Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [140]
“Of course,” she conceded. “But please agree to meet me somewhere else, where we can speak alone.”
“There is nothing you can do.” Fanny’s voice rose in desperation, afraid that any moment Fitz might come, or (what would be every bit as bad) Odelia.
“Tomorrow,” Charlotte insisted. “Meet me—in the park near Rotten Row.”
“I haven’t a horse.”
“Neither have I. Just be there.”
“There is no purpose. There is nothing you can do!”
“Be there. At nine o’clock,” Charlotte insisted. “Or I shall come and find you, and I do know where to find you.” It was not actually true; she would have to ask Pitt where he had followed Carswell over the river.
“There is nothing …” Fanny began again, but James Hilliard was suddenly there, his shock at last melted enough for him to come and defend his sister from what he believed to be harassment.
“Mrs. Pitt—” he began sharply.
“Yes,” Fanny agreed. “Tomorrow.” She swiveled around to her brother. “Thank you, James. Please take me home.”
He glanced quickly at Charlotte with a look of confusion, pain and anger, then put his arm around Fanny’s shoulders and escorted her to the door.
Back in the withdrawing room the music had begun again and everyone was seated. They at least appeared to be listening, although underneath the carefully composed expressions imaginations were seething and words were falling over themselves ready to relay the choice piece of scandal the moment they were able. Pages would be scurrying all through society tomorrow morning, and those with telephone instruments would be feeling a magnificent superiority over their more backward friends.
“What did she say?” Emily demanded as soon as Charlotte sat down beside her.
“Nothing,” Charlotte replied. “I shall see her tomorrow.”
“It’s too bad.” Emily was considerably upset. “I was becoming very fond of her. And I really hoped she would marry Fitz—even if he is Jack’s rival. I know that is not very consistent, but I like him.”
“It is not in the least inconsistent,” Charlotte said with a sudden hard insight. “No matter how much you like Fitz and Fanny, and I accept that you do, it is nothing compared with your love for Jack, and your belief that he will make an excellent member for Parliament. And if Fitz jilts Odelia for Fanny, even if her reputation is immaculate, it will be one of the very few mistakes that could cost him his chance of selection.” She saw Emily’s look of consternation, but continued anyway. “I don’t believe for a moment you would, or could, cause that to happen, but don’t tell me you will grieve if Fitz brings it upon himself.”
Emily looked uncomfortable. “Of course I would not bring it about,” she defended herself, but there was no outrage in her voice. “If I hope for it for Fitz and Fanny, it is because I know that love in a marriage is far more important than this particular opportunity for political candidacy. Really Charlotte, I am not nearly so conniving as you seem to think.”
Charlotte smiled at her without withdrawing a word, then faced forward and gave her attention to the music.
The morning was bright with sunshine and a brisk, clean wind, and Charlotte was glad of a light cloak as she stood at the southern end of Rotten Row, the long earthen track beneath the trees stretching from the Royal Albert Memorial to Hyde Park Corner where ladies of the fashionable world, both of excellent reputation and of the very worst, rode on horseback to parade their skills, their outfits, and their personal charms.
As Charlotte waited a small group passed close to her, all dressed in precisely the clothes required by custom, tight-waisted jackets, some with high necks and beautiful pins of horse heads or stirrups at the collar, one with reveres to her jacket and a silver hunting horn pin in her dazzlingly white cravat.
Of course they all wore long riding gloves and carried crops with ornamented handles; she saw one of carved horn, and the light caught the head of another and shone silver for a bright moment.
Then the riders turned