A Stranger in Mayfair - Charles Finch [46]
The front door opened, and Lenox stood. Since he had returned from Ludo’s he had felt an indefinable tug of uncertainty, even unhappiness, and now he remembered why: Lady Jane. They had seen so little of each other over the past few days, and what conversation they’d had had been disconcerting.
Graham stood up, nodded to Lenox, and left. Lady Jane spoke a word to the butler—former butler—in the hallway and then breezed into the room, pink from the chill, smiling, and lovely.
Chapter Twenty-Two
They said hello to each other. Lady Jane was still smiling but seemed slightly detached. He knew that when she was out of countenance she covered it up by talking, and that was what she did now, very gaily.
“The baby is wonderful, not a sound out of the poor dear. Toto makes much more noise, grumbling and disagreeable but I think secretly she’s happier than she can quite grasp. It is hard to have a boy’s name, though, isn’t it? I hope they’ll call her Gracie by the time she has little playfellows, or I fear she’ll be teased for it. The Longwalls have just had a child, a boy, and Toto thinks he might make a suitable husband. Can you imagine? And you’ll never guess what he’s called.”
“George?
She laughed and took off her long gloves, finger by finger. He recalled fleetingly how intimate he had once found that gesture. There wasn’t precisely fear in his heart, but a kind of melancholy ambiguity, an insecurity.
“Not George, no. Charles! Charles Longwall. I thought it quite funny to imagine you having an infant namesake out there in London somewhere.”
This brought them awkwardly close to the subject of their conversation earlier that day, and Lenox said hastily, “Longwall—a very English name.”
It didn’t mean much of anything, but she took the cue from him. “I always thought the same thing about Reggie Blackfield.”
“And do you remember Henry Bathurst, who was foreign secretary?”
Finally shorn of her gloves, hat, and earrings, which she dropped into a silver tumbler on Lenox’s desk, she came and whispered his cheek with a kiss. “I’m going to ring for some food.” She picked up a glass bell and gave it a brisk shake. “Have you had a long day?”
“Now that you mention it—”
Kirk came in. “You rang?”
“I’d like some supper, if Ellie is still awake,” said Lady Jane. “Whatever there is.”
“Bring up a bottle of wine as well,” added Lenox.
“Yes, sir.”
When he had gone, she said, “What were you saying?”
“I did have rather a long day. I was attacked.” He laughed to defray the concern that immediately showed on her face. “I’m quite well, I promise. Starling didn’t have such a happy run of it, however.”
“What happened?”
“He was stabbed in the leg.”
Lenox told the story. She made all the right noises, but he couldn’t help but notice that she wasn’t sitting beside him on the sofa, as she usually did, but across from him on a chair; couldn’t help but notice that after she had made sure he was unharmed her eyes flew more than once to the door, as if she were more interested in her food than in his story. Was he imagining her indifference?
For so long she had been his best listener, and in turn he had tried to be hers. During their honeymoon, marriage had seemed to twine together the best elements of their friendship and their love. Now, however, he felt robbed of both.
At last her food came, and his wine. She ate happily—there was a cottage pie and some turnips.
“Made of real cottages,” he said, repeating an old joke she loved.
She rewarded him with a laugh and then, perhaps observing something in his face, put down her fork and came over to the sofa. “Are you all right, Charles?” she said, taking his hand in hers.
“Oh, quite all right. A bit tired perhaps.”
“It’s been difficult, I know—I’ve spent so much time at Toto’s, and you’ve got both Parliament and this poor boy’s death.”
She had missed the point. “It’s nice to sit here with you,” he answered her.
Or perhaps she hadn’t. “I don’t know if I’d like to have children,” she said softly.
“Oh—that, put it out