The Shifting Tide - Anne Perry [37]
“Good evening, Sir Oliver,” she said with more guarded enthusiasm than on their earlier encounters, since he had not yet met her expectations regarding her daughter, and he had had more than adequate opportunity. However, the brightness was still there in her eyes, the single-minded concentration. She was a woman who never forgot her purpose.
“Good evening, Mrs. Ballinger,” he replied with a slight smile. “How are you?”
“I am in excellent health, thank you,” she said. “I am most fortunate in that respect, and I thank God for it every day. I see friends and acquaintances around me who suffer from this and that.” She raised her eyebrows. “So wearing, I always think, don’t you? Headaches and shortness of breath, exhaustion, or even palpitations. Such a difficulty, don’t you find?”
He was about to say that he had never suffered such afflictions when he realized the double meaning in her words. She was not really referring to herself, or to concern for the hundreds of women who were so troubled. She was telling him, in her own way, that Margaret was from good stock, not only healthy by nature but not brought up to indulge herself in fancies and complaints.
He bit back the reply that came to his tongue. “Yes,” he agreed. “One should be most grateful for such excellent health. Unfortunately, it is not enjoyed by all. But I am happy for you.”
“How generous you always are,” she said without hesitation. “I find rudeness so unattractive, don’t you? It speaks of a selfishness of nature, I always think. Please sit down, Sir Oliver.” She gestured towards the chair nearest the fire with its embroidered armrests and antimacassars over the back to protect the upholstery from gentlemen’s hair oils. “Margaret will be a few minutes yet. You are delightfully punctual.” She suited her own actions to her words, spreading her wide silk-and-lace skirts around her.
It would have been impolite for him to decline. He sat opposite her and prepared to indulge in chatter until Margaret should appear. He was very used to guarding himself. He hardly ever spoke without thought. After all, his profession, at which he was one of the most gifted men of his generation, was to plead the cause of those accused of crime and against whom there was sufficient evidence for them to stand trial. No society matron was going to discomfit him, let alone outwit him.
“Margaret tells me it is a most charming event to which you have invited her this evening,” Mrs. Ballinger observed. “Music is so civilized and yet speaks to the romantic in us at the same moment.”
He found himself irritated and defensive already. “It is a function at which they hope to raise a considerable amount of funds for charitable work,” he replied.
She smiled, showing excellent teeth. “How I admire your giving of your time to such a cause. I know it is one of the qualities Margaret finds most worthy in a man. Many people who are successful in life forget those who are less fortunate. I am so pleased to see that you are not such a one.”
She had placed him in an impossible position. What on earth could he say to that? Any answer would sound ridiculous.
She nodded. “Margaret has such a noble heart. But I am sure you are already aware of that. Good works have brought you together so many times.” She made it sound as if he had somehow contrived to see Margaret at every opportunity. He had not! Indeed, he still saw quite a variety of other ladies—at least two of whom might be considered eligible for marriage, even if they were widows.
She was waiting for him to reply. His silence was beginning to look like disagreement.
“A noble heart—indeed she has,” he said with more fervor than he had intended. “And what is more unusual, she has the courage and the selflessness to pursue it, and create of it deeds that are far-reaching.”
A shadow flashed across Mrs. Ballinger’s face. “I am so pleased you mentioned it, Sir Oliver.” She leaned forward towards him. “Of course I am happy that Margaret devotes her time to worthy causes