Betrayal at Lisson Grove - Anne Perry [68]
‘Thank you,’ she said a little coolly.
He caught the intonation, and smiled. ‘Did you wish to decline?’ he asked, eyebrows raised.
She looked at his dark face, at the mercurial amusement and awareness of the absurdity of it in his eyes. To have taken the slightest notice of his pride now would be idiotic. He was facing disgrace, and a loneliness deeper than anything she had known. If he failed in this, Pitt too might lose his ability to support his family.
‘No, of course not,’ she replied, smiling at Narraway. ‘I am just a little nervous about it. I met some of them at Bridget Tyrone’s party, and I am not sure that the encounter was entirely amicable.’
‘I can imagine,’ he said wryly. ‘But I know you, and I know something of Dolina. Tea should be interesting. And you’ll like the art. It is Impressionist, I think.’ He rose from the table.
‘Victor!’ She used his name for the first time without thinking, until she saw his face, the quickening, the sudden vulnerability. She wanted to apologise but that would only make it worse. She forced herself to smile up at him where he stood, half turned to leave. He was naturally elegant; his jacket perfectly cut, his cravat tied with care.
She hardly knew how to begin, and yet certain necessity compelled her.
He was waiting.
‘If I am to go to the exhibition I would like to purchase a new blouse.’ She felt the flush of embarrassment hot in her face. ‘I did not bring—’
‘Of course,’ he said quickly. ‘We will go as soon as you have finished your breakfast. Perhaps we should get two. You cannot be seen in precisely the same costume at every function. Will you be ready in half an hour?’ He glanced at the clock on the mantel.
‘Good heavens! I could have luncheon as well in that time. I shall be ready in ten minutes,’ she exclaimed.
‘Really? Then I shall meet you at the front door.’ He looked surprised, and quite definitely pleased.
They walked perhaps three hundred yards, then quite easily found a hansom to take them into the middle of the city. Narraway seemed to know exactly where he was going and stopped at the entrance to a very elegant couturier.
Charlotte imagined the prices, and knew that they would be beyond her budget. Surely Narraway must know what Pitt earned? Why was he bringing her here?
He opened the door for her and held it.
She stood where she was. ‘May we please go somewhere a little less expensive? I think this is beyond what I should spend, particularly on something I may not wear very often.’
He looked surprised.
‘Perhaps you have never bought a woman’s blouse before,’ she said a little tartly, humiliation making her tongue sharp. ‘They can be costly.’
‘I wasn’t proposing that you should buy it,’ he replied. ‘It is necessary in pursuit of my business, not yours. It is rightly my responsibility.’
‘Mine also . . .’ she argued.
‘May we discuss it inside?’ he asked. ‘We are drawing attention to ourselves standing in the doorway.’
She moved inside quickly, angry with both him and herself. She should have foreseen this situation and avoided it somehow.
An older woman came towards them, dressed in a most beautifully cut black gown. It had no adornment whatever, the sheer elegance of it was sufficient. She was the perfect advertisement for her establishment. Charlotte would have loved a gown that fitted so exquisitely. She still had a very good figure, and such a garment would have flattered her enormously. She knew it, and the temptation to enquire into the purchase was so sharp she could feel it like a sweet taste in her mouth.
‘May we see some elegant blouses, please?’ Narraway asked. ‘Suitable for attending an exhibition