Callander Square - Anne Perry [88]
Even at dinner time the conversation passed him by. He would pay for the wedding, naturally, but he left all the arrangements, both social and practical, to Augusta. He would do as he was directed and be as charming as was required of him, but the preparations were out of his grasp.
He did not even really hear the rather unpleasant exchange between Christina and Brandy about the governess next door. As much of it as penetrated his mind seemed to consist of Christina’s disparaging her in some way and Brandy’s defending her with a vigor that would have drawn a request for explanation from him at any other time. It did trouble the back of his consciousness that perhaps Brandy was developing what seemed to be a family taste for affairs with servants. Of course for a man it was quite different, but it would show considerably more sense if he were to indulge himself a little less close to home.
After dinner he sent for Brandy to see him in the library. The butler brought the port and retired, closing the door behind him.
“Port?” Balantyne offered.
“No, thank you, bit heavy,” Brandy shook his head.
“I understand your inclinations,” Balantyne began. “Natural enough—”
“Just don’t like port a lot,” Brandy said easily.
“Not about the port!” Was he deliberately being obtuse? “About Miss whatever-her-name-is, the governess next door. Charming little thing—”
“She’s not a ‘little thing’!” Brandy said with a sudden flare of anger. “She’s a woman, just like Christina, or your Miss Ellison, or anyone else!”
“Hardly like Christina,” Balantyne said coldly.
“No, you’re right,” Brandy snapped. “She doesn’t sleep with the footmen!”
Balantyne raised his hand to strike him, outrage knotting his body. Then he saw Brandy’s calm face, set hard, unmoving. He let his hand fall. There was truth in the jibe, and he did not wish to quarrel with his son. They were utterly different, and yet he liked Brandy deeply.
“That was unnecessarily unkind,” he let his voice drop. “I dare say you have lain where you should not, at some time or other.”
To his surprise Brandy blushed deeply.
“I apologize, sir,” he said quietly. “It was a filthy thing to say. It’s just that I have a high regard for Jemima; not of the sort you supposed. As I suspect you have for Miss Ellison. And I would not insult either of them by making an advance of that nature.” He smiled a little bleakly. “I daresay one would get a thick ear if one tried. I certainly feel Miss Ellison capable of it!”
Balantyne grudged it, desperately embarrassed by Brandy’s perception. His inside was in turmoil, but he forced a smile in return.
“I dare say,” he agreed thickly. “Perhaps we had better discuss something else.”
They were not long launched on something less fraught with pitfalls when the footman announced Sir Robert Carlton, and Brandy, with unusual tact, excused himself.
Carlton also declined port, and stood a little awkwardly in the center of the floor. His face showed the fine lines of emotional strain.
“Dreadful thing about the poor Doran child,” he said jerkily. “Poor creature, poor woman. An appalling thought that she was there all the time, and we had no idea; went about our business.”
Balantyne had not thought of it in precisely that light before, and it revolted him: their obliviousness, the immediacy of life and death. They had passed so close to and so unheeding of another creature’s extremity. Dear God, did they regularly pass each other like that? Instinctively he met Carlton’s eyes. There was something entirely new in them and he could not yet understand what it was.
“About Euphemia—” Carlton said hesitantly.
Balantyne tried to show in his face some of the gentleness he wanted to feel, did feel. He said nothing, thinking it better merely to wait.
“I—” Carlton was stumbling for words. “I didn’t understand. I must have seemed—very cold—to her. She wanted a child. I—I didn’t know that. I wish—I wish she could have felt she