Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [139]
“You’re a liar,” Fitz said from between gritted teeth, his skin suddenly white. “And if this were not too public a place, and someone else’s house, I’d make you eat those words right here!”
“Steady, old man.” Ferdy was taken aback. “Sorry if you fancy the gel, but I’m quite definitely right. Got it from an impeccable source; my uncle, Lord Bergholt, what. Quite definitely Carswell’s mistress. It’s poor Mrs. Carswell I feel sorry for. The old ass should have been more discreet about it. Doesn’t matter what you do if you are discreet, but it’s damn bad form to embarrass the wife, don’t you know. Damn bad.” And without waiting for any further reaction from Fitz he moved away, still shaking his head.
Fitz looked stunned, and indeed Charlotte herself felt as if she had been hit in the face by someone she had entirely trusted.
“I don’t believe it,” Emily gasped. For once she too was at a loss. “What a wicked thing to say.” She swung around, about to speak, then saw Charlotte’s face.
“Charlotte?”
Charlotte’s mind was racing. Pitt had said he had followed Carswell to the south side of the river, and seen him meet with a young woman. He had not said it was Fanny Hilliard. But then why would he? He had not known at that time that she had ever heard of Fanny, let alone knew her.
“Charlotte,” Emily said more sharply. “What is it?”
Charlotte collected herself with difficulty, her mind full of anger for the deception, and fury and pain for Fitz.
“Perhaps it is a matter of mistake,” Charlotte said feebly, fishing for any excuse. “People do sometimes repeat the most witless things and get them wrong.”
But before they could attempt to continue with such hopes, their attention was drawn to the group a few yards away where Fanny herself was standing, almost next to Odelia Morden. Fanny’s cheeks were scarlet, burning with misery and humiliation, but in the terrible silence she made no denial, she said absolutely nothing at all.
“Miss Hilliard?” Odelia said quietly. There was no triumph in her, rather a strange bewilderment, as though already she knew her victory would be bitter.
Fanny’s eyes lifted slowly and she stared at Fitz, as though everyone else’s opinions were trifling things, pinpricks compared with the single great wound of his.
He was stunned, not perhaps by the revelation, the curious and appalled crowd in its glittering dress, but by Fanny’s own silence. Her face was agonized, everyone saw it; but she made no denial, no excuse.
For a moment he stood as if he would go to her. The silence prickled so long it seemed the lights wavered; one could hear the crackle of taffeta as women breathed in and out in tight bodices. Far away a maid’s hard heels tapped on an uncarpeted passageway.
Then Fanny turned and walked away through the other guests and out into the hall.
Emily took a step forward.
“I’ll go,” Charlotte said instantly, and before Emily could protest, she pushed past her, almost bumped into the large woman with the crystals, trod on Ferdy’s foot as he opened his mouth to say something, and made her way into the hall just in time to see the footman hold Fanny’s cloak for her. James Hilliard, white-faced and wretched, stood shifting from one foot to the other a few yards away, obviously shocked and totally at a loss.
Charlotte had no idea what she could possibly say that would redeem any part of the situation, but emotion rather than reason had impelled her out. She went straight to Fanny.
Fanny turned to face her, her cheeks were white and a blinding misery showed in her eyes.
“I apologize,” she said in a husky whisper. “I have abused your hospitality.”
“I didn’t come for an apology,” Charlotte said, brushing it aside. “I don’t understand, but I can see that you are totally wretched, and I wished to find some way to help …”
“You can’t! No one can. Please—just let me go, before anyone else comes out here—especially …” She