Pretty Polly by M.C. Beaton

crossing the park. The parrot landed on Verity’s shoulder and the dog scampered at her heels. Verity turned around and looked back. She hesitated, walked on, and looked back again.
    The cat! She is missing the cat, thought Lady Wythe.
    Verity was wondering whether to go straight home and hope that Peter would find his own way back to Berkeley Square when Tray suddenly ran ahead to the line of trees in the park by Park Lane and began to circle one of the tallest sycamores, barking furiously.
    Looking up, Verity saw the cat out on a branch. It was a dizzying distance above the ground. “Peter!” she called. “Come down, you silly animal.” The cat let out a dismal howl that went straight to Verity’s sentimental heart.
    Lady Wythe came up accompanied by her elderly maid, Maria. Maria was usually sent off to take a walk when her mistress talked to Verity.
    “You had better go home and send one of the footmen back to climb up to get the cat,” said Lady Wythe. Peter howled again.
    “Oh, please, Lady Wythe. Please ask your maid to hold the dog’s leash while I climb up.”
    “Nonsense,” said the dowager, much shocked. “Most unladylike.”
    “
Please!
”
    “Oh, very well. But I shall go as far as Park Lane to see if I can find one of my friends. You need a groom or a footman to help you, or a chimney sweep’s boy!”
    Verity pushed Pretty Polly off her shoulder. Then she untied her bonnet and placed it carefully at the foot of the tree along with her cloak. She grasped one of the lower branches and swung herself up. Determined not to look down, she climbed higher and higher, glad of her slight figure and light weight as the branches became thinner. She finally reached the branch on which the cat was crouched. “Come along, Peter,” she ordered. “There is nothing to fear.”
    The cat, its eyes dilated with terror, inched slowly toward her. Soon Verity was able to grasp the animal by the scruff of the neck and haul it onto her lap. “Now to get you down,” she said, stroking the cat gently. “It cannot be so very far. I came up quite easily.”
    Verity looked down and then let out a shriek of terror. The cat, sensing her fright, shivered and dug its claws into her gown. The ground seemed miles below. Verity clutched the thin trunk with one hand and the cat with the other and closed her eyes.
    Lady Wythe had stopped the Duke of Denbigh’s carriage in Park Lane. She had many friends and there were several other carriages she could have stopped, but when her sharp eyes spotted the duke in the distance, she had decided that no one else would do.
    The duke, on his way to keep his appointment with Charlotte, listened, amused, climbed down from his carriage, and walked into the park with Lady Wythe. He thought he would find Verity ineffectually trying to get as far as the lower branches.
    “Dear goodness! There she is!” cried the oldcountess, pointing aloft with her lavender silk parasol. The duke stared up at the tiny figure at the top of the tree. He shrugged off his coat, pulled off his Hessian boots, and began to climb.
    Lady Wythe watched his ascent with great satisfaction. “Do but observe the muscles in his legs, Maria,” she said to her maid. “Quite magnificent. Don’t stand there with your mouth open. Give me my double glass. This deserves a better look.”
    Verity felt a shaking in the tree under her and opened her eyes and risked a look down. The Duke of Denbigh was climbing nimbly and quickly toward her, the sun glinting on his golden hair. She watched, forgetting her fear, as he climbed closer.
    “Good day to you, Miss Bascombe,” he said politely when he was directly beneath her. “Pass that creature down to me and I will take it to safety and return for you.”
    Verity lifted the cat by the scruff of its neck and handed it down to the duke. “I think, Your Grace,” she said, “that if you climb down very slowly, I can find the courage to follow you.”
    He nodded and began to descend,