Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [153]
The woman approaching her was also of a good height, but very lush of figure, with creamy white skin and auburn hair. Her features were lovely in a very classic manner and she was gorgeously dressed to flatter the striking attributes with which nature had endowed her. And from the expression on her face she was not unaware of the stir she caused. There was a supreme confidence in her and not quite an arrogance, but most definitely an enjoyment of her power.
The middle-aged man beside Vespasia, clean shaven with a ruddy face and broad brow, affected introductions between the two women well within Charlotte’s hearing.
“Lady Cumming-Gould, may I present Mrs. Lillie Langtry—”
Vespasia’s eyes widened, her silver brows arched and her very slightly aquiline nose flared infinitesimally.
“To seek permission now seems a trifle late,” she said with only the barest edge to her voice, and a definite lift of amusement.
The man flushed. “I—er—” he stammered, caught off guard. He had thought well of himself. Most people had envied him his acquaintance with the Jersey Lily. Indeed he had bragged about it to some effect.
Vespasia turned to Mrs. Langtry. She inclined her head with very deliberate graciousness. She had been the greatest beauty of her day, and she deferred to no one on that score.
“How do you do, Mrs. Langtry,” she said coolly. She was an upstart. She might be the Prince of Wales’s mistress, and Lord knew who else’s, and have beauty and even wit, but Vespasia would not be introduced to her as if she could in a few years climb to that eminence Vespasia had taken a lifetime to achieve. That required also intelligence, patience, dignity and discretion. “I hope you are finding the London season enjoyable?” she added.
Mrs. Langtry was taken aback.
“How do you do, Lady Cumming-Gould. Indeed, thank you, it is most enjoyable. But it is not my first season, you know. Indeed, far from it.”
Vespasia’s eyebrows rose even higher. “Indeed?” she said without interest. One would have thought from her expression she had never heard of Lillie Langtry. She looked her up and down, her eyes lingering for a moment on her neck and waistline, where so often age tells most unkindly. “No—of course not,” she amended. “It must be simply that our paths have not crossed.” She did not say “nor are they likely to in the future,” but it hung in the air delicately suggested.
Lillie Langtry was the most famous of London beauties sprung from nowhere, and she had been rebuffed before and had overridden it with grace. She was not going to be stopped in her triumph by one elderly lady, no matter who.
She smiled tolerantly. “No, perhaps not,” she agreed. “Do you dine very often at Marlborough House?” She was referring to the Prince of Wales and his friends, as they all knew.
Vespasia was not going to be bested. She smiled equally icily.
“Not quite my generation,” she murmured, implying that they were Mrs. Langtry’s, although they were at least a decade older.
Mrs. Langtry flushed, but battle had been joined, and she did not retreat either.
“Too much dancing, perhaps?” Mrs. Langtry looked at Aunt Vespasia’s silver-topped cane.
Vespasia’s eyes glittered. “I care for the waltz, a delightful dance, and the lancers and the quadrille. But I fear some of the modern dances are not to my liking—the cancan, for example …” She left her distaste hanging in the air.
Mrs. Langtry’s lips tightened. The cancan’s scandalous reputation was well known. It was performed by prostitutes and women of other unspeakable occupations in places like Paris, and even there it was illegal. “You dine with Her Majesty, perhaps?” she suggested, still smiling. They both knew that ever since Prince Albert had died twenty-eight years before, the Queen had ceased to entertain. Her mourning was so profound as to have caused open criticism in the land that she did not do her duty as monarch.
Vespasia raised her eyebrows. “Oh no, my dear. Her Majesty does not entertain anymore.” Then she added gently, “I am surprised you did not know that. But still—perhaps