Cardington Crescent - Anne Perry [22]
“I’ve always thought visiting the poor was probably more offensive to them than leaving them decently alone,” she went on. “But I think Tassie really did some good. She seems so very honest.”
“She is.” He bit his lip. “Although she’s not yet in Charlotte’s class, thank heaven. But perhaps that’s only a matter of time; she doesn’t have as many opinions yet.” He stood up, wary lest he overstay and risk the precious fragment regained between them. He hesitated, and for a moment the indecision flickered on his face. Dare he bend and kiss her, or was it too soon? Yes—yes, it was still too fragile, Sybilla too recent. He reached out and touched her shoulder and then withdrew his hand. “Good night, Emily.”
She looked at him solemnly. If he came back it must be on her terms, or it would only happen again, and she would not willingly suffer that. “Good night, George,” she replied gently. “Sleep well.”
He went out slowly, the dog pattering after him, and the door clicked shut. She curled up on the bed and hugged her knees, feeling tears of relief prickle in her eyes and run smoothly and painlessly down her cheeks. It was not over, but the terrible helplessness was gone. She knew what to do. She sniffed fiercely, reaching for a handkerchief, and blew her nose hard. It was loud and unladylike—distinctly a sound of triumph.
4
EMILY SLEPT WELL for the first time in weeks and woke late, with the sun filling the room and Millicent rapping on the door.
“Come in,” she said hazily. George was still in the dressing room; there was no need to think of privacy. “Come in, Millie.”
The door opened and Millicent swept in, balancing the tray on one hand while closing the door behind her. She then carried the tray to the dresser and put it down.
“What a mess there is in that there upstairs pantry, m’lady,” she said, pouring the tea carefully. “Never seen anything like it. One moment everybody’s there; the next, kettle’s filling the ’ole place wi’ steam and not a soul to take it off. Such a fuss, all ’cause ’is lordship likes coffee instead o’ tea—although I don’t know ’ow ’e can drink it first thing. Anyhow, Albert took it to ’im quarter of an hour since an’ saw ’e ’d got that little dog of Mrs. March’s lying up there, too. Taken a proper fancy to ’is lordship, it ’as. Makes the old lady ever so cross.” She came over and held out the cup.
Emily sat up, took it, and began to sip. It tasted hot and clean. Already the day felt promising.
“What’d you fancy to wear this morning, m’lady?” Millicent drew the curtains briskly. “’Ow about the apricot muslin? Right pretty shade, that is. And not everyone as can get away with it. Makes some look sallow.”
Emily smiled. Millicent had obviously made up her mind.
“Good idea,” she agreed. “Is it warm outside?”
“It will be, m’lady. And if you’re going calling this afternoon, what about the lavender?” Millicent was full of ideas. “And the white wi’ the black velvet trim this evening. Very fashionable, that is, and ever such a good swish to it when you walk.”
Emily conceded, finished the tea, and got up to begin her morning toilette. Today everything had an air of victory about it.
When she was ready and Millicent had gone, she went to the dressing room door and knocked. There was no answer. She hesitated, on the point of knocking again, but suddenly becoming self-conscious. What was there to say except good morning? She should not behave like a simpering bride! She would only embarrass George and make herself ridiculous. Far better to be natural. Anyway, he had not answered; no doubt he was already downstairs.
But there was no sign of him in the breakfast room. Eustace was as usual, moon-faced and beaming with good health. He had thrown the windows open, as was his habit, regardless of the fact that the room faced west and was decidedly chilly. His plate was piled high in front of him with sausages, eggs, deviled kidneys,