Bedford Square - Anne Perry [57]
The only problem was that Vespasia was in her eighties, a trifle thin; her hair was silver and her tastes extravagant, to go with her station in life. Charlotte was in her thirties and dark with a rich tint of chestnut in her hair, her skin a warm honey tone. Some adjustments needed to be made.
She chose a pale blue muslin. It had gorgeous sleeves, a very slight bustle gathered from an overskirt of green which took from it the delicacy which on her looked not sophisticated, as it had on Vespasia, but rather insipid. She had a pale blue hat, which complemented the gown. She was reasonably satisfied with the result, and left at a quarter to twelve. The only way to travel dressed like this was by hansom—unless, of course, one had one’s own carriage.
She arrived at Vespasia’s house shortly after noon, and was admitted by the maid, who by now knew her very well.
Vespasia was sitting in her favorite room, opening onto the garden. She was dressed in her favorite ivory lace gown with ropes of soft, gleaming pearls. The sunlight made a pool around her, and her black-and-white dog was lying on the floor beside her feet. It rose and greeted Charlotte with enthusiasm. Vespasia remained where she was, but her face lit with pleasure.
“How nice to see you, my dear. I was rather hoping you would come. I am bored to weeping with the season this year. There doesn’t seem to be anybody with the slightest flair for the unpredictable. Everyone says and does precisely what I expect them to.” She moved one shoulder in elegant dismissal. “They even wear what I expect. It is very fashionable, but of no interest whatever. It is frightening. I begin to fear I am growing old. I seem to know everything … and I hate it!” She raised her eyebrows. “What is the point in being alive if you are never taken completely by surprise, all your ideas scattered like leaves before a gale, and you have to pick them up and put them together again and find the picture is new and different? If you are not capable of passion or surprise, you really are dead.”
She surveyed Charlotte critically, but with affection.
“Well, you are wearing something I had not predicted. Where on earth did you get that gown?”
“It is one of yours, Aunt Vespasia.” Charlotte leaned over and kissed her delicately on the cheek.
Vespasia’s eyebrows rose even higher.
“Good heavens! Please be good enough not to tell anyone. I should be mortified.”
Charlotte did not know whether to be hurt or to laugh. She wanted to do both. “Is it really so awful?”
Vespasia waved her to stand back a little, and regarded the gown critically for several moments.
“The pale blue doesn’t suit me,” Charlotte explained. It was the addition of the green which seemed to be the focus of Vespasia’s displeasure.
“It would if you added cream,” Vespasia replied. “That green is far too heavy. You look as if you had fallen into the sea and come out covered in weed!”
“Oh! A sort of drowned look—like the Lady of Shalott?” Charlotte asked.
“Not quite as peaceful,” Vespasia said dryly. “Don’t tempt me to go further. Let me take that and find you something better.” She rose to her feet, leaning a little on her silver-topped cane, and led the way upstairs to her dressing room. Charlotte followed obediently.
It was while Vespasia was looking through various swathes and shawls and other accessories that she said quite casually, “I suppose you are concerned about that peculiarly unfortunate matter in Bedford Square? As I recall, you were fond of Brandon Balantyne.”
Charlotte found herself blushing quite hotly. That was not at all the way she would have phrased it. She looked at Vespasia’s elegant back as she fingered a piece of silvery cream silk and considered its suitability. If Charlotte were to argue over Vespasia’s choice of words she would only draw attention to her self-consciousness. She took a deep breath.
“I am upset about it, yes. I went to see him. Please don’t tell Thomas; he doesn’t know. I … I went on impulse, without thinking