Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [151]
“Nimmons.” The man in the top hat was patronizingly amused. “Scored a mere twenty runs, as I recall.”
“Your recollection is colored by your desires, not to mention your loyalty.” His friend was gently pleased with himself. “Twenty runs, and bowled out five of your side—for a total of thirty-three. And he’s still very much there this year. Doesn’t go up till ’ninety-one.”
“Because he’s a fool.” But his face clouded as memory returned. Absentmindedly he put his empty goblet on the tray of an attendant footman and took a fresh one.
“Not with a ball in his hand, old chap—not with a ball,” his companion retorted.
Charlotte could imagine the summer afternoon, the crowd sitting on benches or walking on the grass, the players all in white, the crack of leather on willow as the bat struck the ball, the cheering, the sun in the eye and in the face, the long lazy day, excited voices of boys calling out, cucumber sandwiches for tea. It was pleasant to think about, but she had no real wish to go. Her thoughts were filled with darker, more urgent matters. And it was part of a world she had never really belonged to, and in which Pitt, and that mattered more, had no place. It did cross her mind to wonder for an instant if he had played cricket as a boy. She could imagine it, not at a great school founded centuries ago and steeped in tradition, but on the village green, perhaps with a duck pond, and old men sitting outside the inn, and a dog or two lying in the sun.
She saw Regina Carswell with two of her daughters. The third, whom Charlotte had seen previously so obviously attracted to the young man at the musical soiree, was again speaking with him. This time she was walking by his side and involved in a murmured conversation of smiles and glances, and very considerable tenderness. It was such that in the present society and circumstances it was tantamount to a statement of intent. It would have to be a very remarkable incident now to alter the inevitable course.
Charlotte smiled, happy for her.
Beside her, Emily was equally indulgent. She had been lonely far too recently not to have a very real sympathy for the state.
“Is Jack going to join the secret society?” Charlotte asked abruptly.
Emily looked at her with a frown as a young woman passed by them holding a dish of strawberries and giggling at her companion, a short man in a military uniform who moved with a definite swagger.
“Why on earth did Miss Carswell make you think of that?” she asked.
“Because she is so obviously happy, and so are you,” Charlotte continued. “And I wish more than almost anything that you should remain so.”
Emily smiled at her warmly. “I love you for it, but if you think my happiness depends upon Jack being selected to stand for Parliament, you are mistaken.” A shadow crossed her face. “I would have expected you to know me better. I admit I used to be ambitious socially, and I still get pleasure and amusement from it, but it is no more than that, I promise you. It is not my happiness.” She tweaked her skirt off the grass to stop it being trodden on by a shortsighted gentleman with a cane. “I want Jack to succeed at something, of course. I love him, and how could he be happy if he whiled away his time in pursuits of no purpose? But if he does not get this nomination, there will be others.”
“Good,” Charlotte responded with emotion. “Because I feel very strongly indeed that he should not join any society whose membership is secret, and that requires oaths of loyalty that rob him of any of his freedom of conscience. Thomas has some knowledge of at least one of the societies in London, and it is very dangerous indeed, and very powerful.” She became even more grave, determined that Emily should believe her. “Emily, do everything within your power to dissuade him, even if it causes a quarrel. It would be a small price to pay to keep him from such a group.”
Emily stood still, turning to face Charlotte.
“You know something of importance that you are not telling me. I imagine it is to do with the