A Breach of Promise - Anne Perry [12]
“Yes, quite definitely,” she replied without hesitation. “His designs seem to have far more light than most people’s. They are full of windows and curves where I have never seen them before. There is a house in Hampshire he built, or should I say Mr. Lambert had built, which is wonderful inside. Every room seems to be full of sunlight, and the windows are quite irregular. It is extraordinarily comfortable to be in. One always seems to be looking outside either at trees or at the sky. I felt so at peace in it. And yet when I asked the housekeeper if it was difficult to care for, she assured me it was actually highly practical. I was most surprised.”
So was Rathbone. He had not judged Melville to have such courage.
“I think perhaps he is a genius,” Margaret said very quietly. He only heard her because the music had stopped. They swung to a standstill. He offered his arm again, and she took it.
“Would you care for a glass of champagne?” he asked. “Or lemonade?”
“Lemonade, if you please,” she accepted.
He fetched it for her and they spent a little further time in conversation, now not in the least difficult. Then he returned her to where Mrs. Ballinger was standing alone looking remarkably pleased with herself.
“I can see how much you have enjoyed your dance,” she said with a smile. “You are excellently matched.” She turned to her daughter. “Mr. Edwin Trelawny has been asking for you, my dear. He remembered you from your meeting in Bath. I think we should return Lady Trelawny’s call … perhaps this week.”
It was a ploy to make sure Rathbone did not think Margaret too available. No one wished to pursue a young lady if he was alone in the chase. If he were, then she could not be worth a great deal.
“Yes, Mama,” Margaret said dutifully, cringing at the obviousness of it.
Mrs. Ballinger was undeterred. In order to marry off daughters one had to develop an exceedingly thick protective armor against disapproval or other people’s embarrassment. She ignored Margaret’s pleading look.
“Does your family live in London, Sir Oliver? I don’t believe I am acquainted with your mother.”
Margaret closed her eyes, refusing to look at Rathbone.
Rathbone smiled with quite genuine amusement. He was now being judged as to whether he was socially fully acceptable.
“My mother died some years ago, Mrs. Ballinger,” he answered. “My father lives in Primrose Hill, but he mixes very little in society. In fact, I suppose it would be more honest to say he does not mix at all.” He looked at her directly. “Of course, he is quite well acquainted with most of the scientific and mathematical community because of his work … before he retired. And he always had a high regard for Lord Palmerston.”
He knew instantly he should not have mentioned the Prime Minister. She was immensely impressed.
“How very agreeable,” she answered, momentarily at a loss for words. She recovered rapidly. “I hope I shall have the good fortune to meet him someday. He sounds quite delightful.”
Margaret looked as if she wanted to groan.
“I am afraid my opinion is hopelessly biased,” Rathbone said, excusing himself with a smile. He was actually extremely fond of his father. He liked him quite as much as anyone he knew. “Now I must not monopolize your time, Mrs. Ballinger. Miss Ballinger, I have greatly enjoyed your company, and I hope we shall meet again. Good evening.”
They replied appropriately and he turned and walked away, perhaps a little more rapidly than usual. In spite of his intellectual knowledge of what was happening, and why, and his wry amusement at it all, he still felt pursued, and only his certainty of escape kept the panic from welling up inside him.
He must not seem to be fleeing. It would hurt Margaret and be inexcusably rude. He should dance with at least three or four other young ladies, and perhaps one or two older ones, before he could decently leave.
An hour later he was preparing to excuse himself to Lady Hardesty and thank her for a delightful evening, when he found himself standing