Ashworth Hall - Anne Perry [18]
“Do you think it will make any difference?” Charlotte said with a grin.
“Yes! Don’t talk about religion, or parliamentary franchise or reform, or education … or landowning, or rents, or potatoes … or divorce ….”
“Potatoes or divorce!” Charlotte said incredulously. “Why in heaven’s name should I talk about potatoes or divorce?”
“I don’t know. Just don’t!”
“What can I talk about?”
“Anything else. Fashion … except I suppose you don’t know about it. Theater—but you don’t go to the theater, except with Mama, to watch Joshua—and you better not mention that our mother has married an actor, and a Jewish one at that. Mind, I think the Catholics are too busy hating Protestants, and the Protestants hating Catholics, to care about Jews one way or the other. But they probably all think anyone on the stage is wicked. Talk about the weather and the garden.”
“They’ll think I’m a simpleton!”
“Please!”
Charlotte sighed. “Yes,” she agreed. “It is going to be a difficult weekend, isn’t it?”
Luncheon fulfilled her prophecy. They met in the large dining room around a table long enough to seat twenty but set for twelve. Jack Radley welcomed Charlotte, and then introduced her, and of course Pitt, to the rest of the company, and they all took their places. The first course was served.
Charlotte had been placed between Fergal Moynihan on her left and Carson O’Day on her right. Fergal was a striking-looking man of slightly above average height and refined aquiline features, but she thought there seemed little humor in his face. She was not immediately drawn to him, although perhaps it was her image of an intransigent Protestant which unfairly prejudiced her.
Carson O’Day was a smaller man, far grayer, and at least fifteen or twenty years older, but there was a strength in him it did not take more than a glance to see. His manner was benign and courteous, although beneath the niceties of the social situation it was easy to see his gravity and the fact that he never for an instant forgot the reason they were met.
Opposite her was Padraig Doyle, also an older man, perhaps in his middle fifties, with a genial expression and the kind of features which could not honestly be described as handsome, being too uneven, his nose too long and slightly crooked, but there was laughter and imagination in him, and Charlotte felt even before he spoke that he might be most entertaining company.
Although Emily was the hostess, once she had seen that everyone was seated and served she made no demur about Ainsley Greville assuming a natural leadership of the occasion. His wife, Eudora, was a remarkably handsome woman, looking to be several years younger than he, with very fine, rich, auburn coloring; wide, brown eyes; high cheekbones, and a lovely mouth. She was modest of manner, and it only added to her charm.
The other two women at the table were less easy for Charlotte to see, but as soon as the opportunity offered itself, she studied them discreetly. Kezia Moynihan bore a superficial resemblance to her brother. Her coloring was also fair, with very clear, almost aqua, eyes and thick hair which looked enviably easy to dress. But unlike Fergal, there was a quickness in her expression, as if humor came to her naturally, although perhaps temper also. Charlotte found it an easier face to like.
Iona McGinley was a dramatic opposite. Her slender hands moved nervously on the white tablecloth. Her hair was almost black, and her dark blue eyes were wide, vulnerable, full of dreams and inward thoughts. She spoke very little, and when she did her voice was soft with a southern lilt almost like music itself.
The only other person present was Lorcan McGinley, fair haired with a long, narrow face, wide mouth and very blue eyes which were startling, almost sky blue, disconcertingly direct.
The conversation began with a few remarks which seemed harmless to the degree they were almost banal, especially among people who had all been present since the