Death in the Devil's Acre - Anne Perry [54]
Emily’s foot came out sharply and met only piles of skirt. She looked at Charlotte with acute suspicion out of the corner of her eye. Charlotte smiled ravishingly at Alan Ross.
At that moment the door opened and the footman ushered in General Balantyne and Lady Augusta. George and Alan Ross both rose to their feet, and the rest of the party remained perfectly still. Balantyne stared at Charlotte until she could feel the color burn in her face. She wished desperately that Emily had not lied and introduced her as Miss Ellison.
Christina broke the pattern. She stood up and sailed forward, arms stretched in a theatrical gesture stopping just short of embracing her father. “Papa, how delightful to see you!” She half turned and held out a cool cheek to Lady Augusta. “Mama! You know Lord Ashworth, of course.”
Formal acknowledgments were made, George bowing gracefully.
“And Lady Ashworth.” Her voice dropped to a tone distinctly chillier.
Emily had risen, as was fitting for a younger woman to an elder when they both possessed titles. Again the acknowledgments were made.
Christina turned at last to Charlotte, also, of course, now standing. “And perhaps you recall Miss Ellison, who was so kind as to assist Papa with some clerical work a few years ago?”
“Indeed.” Augusta did not wish to be reminded of that time, or of anything to do with it. “Good evening, Miss Ellison.” Her incomprehension that Charlotte should be included in the company at all clearly showed.
“Good evening, Lady Augusta.” Suddenly, Charlotte’s guilt vanished, and she stared back as coldly as she imagined Augusta herself might have if confronted with a débutante who did not know her place.
There was a faint tinge of color on the general’s high cheekbones. “Good evening, Miss Ellison.” He caught something in his throat and coughed. “How pleasant to see you again. I was thinking of you only the other day—” He stopped. “That is—a certain event brought you to mind.”
“I have remembered you often.” Charlotte wanted to rescue him, and what she said was almost true. She never heard or read of any military event without in one way or other associating it with him.
Christina’s raised eyebrows showed her amazement. “Oh dear! I had no notion we had become so fixed in your mind, Miss Ellison—or perhaps you are referring only to Papa?”
Charlotte wanted to hurt her. “The circumstances of our meeting were not common enough in my life for me to forget anything of them,” she said, meeting Christina’s eyes icily. She saw Christina pale at the memory of murder. “But of course I learned to admire the general very much as I became acquainted with his memoirs. I am sure, knowing him so much better, you must share my regard.”
Christina’s face tightened. “Naturally—but then he is my father! That is an entirely different thing—Miss Ellison.”
The color deepened in Balantyne’s face, but he seemed to find nothing to say.
“You never read your father’s military papers, my dear.” It was Alan Ross who rescued them. “A daughter’s affection is quite a different emotion from the respect of someone quite impartial.”
The pink drained out of Balantyne’s cheeks and he turned away quickly. “Of course it is,” he said with some tartness. “I cannot imagine you meant that as it sounded, Christina. Miss Ellison was merely being courteous.” He did not look at Charlotte, but settled himself talking instead to George.
Emily engaged herself with Christina, leaving Charlotte to try to balance an awkward conversation with Alan Ross and Lady Augusta. She was immensely relieved when dinner was announced.
The table was rich, and Charlotte noticed Emily looking it over and probably adding up what she judged it to have cost. Emily knew the quality of crystal, silver, and napery to a nicety, and she was also precisely aware of what a cook was worth. Charlotte caught her eye a few moments after they had sat down, and