Execution Dock - Anne Perry [88]
Or had she not been proud at all, but concealed it very well with that small show of defiance? And loyalty? Was that towards him, or her father? Did she even know that it was her father who had represented Phillips, indirectly? Had she any idea what Phillips was really like? Rathbone was only just beginning to appreciate that himself How could she know more? And if she could be loyal, could he not at least do as much?
He finished the fish. “I don't know exactly what the changes to this room are,” he said aloud, “but it is much pleasanter to eat in. I like it.”
She looked up quickly, her eyes questioning. “Do you? I'm glad. It wasn't anything very big.”
“Sometimes it is small things that make the difference between beauty and ordinariness,” he answered.
“Or good and evil?” she asked. “Small to begin with.”
This was becoming a conversation he did not wish to enter.
“That is too philosophical.” He looked down at his plate. “A little heavy for the fish course.” He smiled very slightly.
“Would you prefer it with the meat?” she asked, her voice perfectly steady. The thought flickered into his mind that Hester would have told him not to be pompous, and charged ahead with the conversation anyway. That was one of the reasons he had hesitated to ask her to marry him, and been so much more comfortable with Margaret.
“I am not sure that I know enough about the origins of good or evil to discuss them at all,” he said frankly. “But if you wish to, I suppose I could try.” It was meant to dissuade her. She would defer to him; he had been married long enough to know that of her. It was how her mother had taught her to keep her husband's regard.
Hester would have given him an answer that would have scorched his emotions and left him stinging … and fiercely alive. Perhaps he would not always have trusted her to be the lady that was Mrs. Ballinger's ideal. But … he left the thought there. It must not be pursued, not now. Not ever.
He forced himself to look at Margaret. She had her head bent, but she caught his movement and looked up at him.
“I have compared good and evil enough today, my dear,” he said quietly. “I can see too much of both sides, and the cost of each. I should very much prefer to be able to speak with you of something pleasanter, or at least less full of pitfalls and failures, and mistakes that we see too late to help.”
Her face filled with concern. “I'm sorry. I should prefer something more agreeable as well. I have spent the day trying to raise money for the clinic, mostly from people who have far more than they need, and are still desperate for something further. So many women of high fashion dress not to please the man they love, but to spite the women they fear.”
He had not intended to, but he found himself smiling. Some of the knots inside him eased. They were moving onto surer ground. “I wonder if they have any idea that you have observed them so accurately,” he remarked.
She looked alarmed, although not entirely without a flash of humor.
“My goodness, I hope not! They avoid me rapidly enough as it is, because they know I shall ask them for money, if I can manage it—at times and in places where it will be hard for them to refuse.”
His eyes widened. “I hadn't realized you were so ruthless.”
“You weren't meant to,” she retorted.
A flicker of genuine admiration touched him bringing with it a pleasure he clung to. “I shall immediately forget,” he promised. “Let us speak of other things. I am sure there must be some current event that is worthy of debate.”
The following day was Saturday; no courts were in session. Normally Rathbone would have spent at least the morning looking through documents for the following week. Finally he made up his mind to face the issue that had been troubling him for several days. He was at last honest enough to admit that ignoring it was an evasion. There would be no right