Polly and the Prince by Carola Dunn

“Understand you paint. M’sister Julia was a dab at watercolours before she married. Expect she would have had a go at the river here. I daresay you have painted it?”
    It soon became apparent that what he really wanted to talk about was the splendid fishing to be found in the River Arun, which ran through the Five Oaks park. Polly reciprocated with stories of Nick’s angling prowess, which all the family had heard so often they could have repeated them word for word. She also told him that she had seen several large fish in the Loxwood mill pond, jumping for flies at dusk.
    “I say, ma’am, good of you to mention it,” he said, and as he took her in to dinner she heard him mutter approvingly to Mr. Bevan as he passed, “Sensible female!”
    To her disappointment, she was not seated next to Kolya at the dinner table. He sat opposite, but remembering her mother’s instructions Polly made no attempt to converse with him. Though she had never before attended a formal dinner party, she was not at all apprehensive of making mistakes. It seemed unlikely that she would do anything truly dreadful, and everyone was surely too amiable not to forgive any minor errors of etiquette.
    The elderly vicar of Billingshurst, on her right, was a gentle, vague man who probably would not have noticed if she had eaten her fish with a soup spoon. On her other side, Lord Fitzsimmons was flatteringly eager to converse, and to pile her plate with interesting and irresistible delicacies. Polly enjoyed both her dinner and his inconsequential chatter.
    She caught Kolya’s eye across the table and smiled at him. He winked. He was having a difficult time with the vicar’s daughter, a spinster of uncertain years who seemed to speak in homilies. Polly was glad to see him laughing with his other neighbour, Lady Graylin, a dark, striking woman whom she would have liked to paint. The Graylins, however, were leaving for Paris on the morrow. Along with Polly’s disappointment at losing a prospective model, she felt an odd, inexplicable sense of relief.
    When Lady John led the female exodus from the dining room, leaving the gentlemen to port and brandy, Polly found herself beside her hostess.
    “As I mentioned the other day, Miss Howard, I do not know much about paintings,” said her ladyship apologetically as they entered the drawing room. “However, I understand his Grace has an excellent collection. I hope you will feel free to come and inspect them one day soon. We shall be here for another fortnight or so before we remove to Loxwood Manor.”
    “Thank you, my lady, I should love to. You do not mind if I take a closer look now at those in this room?”
    “Not at all. Let me hold a light for you.” Lady John took up a branch of candles and they went to stand in front of the Canaletto.
    The Grand Canal of Venice stretched before them, busy with gondolas and schooners, lined with palaces and churches stretching into the distance.
    “It reminds me a little of St Petersburg,” Lady John said, and she shivered as if struck by a sudden chill. “There are canals lined with palaces there, too. I was imprisoned in a fortress on one of the islands, you know,” she went on doggedly, her soft voice shaking. “Nikolai Mikhailovich rescued me—that is why he was exiled.”
    “Kolya? Mr. Volkov?” Polly asked, astonished. “No wonder you were both happy to see him.”
    “He did it for the sake of his friendship with John, though he was fond of me also, I believe. Miss Howard, you will think me monstrous interfering, but I must tell you what John told me then. He said that Nikolai Mikhailovich is a rake.”
    “You mean he has designs upon my virtue?”
    Her ladyship looked shocked at such bluntness. “Good gracious, no. I’m sure John exaggerated, but it’s true, I fear, that Kolya is a shocking flirt.”
    Polly was almost disappointed. Of course her principles would never allow her to give in to the seductive wiles of a rake. All the same, there