Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [108]
It had never occurred to him. His own daughters were grown up and married, and he could not remember ever having spoken with them of such things. “I am sure you are right,” he lied without a flicker. “You seem to remember it very clearly.”
“I do, it was a happy time. I think I knew that even then.” She smiled as she thought of it, and he could see in her eyes that her thoughts were far away. “I think that was one of the things I liked best about Sholto when I first met him,” she said quite naturally, as if Drummond were an old friend and easy to talk to.
At last Drummond picked up his cup, as much to avoid staring as from any taste for it.
“He saw the beauty of land,” she continued. “The sunlight in the silent orchard, dappling all the tree trunks, the boughs of blossom so low they tangled in the long grass. Grandpapa was always telling the gardener to tend the vegetables so the poor man never got time to prune the trees. We had far too many apples and plums, but they were never very large. Geoffrey hated the place. He said it was a waste.”
“Who was Geoffrey?” he asked.
“I was betrothed to him when I was twenty-one. He was a dragoon. I thought he was so dashing.” She laughed a little at herself. “Though looking back, I think he was probably pompous and very self-important. But it was a long time ago.”
“And you left him for Lord Byam?” He should not have asked—it was indelicate—but he realized it only after the words were out.
“Oh no!” she said quickly. “Grandpapa heard that Geoffrey had been paying attention to a young lady of”—she colored—“of questionable reputation, and Grandpapa said I could not possibly marry him. He broke off the engagement. I heard later that Geoffrey married a viscount’s daughter.” She laughed as she said it, and he knew it had long ago ceased to hurt.
“Then Mama died and I found myself running the household and caring for Grandpapa,” she went on. “He was a bishop by then. My sister died in childbirth and my brother lost a leg in the Indian mutiny in ’fifty-eight. It was shortly after that when I met Sholto, and we became betrothed very quickly. Grandpapa liked him, which made it all so much easier. And Sholto’s conduct was irreproachable and his reputation spotless. Grandpapa inquired into it exhaustively. I was mortified, but poor Sholto bore it all with excellent temper. I could have loved him for that alone. But he was also possessed of a greater sense of humor, and that made him so agreeable to be with. People who can laugh at themselves are seldom insufferable, don’t you think? I have often considered if a sense of humor is not closely allied to a sense of proportion in things. Have you?”
“You are right,” he agreed quickly. “It is when one’s sense of proportion is offended that one can see the absurd. And when it is not ugly it is funny, but either way, we know that it cannot be overlooked. One can never be intimidated in the same way by what one perceives as ridiculous, so perhaps it has a kind of relationship to courage as well.”
“Courage?” Her eyebrows rose. “I had not thought of that. And speaking of courage, Mr. Drummond, I am most grateful for your kindness to us, and your endless patience. Now I must not exhaust it by overstaying. It is growing dusk and I must return home before I cause comment by the uninformed. It would be an ill way to repay your generosity.”
“Please do not worry,” he said urgently. “I will do everything I can …”
“I know.”
“And—and Pitt is an excellent man, even brilliant at times.”
She smiled, a wide, generous gesture as if for a moment all her fears had been lifted, although he knew it could not be so.
“Thank you. I know it is in the best possible hands.” She rose to her feet and he stood quickly, reaching for her shawl to wrap around her shoulders. She accepted it graciously. Then after a second’s hesitation, she went to