Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [83]
Pitt came to bed in the dark, lying next to her but apart, his back towards her.
She had no idea whether he was asleep or not, or what he was thinking. Did he really feel she was totally selfish? Surely he knew her better than that—after all these years. Could he not understand how much the opera had meant to her, and that she had gone to the exhibition only to keep Emily company?
No. He knew how it had thrilled her. She had seen that in his face. And he knew how long she had waited—until Emily took them.
Emily took them—not Pitt.
She reached out her hand and touched him.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I should have thought—and I didn’t.”
For seconds nothing happened. She began to think he was asleep. Then slowly he moved over and touched her fingertips, saying nothing.
Tears of relief filled her eyes and she wriggled down to be comfortable, and at last composed herself to go to sleep.
6
PITT LEFT THE HOUSE the following day still feeling depressed in spirit. He and Charlotte had been civil over the breakfast table, but the old warmth was not there. The episode of the exhibition could not easily be repaired. Some of the sweetness had gone out of his life lately, the lift in his spirits as he turned towards home at the end of the day, no matter how ragged or disappointing it had been. It was not that Charlotte was not always there. That he understood and accepted. She had often spent time with Emily, or even very occasionally with her mother. And goodness knows he had long ago stopped fighting against her joining in his cases because it was unseemly, or even dangerous. In fact he was proud of her abilities to judge people he would never know except from an outside view.
It was not that. As he trudged along the dusty pavement towards the main street where he could get an omnibus, he was honest enough to admit it was because she was stepping into Emily’s world, and enjoying it. And it had been her world until she married him. It would have remained hers, had she chosen someone suited to her own social position, and her family’s expectations.
That was it. He felt guilty—and shut out. He had been invited to the opera as well, of course. Emily would never have excluded him. And he had enjoyed it—at least some of it. He did not care for the music a great deal. But then neither had most of the people who were there. It was a social event for them, not an artistic one. Everyone knew everyone else, if not in person then by repute.
The omnibus drew to a halt and he stepped on, choosing to climb the open spiral steps at the back up onto the top deck. There were plenty of seats available and he sat alone, still deep in thought.
He had looked at Charlotte more than at the stage. He had never seen her more beautiful, her hair shining and coiled, dressed by Emily’s maid, her face flushed with excitement, her eyes bright. She had loved it. That was what hurt. He would love to have been the one who took her. But all he could ever manage would be once, and it would be a great occasion. Now she had already been, and if Emily chose, would go again, as often as she wished. The top of the omnibus was open and the sun was warm on his face.
He wanted Jack Radley to succeed in Parliament, not only for Jack’s own sake, because he liked him, and for Emily, but for the good he might do. But it was not the same as when Charlotte and Emily were meddling in one of his cases and he felt as if he had a part in it. There was no way he could help Jack. In fact his relationship would more likely be a hindrance, were it known.
That was it, not very attractive, not easy to admit, but he was jealous.
The omnibus halted again for a few moments, then jerked forward as the horses began up a slight gradient, pulling hard.
On the other hand, he was justified in being angry. Charlotte had no business to go off in the afternoon simply to look at an exhibition of pictures, leaving poor Gracie to do the housework and prepare the dinner.
Which did nothing to make him feel better. Being justified was a cold thing.