Callander Square - Anne Perry [68]
Her opportunity came in the afternoon. Brandy came in from a bitterly cold and wet day to warm himself by the library fire, knowing it to be the best in the house. The general was out on an errand.
Brandy came in cheerfully, rubbing his hands and shivering. He really was a most charming person; she would prefer to have liked him. She had to keep reminding herself that he was careless of feelings, indifferent to hurt, or she would have warmed to him in spite of herself.
“Hello, still working?” he smiled without a trace of condescension. “Do you like that stuff, honestly?”
“Yes, it’s extremely interesting.” For a moment she was beguiled, and was on the verge of replying with enthusiasm about the glimpses of people coming through the letters, the tendernesses, the vulnerability, the sudden harsh fears and griefs; when she remembered that she had made up her mind to speak to him about Jemima.
“Mr. Balantyne,” she said firmly.
He looked a little surprised.
“Yes?”
She stood up.
“I have a matter of some privacy to discuss with you. Do you mind if I close the door?”
“With me?” He did not yet seem embarrassed, as she had feared he might, and then easily refuse to listen.
She pushed the door and heard it catch. She turned to face him. She must hurry, the general might return at any time. It must not be left half done.
“I have formed a considerable regard for Miss Waggoner,” she began, trying to conceal her nervousness, hearing her voice go dry. “Because of my friendship for her, I do not wish to see her hurt—”
“Of course not,” he agreed. “What makes you think she is in danger of being hurt? She always looks uncommonly well to me.”
“Always?” Charlotte said quickly.
“Well, as often as I see her.” He frowned. “What is it you fear, Miss Ellison?”
There was no point in prevaricating, and she was not good at it. She wished Emily were here to put it more delicately, to be subtle. She took a deep breath.
“You do, Mr. Balantyne.”
His face fell in astonishment. It would be easy to believe he had no idea what she meant.
“I do?” he said incredulously.
She breathed in and out slowly to collect herself.
“I am aware of your relationship with Lady Carlton. If I can prevent it, I shall not let you do the same with Miss Waggoner. And do not say you do not look on servants in such a way. A man who would have an affair with his neighbor’s wife does not scruple about governesses.” She could not look at him, and felt strangely empty for having said all that was inside her.
“For God’s sake don’t—I mean—please—” There was such an urgency in his voice that she found herself lifting her eyes to meet his. His concern looked almost genuine. “Look,” he held up his hands helplessly, and let them fall again as explanation eluded him, “you don’t understand!”
She struggled to remain cold; she wished so much to relent, and like him.
“Is there something more to understand than that you found her attractive, and took advantage of her situation?” she said coolly.
“Yes, there’s everything to understand!”
“It is none of my business, but I cannot understand it if I do not know.”
“And if you don’t know, I suppose you will believe the worst, and spread it about.” There was a mounting hopelessness in his voice now, and in his face.
“Of course I shall not spread it about,” she said crossly. It was a horrible suggestion. “But I wish to make sure you do not hurt Jemima.”
“Why should I? Why Jemima?” he fenced.
“Don’t be naive! Because she finds you attractive, and does not know that you are—” she could think of no word she wished to employ.
“Very well,” he turned away. “Though I doubt you will believe me.”
She waited, looking at his dark head against the winter light of the window.
“Robert