Bluegate Fields - Anne Perry [41]
But if she had been concerned about her dress, that at least was needless; some of the fashions were so outrageous that she felt quite mildly dressed by comparison. Indeed, her gown was low over the bosom and a little brief around the shoulders, but it did not look in any danger of sliding off altogether and producing a catastrophe. And, glancing around, that was more than she could say for some! Grandmama would have had apoplexy if she could have seen these ladies’ attire! As Charlotte stood watching them, keeping one hand on Dominic’s arm lest he leave her alone, their behavior was so brazen it would not have passed in the circles she was accustomed to before her marriage.
But Emily had always said high society made its own rules.
“Do you want to leave?” Dominic whispered hopefully.
“Certainly not!” she replied without giving herself time to consider, in case she accepted. “I wish to meet Esmond Vanderley.”
“Why?”
“I told you—there has been a crime.”
“I know that!” he said sharply. “And they have arrested the tutor. What on earth do you hope to achieve by talking to Vanderley?”
It was a very reasonable question and he did have a certain right to ask.
“Thomas is not really satisfied that he is guilty,” she whispered back. “There is a great deal we do not know.”
“Then why did he arrest him?”
“He was commanded to!”
“Charlotte—”
At this point, deciding that valor was the better part of discretion, she let go of his arm and swept forward to join in the party.
She discovered immediately that the conversation was glittering and wildly brittle, full of bons mots and bright laughter, glances with intimate meaning. At another time, she might have felt excluded, but today she was here just to observe. The few people who spoke to her she answered without effort to be entertaining, half her mind absorbed with watching everyone else.
The women were all expensively dressed, and seemed full of self-assurance. They moved easily from group to group, and flirted with a skill that Charlotte both envied and deplored. She could no more have achieved it than grown wings to fly. Even the plainest ones seemed peculiarly gifted in this particular skill, exhibiting wit and a certain panache.
The men were every bit as fashionable: coats exquisitely cut, cravats gorgeous, hair exaggeratedly long and with waves many a woman would have been proud of. For once, Dominic seemed unremarkable. His chiseled features were discreet, his clothes sober by comparison—and she discovered she greatly preferred them.
One lean young man with beautiful hands and a passionately sensitive face stood alone at a table, his dark gray eyes on the pianist gently rippling a Chopin nocturne on the grand piano. She wondered for a moment if he felt as misplaced here as she did. There was an unhappiness in his face, a sense of underlying grief that he sought to distract, and failed. Could he be Esmond Vanderley?
She turned to find Dominic. “Who is he?” she whispered.
“Lord Frederick Turner,” he replied, his face shadowing with an emotion she did not understand. It was a mixture of dislike and something else, indefinable. “I don’t see Vanderley, yet.” He took her firmly by the elbow and pushed her forward. “Let us go through the next room. He may be there.” Short of pulling herself free by force, she had no choice but to move as he directed.
A few people drifted up and spoke with Dominic, and he introduced Charlotte as his sister-in-law Miss Ellison. The conversation was trivial and bright; she gave it little of her attention. A striking woman with very black hair addressed them and skillfully led Dominic off, grasping his arm in an easy, intimate gesture, and Charlotte found herself suddenly alone.
A violinist was playing something that seemed to have neither beginning nor end. Within moments, she was approached by a Byronically