Southampton Row - Anne Perry [62]
She stared at Rose now, at the wry, eccentric elegance of her, the passion in her face so easy to read behind the thin veneer of sophistication. She pretended she had everything, but there was some wound there, raw and easy to see, even if its nature was not.
“Why did you go to Maude Lamont?” Emily said bluntly. “You’re going to have to tell Pitt one day. He’ll go on looking until he finds out, and in the process uncover all sorts of other things you might very much rather were kept discreet.”
Rose’s eyebrows arched. “Really? You sound as if you know him. He hasn’t been investigating you, has he?” It was said mockingly, a joke to divert the attention, and with an edge of challenge in it sharp enough to make Emily respond—at least that was what was intended.
“It would be a waste of his time, and hardly necessary,” Emily said with a smile. “He’s my brother-in-law. He already knows everything about me that he wishes to.” It was momentary amusement to watch the shock in Rose’s face, the hesitation as she struggled to decide whether Emily was making fun of her or not, and then a surge of anger when she realized it was true.
“That dashed policeman is some kind of a relative of yours?” she said with disgust. “I think in the circumstances you might have mentioned it!” She made a quick little gesture of dismissal. “Although I suppose if I were related to a policeman, I wouldn’t tell anyone, either! Not that I would be!” It was said as an insult, and meant as such.
Emily felt the anger rise up inside her, hot and harsh. She rose to her feet with a retort already formed just as the door opened and Aubrey Serracold came in. His long, fair face had its usual air of wry good humor and the slight twist to his mouth as if he would smile were he certain quite when and to whom it was appropriate. His pale hair fell a little forward, lopsidedly, over his brow. As always, he was immaculately dressed, today in a black jacket and faintly striped trousers, his cravat perfectly tied. His valet probably regarded it as an art form. The chill was glaringly apparent in the positions and the stiffness of both women, the distance between them and the way they were half turned. But good manners directed that he affect not to have noticed.
“Emily, how nice to see you,” he said with such natural pleasure it was possible to believe for a moment that he was oblivious of the atmosphere. He came towards her, touching Rose on the arm in a gesture of affection as he passed her. “You are standing,” he observed to Emily. “I hope that means you have just arrived, not that you are just leaving? I am feeling a trifle bruised around the edges, like an overripe dessert peach that too many people have picked up and then decided against.” He smiled ruefully. “I had no idea how terribly tedious it would be arguing with people who are really not listening to a word you say, and have long since decided what you mean, and that it is nonsense. Have you had tea?”
He looked around for signs of a tray or any other evidence of recent refreshment. “Perhaps it’s too late. I think I’ll have a whiskey.” He reached for the bell cord to fetch the butler. A flash in his eye betrayed that he knew he was talking too much to cover the silence, but he went on anyway. “Jack did warn me that most people have already made up their minds what they believe, which will be either the same as their fathers before them—and grandfathers, too—or in a few instances the direct opposite, and that argument of any sort is so much wind in the trees. I admit I thought he was being cynical.” He shrugged. “Give him my apologies, Emily. He is a man of infinite sagacity.”
Emily forced herself to smile back at him. She disagreed with Aubrey over a score of things, mostly political, but she could not help herself from liking him, and none of this was his fault. His company was sharp, immediate and very seldom unkind. “Just experience,” she answered him. “He says people vote with their hearts, not their