Paragon Walk - Anne Perry [28]
She had no illusions that George was perfect. She had accepted when she had first determined to marry him that he gambled and occasionally drank more than was good for him. She even accepted that from time to time he would flirt with other women, and normally she regarded it as harmless enough, the same sort of game she indulged in herself, just a sort of practice, a refining of one’s skills, so as not to become too domestic and taken for granted. It had been hard at times, even confusing, but she had accommodated to his manner of life with great skill.
It was only that lately she had been most unlike herself, upset over trivialities and even inclined to weep, which was appalling. She had never had patience with weepy women, or those given to fainting, for that matter—and this last month she had done both.
She excused herself and went to bed early, but although she fell asleep straight away, she awoke several times through the night, and in the morning felt miserably sick for over an hour.
She had been most unfair to Charlotte, and she knew it. Charlotte wanted to learn all she could about the Walk because she wished to protect Emily from the very things that gnawed at the back of her mind now. Part of her loved Charlotte for it, and for a hundred other reasons, but there was a loud, strident voice in her just now that hated her, because even in her old-fashioned, dull gray muslin she was secure and comfortable, with no ugly fears at the back of her mind. She knew perfectly well that Thomas was not out flirting with anyone else. No social behavior of Charlotte’s would ever make him wonder if he had been wise to marry beneath him, or if Charlotte could maintain his social position and be a credit to him. There was no pressure to produce a son to carry on the title.
Admittedly Thomas was a policeman, of all things, and quite the oddest creature, as homely as a kitchen pot and wildly untidy. But he knew how to laugh, and Emily had a knowledge inside her she kept unspoken that he was cleverer than George. Perhaps he was clever enough to find out who murdered Fanny Nash before suspicions uncovered all kinds of old guilts and wounds in the Walk, and they could keep up the small, chosen masks no one really wanted to see behind.
She could not stomach any breakfast, and it was luncheon before she saw Aunt Vespasia.
“You look very peaked, Emily,” Vespasia said with a frown. “I hope you are eating sufficiently. In your condition, it is most important.”
“Yes, thank you, Aunt Vespasia.” Indeed she was hungry now and took herself a very liberal portion.
“Hmph!” Vespasia picked up the tongs and helped herself to half the amount. “Then you are worrying. You must not mind Selena Montague.”
Emily looked up at her sharply.
“Selena? Why should you think I am worrying about Selena?”
“Because she is an idle woman who has neither husband nor child to concern herself with,” Vespasia said tartly. “She has set her cap, unsuccessfully so far, at the Frenchman. Selena does not care for failure. She was her father’s favorite child, you know, and she has never got over it.”
“She is perfectly welcome to Monsieur Alaric, as far as I am concerned,” Emily replied. “I have no interest in him.”
Vespasia gave her a sharp look.
“Nonsense, child, every healthy woman has an interest in a man like that. When I look at him, even I can remember what it was like to be young. And believe me, when I was young, I was beautiful. I would have made him look at me.”
Emily felt the laughter inside her.
“I’m sure you would, Aunt Vespasia. I wouldn’t be surprized if he preferred your company even now!”
“Don’t flatter me, child. I’m an old woman, but I haven’t lost my wits.”
Emily remained smiling.
“Why didn’t you tell me about your sister before?” Vespasia demanded.
“I did. I told you about her the day after you came, and later I told you she had married a policeman.”
“You said she was not conventional, I grant you. Her tongue is a disaster, and she walks as though she thought herself a duchess. But you did not say that