"Buckingham!" Nick's eyes met De Winter's over the honey-hued head, and read the warning. He mastered the mixed emotions of surprise, anger, and unease. "Well, it appears that you made the acquaintance of His Grace, the Duke of Buckingham, moppet." Tipping her off his knee, he stood up, sauntering over to the table to refill his goblet. "You will undoubtedly meet him again when you become one of the king's company. Indeed, you may well perform in one of his plays. He is considered an accomplished playwright."

"I did not care for him," Polly informed them bluntly. "I had liefer not meet him again."

"Oh, you are being fanciful," Nick said with a feigned easiness. "He has the king's ear, my dear, and is a most important gentleman. You should be flattered rather than alarmed to have caught his eye."

"I had somehow formed the impression that he is no friend of yours?" Polly gave him a searching look.

Nick shrugged. "He is an acquaintance with whom I am on good terms, as is Richard. Only a fool would make an enemy of Buckingham. Is it not so, Richard?"

"Most certainly," De Winter agreed, blandly smiling. "When you meet him in different circumstances, Polly, you will see him in a different light."

"But he will surely remember the manner in which I addressed his coachman, and the fact that I treated his introduction with less than courtesy." Polly nibbled her thumbnail worriedly. "And if he is so important a figure, it is surely a disadvantage to stand in his bad graces."

"If that were so, it would be a disadvantage. But I think you may safely assume that you have merely piqued Buckingham's interest." Nick put his goblet on the table and smiled reassuringly. "Fetch your cloak now. If we are to go shopping before sunset, we had best make a move."

The prospect diverted her, as he had hoped. She ran downstairs to retrieve her cloak from the kitchen, where Goodwife Benson had taken it for brushing.

"An unfortunate meeting," De Winter observed.

"Damnably! If she has taken him in so much dislike, I fail to see how we are to achieve her cooperation." Nick paced restlessly.

"Wait until she has embraced her ambition, my friend, and has become a member of those circles where Buckingham is so courted and adored. She will see him in a different light then. She will, I am certain, respond to his flattering advances, as all the other fair frailties have done, and continue to do so. He is too grand a prize to reject."

Nicholas winced at this cynicism, but could not find it in his heart to disagree. There was no reason to suppose that Polly, once her enchanting ingenuousness had been superseded by the sophistication of the courtier, would prove to be any less worldly than any other lady of the stage with her sights set on an assured and comfortable future in the hands of a wealthy and influential protector. It was to this end, after

all, that he was instructing her in the devious tricks of the world she would enter.

"And once she is safely ensconced in Buckingham's bed," De Winter continued with a calm that Nick found supremely irritating, "you will hold fast the chains of gratitude and pleasure, so that she is never far from your bed, where you may glean what you will. 'Tis not unusual, after all, for a lady to spread her favors."

"Such a neat and pleasing plan," Nick said. Richard did not miss the sardonic undertone, but he refrained from the obvious comment that the plan had been Nick's originally.

"I am ready!" Polly bounced into the room. "Where did I put my drawings? Oh, there they are." She scooped up the sheets from the sideboard. "You should know, sir, that Lord De Winter has been most helpful with the designs. Our morning was not spent entirely in idle pleasure."

"I am glad to hear it." Nick laughed, pushing away the sour taste of the last half hour. "D'ye care to accompany us, Richard?"

"If you think I might be useful, I should be glad to."

As the afternoon wore on, Nick found himself immensely grateful for Richard's support. Polly flitted from shop to shop in an ecstasy of indecision. One minute she would be fingering a bolt of white damask, the next had abandoned the eager mercer in favor of one of his competitors who had a flame satin on show. She stood ankle-deep in a river of unrolled bolts, exclaiming over the flowered sarcenet or the mulberry wool, before a tall black beaver hat with white plumes caught her eye in the milliner's across the court and she was off again.

"Think you 'tis perhaps time to take charge?" De Winter asked Nick gently, after Polly, having discarded countless hats, had succeeded in reducing the milliner to a state of gibbering anxiety.

"I suppose so," Nick replied with a regretful smile. "But seldom have I enjoyed another's pleasure so. It is a shame to bring the play to an end."

"But take pity on the poor mercers and milliners," chuck-

led Richard. "They have given of their best, and so far not a single purchase has been made."

Nick nodded, squared his shoulders, and entered the fray. "The felt copintank and the beaver," he said with brisk decision. "The muslin headpiece with the satin ribbons, and the lace mantilla."

"Yes, sir. A pleasure, sir." The relieved milliner smiled radiantly. "If I may say so, an admirable choice."

"Oh, do you think so?" Polly said doubtfully. "I had thought to purchase the gauze scarf rather than the mantilla."

"Another time you shall do so," Nick said. "Let us return to the mercer's where you saw the damask." After giving instructions for the delivery of the hats, he ushered the reluctant Polly out of the shop.

"Oh, only see those boots!" Polly exclaimed, just as they had reached his goal. "They are of the softest leather." She turned toward the shoemaker.

"Later," said Nicholas, holding on to her arm with vise-like fingers. "First we are going in here." De Winter, shoulders shaking, followed them inside, where the mercer greeted them in some trepidation, having only just managed to roll up all the bolts that had been previously inspected and found wanting.

On this occasion, however, he had no need to worry. The indecisive young lady was put in a chair, and the two gentlemen, on the basis of her earlier preferences and their own knowledge of prevailing fashion, proceeded to choose white damask and green taffeta to be made up into kirtles, and scarlet velvet and amber satin for the daygowns to be worn over them. Mulberry wool would make a warm nightgown to be worn within doors. Warm twilled saye was chosen for two of the three petticoats that would give fullness to the kirtles, silk sarcenet for the third petticoat, which would be displayed when she lifted her kirtle for walking.

Polly sat, listening as these matters were discussed and dispositions made. In truth, she was not sorry to be excused the final decision making, since the wealth of choice had set her

head to reeling, and Nick and De Winter appeared remarkably well informed about the necessities of female attire, not excluding lace edgings for the sleeves of her smocks, which would be displayed beneath the loose, elbow-length sleeves of the gowns.

"That should suffice for the moment," Nicholas said finally. "It is hardly a complete wardrobe, but we can decide on your further needs at leisure."

Polly's jaw dropped. It seemed impossible that one could possibly need more. The materials were packaged, handed to the coachman, and a visit was paid to the shoemaker, where she got, in addition to her boots of Spanish leather, a pair of the most elegant shoes she had ever seen. They had heels that were all of an inch and a half high, and real silver buckles.

"Is it possible to walk in such things?" Polly regarded them with some disfavor. Elegant they may be; practical they were not.

"You will learn," Nick told her. "All that remains now is the corset."