. Whenever she received compliments—which was often—she gave credit to the girls and their hard work.
“You ought to see how clever the children are,” she’d say. Or, “I’ve never encountered such diligent and inquiring minds.”
To her surprise, others responded well, even expressing interest in visiting the academy, which Polly knew was a thing the Hunts encouraged. She felt a sense of achievement, of burgeoning self-confidence. For once, she wasn’t a wallflower but a young woman with purpose, and she couldn’t wait for Sinjin to arrive so that she could share her successes.
The only awkward note of the evening thus far occurred during a crush of new arrivals. Someone bumped into her, and she turned to find herself face to face with Lord Brockhurst.
He gawked at her; her face flamed. It was their first meeting since the incident in the garden.
“Miss Kent,” he stammered. “You look… different.”
He, she noted, did not. He still had the look of a storybook prince—and was about as flat and lifeless as a drawing in a book. Perhaps Sinjin had changed her taste in men, but Brockhurst was a mere shadow compared to her husband-to-be. He had none of Sinjin’s masculine vitality, none of his wit or warmth. And why hadn’t she noticed how weak his chin was?
“Good evening, my lord,” she said stiffly.
“Well… this is dashed awkward, isn’t it?” he said, his tone rueful.
Once, she would have found the way his hand disarranged his golden curls charming. Now she felt only gnawing anxiety and anger at herself that she’d let this man know her secret. That she’d given her trust to someone who was unworthy of it.
But what was done could not be undone. By some miracle, he hadn’t shared her affliction with the world, and if he hadn’t done so in over a year, she reassured herself, then there was no reason for him to do so now.
“My sister and brother-in-law are waiting for me,” she said.
“Before you go,” he said in a rush, “I heard about your engagement. Is it true?”
Was he asking because he couldn’t believe someone would want to marry her? Bitterness nipped at her, making her tone curt. “Yes, it is. Now if you’ll excuse me—”
“I think of you, Polly.” His low, urgent words stunned her. “We made a connection, and I regret deeply that I did not pursue it.”
Flummoxed, she saw that his aura was sincere and could only stare at him in riotous confusion. Once upon a time, she’d have done anything to hear those words from him. But now… they meant nothing.
“Let us leave the past where it belongs. Good evening, my lord.” Turning on her heels, she went over to Emma, who was waving at her by the dance floor.
A while later, she stood beneath the ubiquitous potted palm, sipping her second glass of champagne. Once the shock of encountering Brockhurst had worn off, she’d found herself in a strangely celebratory mood. The intersection of past and present had shown her how much she’d changed, and she vastly preferred her new self. She was watching Em dance with the duke when Marianne’s best friends swooped upon her. The trio of beautiful ladies were like aunts to her.
“Oh, Polly, you look simply ravishing!” Mrs. Hunt declared, herself a vision in sapphire crepe de chine.
“That color is the perfect match for your eyes.” Lady Helena Harteford, a lovely brunette in amethyst-colored silk, beamed at her. “And for your stunning ring.”
“May I offer felicitations?” This came from Charity Fines, a slender lady who wore her locks in a short, stylish crop. Her shot silk gown brought out the unique opalescence of her eyes. “I am not acquainted with the Earl of Revelstoke, but I was delighted—and a bit surprised—to hear the news of your engagement.”
Polly blushed. “Thank you. It all happened, um, rather quickly.”
