Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [124]
“I doubt it,” Vespasia said with a tiny shake of her head. “I like him quite as much as any man I know—but he is as unobservant as most men over such things.” She seemed unaware of her astounding admission that she, Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould, held Thomas Pitt, policeman and gamekeeper’s son, in an affection unsurpassed by any man, even of her own station and breeding.
Charlotte held her breath, and felt a tide of hot emotion surge up her face, and an overwhelming pride burst open inside her like a flower.
She swallowed hard, and tried to sound nonchalant.
“I imagine not,” she said huskily. “I had better point it out to him. It may matter.” And with that parting shot she made her way into the main withdrawing room to speak to more of the guests who had arrived in the intervening time.
A few moments later she found herself talking polite nonsense with Fanny Hilliard. It was nonsense because neither of them cared particularly about the sort of subjects it was good manners to discuss: the weather (which was of no interest whatever), fashion (which neither of them could afford to follow), current gossip (which neither of them was acquainted with, not being in the rank of society which was privy to such confidences, nor being in the places to observe it at first hand), or theater, (which they visited very seldom, for the same financial reasons).
Indeed the whole conversation was simply a device through which they could express a certain liking for each other. One could not simply stand and stare without exchanging some words, however pointless.
Charlotte was not in the least put out to see Fanny’s eyes wander from hers several times, and a soft warmth come into them, and a trace of color up her cheeks as if her pulse were beating faster. She was quite aware that Fitz Fitzherbert was somewhere behind her and a little to her left.
Therefore she was not surprised when a few minutes later he joined them, talking of equally mindless and silly subjects. His fair face reflected an inner laughter and a complete acceptance that their words were of no importance whatsoever, their thoughts of the greatest importance possible.
“How good of Mrs. Radley to invite me again,” he said to both of them, including Charlotte equally, although she knew perfectly well she served only as a chaperon to make the exchange possible. “She is playing this extremely fairly, don’t you think?”
Fanny smiled and looked up at him, not through her lashes—she was too candid for that, and too sincere in her feelings. Her eyes were wide and bright, and there was a vivid color in her cheeks.
“Indeed,” she agreed, although Charlotte was not sure if Fanny had any idea what Fitz meant; no one had said anything about selection for Parliament, or Fitz’s and Jack’s rivalry.
“Have you spoken with Lord Anstiss?” Fitz went on. “He is one of the most interesting men I have met. I have no difficulty whatever in listening to him with rapt attention. It is so gratifying when the people to whom one has to be polite and flattering are so distinguished as to earn it naturally.” He was looking at Fanny, his eyes never leaving her face.
She could not have been unaware of it as she gazed at the glass in Charlotte’s hand, although probably she was not seeing it at all.
“I have spoken to him only briefly,” she admitted. “I believe he is an expert in much of art, is that so?”
“Extremely,” Fitz replied. “I wish I could remember all he said, so I could repeat it to you. His opinions were most enlightening—on almost everything.”
“Oh please don’t!” Fanny said quickly, looking up at him. “I should far rather hear your own.” Then she realized she had been forward, and as on this occasion it mattered extremely to her what he should think, she colored furiously and looked away.
“You are very generous,” he said quietly. “I am afraid my knowledge is pretty poor by comparison.”
“I should not know how to reply to someone who knew everything,” she said with a tiny smile. “I should feel very overwhelmed.”
“Would you?”
“Although of course I should try not to show it,