Rutland Place - Anne Perry [63]
“Bravo,” Emily whispered so softly that to the others it must have seemed as if she were no more than sighing.
“Charlotte!” Caroline was stunned, unable to think what to say.
“How very perceptive of you.” Emily rushed in to fill the hot silence. “And you have expressed it so well! It is a subject which has long needed some plain speaking! We delude ourselves so often to give us excuse for all sorts of behavior. Perhaps I should not, since you are my sister, but I do so commend your honesty!”
Since it was a precept Charlotte had been the last to obey in her own life, Emily’s remark could only be ironic, although there was nothing but translucent candor in her blue eyes now.
Charlotte beamed at her, daggers in her mind.
“Thank you,” she said sweetly. “You flatter me.” She stood up. “And now I, at least, must leave or I shall not have left myself time to call upon Mrs. Charrington, and I do find her so charming. Do you care to come with me, Mama? Or shall I tell her that you felt it your duty to remain here with Mr. Spencer-Brown—and Monsieur Alaric?”
Since it was manifestly ridiculous for Caroline to think anything of the sort, she had no alternative but to rise as well.
“Of course not,” she said tartly. “I should be delighted to come with you. I am very fond of Ambrosine and would like very much to call upon her. I must introduce her to Emily. Or do you know her already as well?” she added waspishly.
Emily was not in the least deterred. “No, I don’t believe I do. But Charlotte has spoken of her so kindly, I have been looking forward to meeting her.”
That was also untrue: Charlotte had never mentioned her, but it was an excellent parting line.
Alaric stood up, very straight, shoulders beautifully square, a flicker of the old laughter in his eyes, seeing them all so clearly, as a foreigner sometimes does.
“You will find her unique,” he said with a little bow. “And above all things, never, ever a bore.”
“Such a rare quality,” Charlotte murmured, blushing. “Never to be boring.”
Caroline lost her temper in frustration and reached out to kick Charlotte underneath her skirts. She missed, but the second time she caught her sharply on the ankle. The corners of her mouth lifted with satisfaction. “Quite,” she said. Then she looked at Alston, who had also risen to bid them goodbye. “If there is anything we can do, please do let me know.” Curiously she did not mention Edward, except by implication. “We are so close by and would be happy in any help or comfort we could offer—perhaps in practical arrangements?”
“How very kind of you,” Alston replied. “I should be most grateful.”
Charlotte looked straight at Alaric and met his eyes. She took a deep breath.
“I’m sure if you felt my father could offer you any help with regard to your assistance at the funeral, he would be delighted to do so.” She lifted her chin. “Perhaps he should call upon you and see what would be convenient? We have suffered bereavements ourselves, and he is a most sensitive person. I am quite convinced you would like him.” She did not look away, although she could feel the heat creeping up her face.
At last she was rewarded by an answering flash of understanding in the depths of Alaric’s eyes, and a slow color under his skin.
“Indeed.” His voice was very quiet. “I respect your purpose, Mrs. Pitt. I shall consider it gravely.”
She tried to smile, and failed. “Thank you.”
They said their formal farewells and walked to the entrance where the parlormaid was waiting, Alston having rung for her. Both doors were opened so that they might pass through without being forced into single file. Charlotte turned as they stepped into the hall and found to her considerable embarrassment that Paul Alaric was still facing them, and his eyes, wide and black, were not on Caroline, or Emily, who had also looked back, but upon herself.
The last thing she wanted was to look at Caroline, yet she found herself doing precisely that. The gaze that met hers was of one