The Hyde Park Headsman - Anne Griffin Perry [174]
The maid brought the lemonade, which was delicious, and Charlotte continued to ask him questions about his experiences, which he answered easily. Mina sat upright on the sofa, her hands folded in her lap, a small smile on her lips, completely at ease.
But time was slipping by. Charlotte had accomplished nothing decisive enough to prove her point. If Bart Mitchell were Dulcie’s lover then he was masking his feelings with consummate skill. But then the more she knew of him, the more did she believe that such a thing would be both natural and easy for him. He would not betray a woman he loved, either intentionally or by lack of thought or self-mastery.
She felt increasingly foolish with every passing moment. Please Heaven Emily was doing better. She must plunge in, whatever the cost. She must at least try!
“How long have you been returned from Africa, Mr. Mitchell?” she asked with wide eyes. Actually it was not proving as difficult to flirt with him as it might have. He was, on closer acquaintance, a most pleasing person, and most comely of appearance.
“Since the autumn of last year, Mrs. Pitt,” he answered.
“Oh—some time.” The words slipped out involuntarily. She swallowed, hoping the disappointment in them did not sound as clear to his ears as it did to hers. Still, perhaps that was not too long in which to fall in love—for some people. She could not imagine taking so long herself. And Bart Mitchell did not look like a man to take above half a year for his emotions to become engaged. “Do you enjoy London society, or does it seem very tame after all your adventures?” It was a clumsy question. It invited only a polite answer. “Oh—I beg your pardon!” She hurried on. “How can you say anything but that you do? But please give me a more honest reply, if you miss the sense of danger and something new each day.” She was talking far too quickly, and yet she seemed unable to moderate herself. “The challenge to your imagination and courage, your ability to endure hardship, and to invent your way out of shortage or loss.”
“My dear Mrs. Pitt.” He smiled at her with what seemed to be quite genuine amusement. “I assure you, I had no intention of giving you an answer that was merely civil. I do not take you for a woman who passes her time in idle chatter. In fact, I think there is probably purpose to most of what you do.”
She felt her face burn. That was far closer to the truth than, please Heaven, he had any idea!
“Oh,” she said uselessly. “I—er …”
“To answer your question,” he continued, “of course there is a great deal I miss about Africa, and times when London seems intolerably tame, but there are also many times when I look around at the greenness of gardens and the freshness of spring flowers, the gracious buildings, and know how much permanent and civilized life there is behind the facades, how much beauty and invention, and I am excited to be here too.”
She kept her eyes lowered. “Shall you be returning to Africa, Mr. Mitchell?”
“One day, I imagine,” he replied quite casually.
“But you have no immediate plans?” She held her breath for his reply.
“None,” he said with a lift of amusement in his voice.
“Of course,” she said very gently. “Mrs. Arledge will be so glad. But then you would hardly have left her.” She looked up swiftly to catch his expression.
There was not the faintest guilt in it, only complete incomprehension.
“I beg your pardon?” he said, frowning a trifle.
She had never felt more completely foolish in her life. She had flirted shamelessly with a thoroughly decent man, and wittered on as if her brain were stuffed with feathers, and now she could think of no graceful way whatever of extricating herself.
“Oh …” She struggled desperately. “I fear I have expressed myself very badly. I think I have misunderstood