Paragon Walk - Anne Perry [60]
“Probably,” she answered. “And I dare say his words will provide fuel for indignation for weeks to come.”
“Oh indeed. We shall have to make a great deal of noise to convince ourselves all over again that we are right and that nothing really can or should be changed.”
Charlotte stiffened. “You are trying to make me seem a cynic, Monsieur Alaric, and I find cynicism very unattractive. I think it is a rather facile excuse. One pretends nothing can be done; therefore, one can do nothing and feel perfectly justified. I think it is only another kind of dishonesty, and one I like even less.”
He suddenly surprised her by smiling broadly and quite without disguise.
“I didn’t think any woman could disconcert me, and you have just done it. You are quite appallingly honest; there is no way of entangling you in yourself.”
“Did you wish to?” Why on earth should she feel so pleased? It was quite ridiculous!
Before he could reply, they were joined by Jessamyn Nash, her face as blemishless as a camellia and her cool eyes sweeping over Alaric before settling on Charlotte. They were wide, blazing blue, and intelligent.
“How charming to see you again, Mrs. Pitt. I had no idea you were going to visit us so often! Is not your own circle of society missing you dreadfully?”
Charlotte stared back at her without a flicker, smiling into the marvelous eyes.
“I hope so,” she said lightly. “But I shall support Emily whenever I can, until this tragic business is resolved.”
Jessamyn had more composure than Selena. Her face softened, the full mouth easing into a warm smile.
“How generous of you. Still, I dare say you may enjoy the change?”
Charlotte took her point perfectly, but kept up her innocence. She would match smile for smile if it choked her. She had no gift for guile, but she had always known that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.
“Oh quite,” she agreed. “We have nothing so dramatic where I live. I don’t think there has been a rape or a murder for years! In fact, maybe never!”
Paul Alaric tore out his handkerchief and sneezed into it. Charlotte could see his shoulders shaking with laughter, and the color burned up her face in exhilaration.
Jessamyn was white. Her voice, when it came, was as brittle as glass splinters.
“And perhaps not soirees like this, either? You must permit me to advise you, as a friend! One should circulate, speak to everyone. It is considered good manners, especially if one is in some degree or other a hostess, or connected with the hostess. You should not allow it to become obvious that you prefer one guest to another— however much you may do so!”
The shot was perfect. Charlotte had no choice but to leave, the heat flaming in her neck and bosom that Alaric might already imagine she had sought his company. And what was worse, her embarrassment now could only confirm it. She was furious and swore she would disabuse him of the idea that she was one of those stupid women who spent their time pursuing him! With a stiff smile she excused herself and sailed away, head so high she nearly fell over the step between the two reception rooms, and was still regaining her balance when she collided with Lady Tam-worth and Miss Lucinda.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered in apology. “I do beg your pardon.”
Lady Tamworth stared at her, obviously noting her high color and the clumsiness of her deportment. Her thoughts regarding young women who drink too much in the afternoon were apparent in her face.
Miss Lucinda was on quite another tack. She grasped Charlotte fiercely with her plump little hand.
“May I ask you, quite confidentially, my dear, how well does Lady Ashworth know the Jew?”
Charlotte’s eyes followed Miss Lucinda’s to a slender young man with olive complexion and dark features.
“I don’t know,” she said immediately, glancing at Lady Tamworth. “If you like, I shall ask her?”
But they were not abashed.