Polly and the Prince by Carola Dunn Read Free Book Online

indignantly.
    “His clothes, though, and more significant, his hands.”
    “Yes, I noticed his hands. But he was forced to work his way here from Russia, which would be enough to account for that. He must be a gentleman, after all.” She was glad for Kolya’s sake that he was able to return to his proper station in life.
    “I hope he was not offended by the way we treated him,” said Ned uneasily.
    “I daresay we shall never see him again.” Polly was unable to repress a deep sigh, but her brother was cheered by her words.
    “No, probably not. Do come out, Polly, I have something to show you.”
    Willing to be distracted from her unaccountable depression, she hurried to the back door. Ned had opened it and was waiting for her.
    She looked around with interest. The garden was hedged on two sides, with gates leading respectively to the lane and to a pasture where red Sussex cattle grazed. From here the small buildings on the north side were hidden by a row of fruit trees, including a cherry that seemed about to bloom. Polly’s eyes gleamed at the prospect of painting it.
    Ned offered his arm and led her towards the outbuildings. The first housed Chipper and a light gig.
    “That’s a potting shed at the far end,” Ned said, waving at it. “This one in the middle is what I want to show you.” He opened the door.
    The single room, some twelve foot by sixteen, was bare but for a stone sink in one corner and several shelves on the wall beside it. The floor was covered with oilcloth and three large windows in the north wall gleamed spotless.
    Polly turned to Ned.
    “Your studio, madam,” he announced.
    Tears rose to her eyes as she flung her arms around him. Blinking furiously—she never cried—she murmured, “Dearest Ned, you are quite the best brother in the world.”
    “Thought you’d like it,” he said, satisfied.
     

Chapter 5
     
    Polly spent the day after the Howards’ arrival at Loxwood unpacking her paintings and supplies and arranging them in her new studio. Ned had the Loxwood estate carpenter build a trestle table to her specifications; Mrs. Coates, with a degree of suspicion which made Ella sniff in scorn, was persuaded to give up a pair of old kitchen stools and a bundle of rags; and Mrs. Howard was invited to pick her choice of the pictures she wanted for the drawing room.
    As she had never before expressed any interest in Polly’s avocation, she was surprised by the variety she had to choose from.
    “Why, Polly, some of these are quite charming. I should like the daffodils and the geraniums—such gay colours—and the view from your bedroom window across to the Common. Oh, and here is one of the house. I do hope the tenants are taking care of my house.” She had to find something to worry about.
    Polly hid a smile. “I’m sure they are, Mama. They had excellent references or Ned would never have let it to them. Is that enough or do you want some more?”
    “One more, I think, to go over the fireplace. Gracious, here is one of your poor dear father. I never knew you had painted a portrait of your father or I should have hung it in the house long since.”
    Her daughter refrained from reminding her that at the time she had been vexed by her husband’s insistence on spending so much of his brief leave posing for his portrait.
    Though Polly’s technique had improved greatly since then, the captain’s grey, far-seeing eyes gazed out from the canvas and his weatherbeaten features expressed both geniality and the habit of command. If the gold braid on the hat lying on the table beside him looked somewhat like scrambled egg, and the rigging on the model ship was tied in inextricable knots, Mrs. Howard did not mind. Here was Captain Howard of the Royal Navy, to be proudly displayed to her new acquaintances.
    “Thank you, dear,” she said. “Ned’s carpenter will frame them for me. Painting is a most acceptable occupation for young ladies, after all.”
    She trotted back to the house, Polly