A Breach of Promise - Anne Perry [89]
She could not have been more effective had she slapped his face.
Rathbone’s estimation of her soared. It was more difficult than ever to understand why Melville did not wish to marry her—unless Sacheverall’s charge was true. It was the only explanation which made sense. But then, knowing his inclination, he was irresponsible at best for having wooed her, grossly cruel at worst, using her simply to gain her father’s patronage and possibly to mask his own affair with Wolff by seeming to have interests elsewhere.
But he would not be the first man of genius to have a moral sense which was distorted by egocentricity into total selfishness. Rathbone should not have been disappointed; it was foolish, even naive. A man of his age and sophistication should have known better.
But the pain of it was startlingly sharp. He wanted to admire Melville. He could not help liking him.
Delphine was talking soothingly to Sacheverall, trying to repair the damage. From the look upon his face she was succeeding. Presumably with Melville excluded, he was an acceptable match. He was the right age, his family was excellent, his career prospects good, and he had more than enough money not to be courting her for merely financial reasons, although such a marriage would undoubtably improve his situation.
Barton Lambert had taken little part in the exchange. He was standing with his hands pushed deep into his pockets, and two or three times he had looked towards Rathbone as if he wished to speak to him. But it was too late to make any difference now. His whole posture was one of deep unhappiness, and Rathbone guessed he regretted the whole affair. His affection for Melville had been real. It could not be swept away by any revelation, no matter how dark. Emotions do not often turn so entirely in so short a space. The wound was raw, and it showed. He was an unusual man in that he did not seek to alleviate it with anger.
Rathbone admired him for that. Perhaps Zillah did not gain all her refinement of character from her mother.
Rathbone left the courthouse and went out into the bright afternoon with the sharp sun and wind promising a clear evening. Twilight would not be until after eight o’clock. It made the day seem long, the night over so quickly the next morning would be there almost before he had been to sleep. If Monk did not find anything he would have to call witnesses merely to waste time. Witnesses to what? McKeever would know what he was doing, and Sacheverall certainly would.
His only hope lay in there being something, however slight, in the Lambert family history which would persuade Barton Lambert to settle for a modest amount of damages.
He walked briskly towards a hansom, and then at the last moment changed his mind and decided not to ride but to continue on foot until he had consumed some of the energy of anger and frustration inside himself. He had not acquitted himself well in the case, but that mattered very little beside his concern for Melville’s future.
If only Melville had been honest with him and told him about Wolff! But he should have guessed it was something like that. Melville was not a very muscular man; he had a visionary’s face, a subtle and delicate mind, a poet’s imagination. Rathbone should have told Monk all that, and then perhaps Monk would have found Wolff before Sacheverall did, and this scandal at least could have been forestalled. Rathbone had the powerful impression that had Barton Lambert known he would not have pressed the suit.
Perhaps Delphine would not have wished to either. She was not hurt by the revelation, to judge from her manner, but it was certainly embarrassing.
He had dined out and it was nearly nine o’clock when he reached his rooms and his manservant presented him with the evening newspapers.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he apologized.
Rathbone saw immediately what had precipitated the remark and the look of distress upon the manservant’s somber face. The headlines were lurid, vulgar and aroused speculation even further than Sacheverall had. Not a shred of dignity or honor was left to Melville