Callander Square - Anne Perry [27]
The following morning as Charlotte was surveying herself in the mirror, adjusting her dress for the tenth time and making sure yet again that her hair was both tidy and at the same time shown to its best advantage, Augusta Balantyne was staring across the breakfast table at her husband.
“Do I understand you correctly, Brandon, that you have engaged some young woman of indeterminate background and restricted means to come into this house and assist you in these family memoirs you are—” her voice froze, “occupied with?”
“No, you do not understand me, Augusta,” he replied over his cup. “Lady Ashworth, whom I gather to be a friend of yours, recommended her sister to me as a woman of intelligence and propriety, who would be willing to put my papers in order and take some notes, as I may dictate them. You will not be required to entertain her socially: though why the matter should concern you, I don’t know. She could not possibly be either plainer or more foolish than some of the women you have in here.”
“Sometimes, Brandon, I think you say such things entirely to provoke me. One cannot order one’s acquaintance on the basis of good looks, or, unfortunately, of intelligence.”
“I think they would be criteria quite as satisfactory as either birth or money,” he opined.
“Don’t be naive,” she snapped. “You know perfectly well what is of value in society and what is not. I hope you do not intend this young woman to eat in the dining room?”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“I had not considered her eating at all. But now that you mention it, perhaps cook had better prepare her something and she can eat in the library, as the governess used to.”
“The governess ate in the schoolroom.”
“The difference is academic.” He stood up. “Have Max show her into the library when she comes. You know, I dislike that man. A spell in the army would do him good.”
“He is an excellent footman, and a ‘spell in the army’ would ruin him. Please do not meddle with the governing of the household servants. That is what we employ Masters for; besides, you know nothing about it.”
He gave her a sour look and went out of the door, shutting it sharply behind him.
Augusta made it her business to be in the hallway at ten o’clock when Charlotte arrived promptly. She saw Max open the door and watched with interest, and an odd mixture of superiority and reluctant approval as Charlotte was shown in. She had expected a dowdy dress and a pinched, submissive face: instead she saw rich wine-colored skirts, a little outdated in fashion, but still flattering; and a face anything but submissive. Indeed, it was one of the most flagrant and willful faces she had ever seen, yet having at the same time a surprising gentleness in the mouth and the soft curve of cheek and throat. Definitely not a woman she wished in her house, not a woman she could like, or understand; not a woman who would be easily governed by the rules of society by which Augusta had lived all her life, had fought and won all her many intricate battles.
She sailed forward in her most frigid manner.
“Good morning, Miss—er?” she raised her brows in inquiry.
Charlotte met her eyes squarely.
“Miss Ellison, Lady Augusta,” she lied without a thought.
“Indeed.” Dislike hardened in her; she smiled barely, “I believe my husband is expecting you.” She glanced at Max who obediently went to the library door and opened it. “I understand you have come to be of some clerical assistance to him.