Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [154]
Mrs. Langtry drew in her breath but at last a retort failed her and she forced a wintry smile, relying on beauty and youth alone, which were sure cards in any game. And certainly she was an exceptionally beautiful woman.
Vespasia had filled her time richly and she did not rue its passing, or regret that which was past. She inclined her head graciously.
“Most—interesting—to have met you, Mrs. Langtry.” And she swept away before victory could in any way be turned into defeat, leaving Charlotte to bring up the rear as she chose.
She caught up with Vespasia, opening her mouth to comment, then changing her mind and assuming an air of total innocence as though she had observed none of the exchange. Charlotte swapped a little polite conversation, suppressing her laughter and seeing the bravado in Vespasia’s eye.
Then balancing a glass of champagne and wishing she knew how to manage a cake elegantly at the same time, and knowing she did not, she made her way to where Emily was talking animatedly with Fitzherbert and Lord Anstiss. Odelia Morden stood desultorily a little to one side, her blush-pink gown and parasol delicate as apple blossoms, white ribbons on her hat and white gloves immaculate. She looked more feminine even than Emily. Charlotte felt a little twist of sorrow for her. She seemed isolated, uncertain what to say or to do.
Charlotte joined the group. Fitz made way for her quickly as though she had rescued him from a sudden silence.
“How nice to see you, Mrs. Pitt. I am sure you are acquainted with Lord Anstiss?”
“Indeed.” Charlotte dropped the slightest of curtseys. “Good afternoon, Lord Anstiss.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Pitt.” He smiled back at her. He was a more dynamic man than she had remembered. She was aware not merely of an acute intelligence in his glance, but of an energy within him, a restlessness of interest seeking new knowledge, hungry for experience, curious and powerful, and a needle-sharp humor. He was not a man she would have challenged. The thought of him as a friend was exciting, as an enemy something which raised a prickle of fear.
Apparently she had interrupted a conversation. It was resumed without niceties, and she was absorbed into it easily, which was in itself a kind of compliment.
“We made up a party to see it,” Fitz was saying with a smile. “I must admit I was most keen. Madame Bernhardt has such a reputation …”
“I believe she is to do Joan of Arc next year,” Anstiss said, his eyes bright. “In French.” He glanced at Odelia.
“I should enjoy that,” she said quickly. “I think my French is well enough.”
“I am sure.” He inclined his head very slightly. “After all, we are familiar with the story, and there is something extremely satisfying about watching a drama well played out towards a predestined end of which we are acutely aware. It has a piquancy.”
She seemed aware that he had a meaning deeper than that on the surface, but not what it might be.
“I did see Henry Irving last week,” Fitz offered cheerfully. “He was quite excellent, I thought. Captured the audience completely.”
“Indeed.” Anstiss seemed unconvinced. “Mrs. Pitt? Have you seen anything of interest lately?”
“Not at the theater, my lord.” She suppressed a smile, but saw the quick leap of humor in his eyes. Then as quickly it was gone, and he turned to Fitz again.
“I imagine you will be marrying soon?” He looked in Odelia’s direction. “Are you planning the Grand Tour as a honeymoon? You could leave in a month or two and still be returned long before a general election.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately one must think of such things. I apologize for raising the subject. It seems indelicate, but however graceful and amateur we may wish to appear, politics is a very professional affair, if we wish to succeed.” His words were pleasant, his voice quite light, but there was steel beneath it, and Fitz was not the only one to realize it. An answer was required, if he wished Anstiss to consider him for selection.
Beside Charlotte, Emily drew in her breath sharply.
Fitz