Half Moon Street - Anne Perry [57]
Samuel rose to his feet. “It was my pleasure, Mrs. Ellison,” he replied. He turned to Caroline and bade her farewell, thanking them both again for their hospitality, then took his leave.
When he had gone, and before Caroline could speak, the old lady stood up also, leaning heavily on her cane as if she needed it to support herself, and half turned her back. “I have a fearful headache. I am going to my room,” she announced. “You may have the maid bring my dinner upstairs to me. You would be well advised to spend the rest of the afternoon considering your behavior and your loyalties to the husband you have elected to marry. Not that you ever took advice. But you have made your bed . . . you had best learn to lie in it before you fall out and have no bed at all! You are making a complete fool of yourself. In the privacy of your own home is one thing, but if you throw yourself upon him like this in public, you will cause scandal—and rightly so. A woman who has lost her reputation has lost everything!”
She lowered her voice and stared at Caroline intently. “You had better hope that your husband does not learn of it. Consider your situation!” And with that as a parting shot she stumped out of the room and Caroline heard her heavy footsteps cross the hall to the stairs. She felt cold inside . . . and angry.
There was nothing to say. Not that she was sure what she would have said, were the old lady listening. Actually she was glad to be alone. The words stung precisely because she realized she was thinking all sorts of things which a few days ago had seemed unquestionable, matters of loyalties and beliefs and a sense of belonging.
She half turned and caught sight of herself in the glass over the mantel. At this distance she was handsome, dark hair with a warmth of color in it, only a little gray, slender neck and shoulders, features still almost beautiful, perhaps a trifle too individual to please the strictest taste. But closer to she knew she would see the telltale signs of age, the fine lines around eyes and mouth, the less-than-perfect sweep of jaw. Did Joshua see that every time he looked at her as well?
He would not be home until that evening. He was performing onstage, and she was going alone to dine with the Marchands. She did not feel in the least like going out and making pleasant conversation about trivia, but it would be better than staying there alone and wondering about herself, about Joshua, and how he saw her compared with someone like Cecily Antrim.
Had she really made as big a fool of herself as the old woman said? Would it all have been better, easier, far more honest if she had married someone her own age, with the same memories and beliefs, someone even like Samuel Ellison?
She hadn’t! She had fallen in love with Joshua, and believed it when he had said he returned her feelings. She had wanted it so much, it had been the most important thing in the world to her. Was she utterly blind, like a schoolgirl, as Mrs. Ellison said? Could she lose everything?
She turned away from the glass impatiently and went upstairs to her room to consider what she should wear for dinner. Nothing would make her feel beautiful, charming or young.
The Marchands greeted Caroline with great pleasure. They were charming, supremely civilized people who would never wittingly have made any guest less than welcome, but it was impossible not to see the genuineness of their feelings.
“How very nice to see you,” Mrs. Marchand said, coming forward from where she had been standing near a small table of flowers in the withdrawing room. The evening was not cold, but there was a fire burning in the grate and the room was warm with the glow of flames reflected on the copper fender and scuttle and the brass-and-copper fire tongs. The heavy curtains were old rose and the furniture massive and obviously comfortable. Embroidered cushions and samplers and an open book of cards and scraps gave it a look of having long been the heart of a family home, albeit a very orthodox one.
“I’m so glad you were prepared to come even without