Death in the Devil's Acre - Anne Perry [48]
May was also delighted. They were young enough to gossip a little, and perhaps before too long even extend her an invitation. A private dinner would not be unseemly; after all, she had not actually been betrothed to Bertie! The more she thought about it, the more she considered it would be best to maintain a gentle and dignified silence upon the whole affair. Let people interpret that as they wished; to say nothing was always safer than to commit oneself. And a great many men preferred women without too many opinions of their own. And—rather more to the point in the marriage stakes—their mothers always approved. Silence and a sweet smile were taken as signs of an obedient nature, a thing much to be desired in a daughter-in-law.
Lady Ashworth was dressed in the height of fashion, in a subdued color that made her look all the more elegant. Her sister was far less fashionable, but undeniably handsome. Indeed her face was quite individual; there was a warmth in it May found herself drawn to.
“My dear.” Lady Ashworth came forward, her hands outstretched, and took May’s before she could readily think of anything to say. “I am so sorry. I had to come and assure you of my sympathy in your distress.”
May had been distressed, but not as Lady Ashworth supposed. She had not been especially fond of Bertie. In fact, she greatly preferred Beau Astley; he was better-looking and a good deal more fun. But one had to be practical. He had been a younger son with very few prospects, and he would have had even fewer when Bertie married and there was a new mistress in Astley House.
She re-collected herself and smiled sadly. “Thank you, Lady Ashworth, that is most sensitive of you. I can still hardly believe that anyone I knew could meet with such a dreadful fate.”
Mrs. Woolmer cast her a warning glance. She must not say anything to link herself irretrievably with the Astleys. They might turn out to have possessed heaven knew what disgusting habits! For all the newspapers’ genteelisms, one knew where he had been found. But May was perfectly aware of all the pitfalls and had no intention of falling into any of them.
Lady Ashworth introduced her sister Mrs. Pitt, and the ladies accepted seats graciously. “Life can give us some cruel surprises,” Emily observed, her expression one of wise sorrow. “They can be very hard to bear.” She lowered her head, apparently overcome with her own thoughts.
May felt compelled to say something; good manners demanded it. “Indeed. I—I realize now how little I knew him. I had never imagined such a ...” She stopped because there was no satisfactory conclusion to that sentence. She looked frankly at Lady Ashworth’s sister Mrs. Pitt. “I believe I must be most lamentably innocent. I fear the less charitable might be laughing at me already.”
“The envious,” Mrs. Pitt corrected generously. “And they will always be there. The only way to avoid them is to fail where they may see it and be satisfied. I assure you, no person of worth will feel anything but understanding for you. It is a situation in which any woman might find herself.”
May had a fluttering, nervous feeling that Mrs. Pitt was referring to her indecision about Beau Astley with a very acute perception, and not at all to her grief for Bertie. It was uncomfortable to have her motives so thoroughly perceived. She looked at Lady Ashworth and saw the same frank understanding in her clear blue eyes. She decided at once to enlist them as allies. May was blessed with one virtue of perspicacity; she knew precisely whom she could deceive and whom she could not.
She let out a sigh and smiled disarmingly. “What a relief it is to know someone who really does understand. So many people speak kindly, but they think only of a natural grief at losing a friend.”
Mrs. Woolmer fidgeted, twisting her hands in her lap. She did