Vespasia’s eyebrows rose even higher. “Indeed?” she said without interest. One would have thought from her expression she had never heard of Lillie Langtry. She looked her up and down, her eyes lingering for a moment on her neck and waistline, where so often age tells most unkindly. “No-of course not,” she amended. “It must be simply that our paths have not crossed.” She did not say “nor are they likely to in the future,” but it hung in the air delicately suggested.
Lillie Langtry was the most famous of London beauties sprung from nowhere, and she had been rebuffed before and had overridden it with grace. She was not going to be stopped in her triumph by one elderly lady, no matter who.
She smiled tolerantly. “No, perhaps not,” she agreed. “Do you dine very often at Marlborough House?” She was referring to the Prince of Wales and his friends, as they all knew.
Vespasia was not going to be bested. She smiled equally icily.
“Not quite my generation,” she murmured, implying that they were Mrs. Langtry’s, although they were at least a decade older.
Mrs. Langtry flushed, but battle had been joined, and she did not retreat either.
“Too much dancing, perhaps?” Mrs. Langtry looked at Aunt Vespasia’s silver-topped cane.
Vespasia’s eyes glittered. “I care for the waltz, a delightful dance, and the lancers and the quadrille. But I fear some of the modern dances are not to my liking-the cancan, for example…” She left her distaste hanging in the air.
Mrs. Langtry’s lips tightened. The cancan’s scandalous reputation was well known. It was performed by prostitutes and women of other unspeakable occupations in places like Paris, and even there it was illegal. “You dine with Her Majesty, perhaps?” she suggested, still smiling. They both knew that ever since Prince Albert had died twenty-eight years before, the Queen had ceased to entertain. Her mourning was so profound as to have caused open criticism in the land that she did not do her duty as monarch.
Vespasia raised her eyebrows. “Oh no, my dear. Her Majesty does not entertain anymore.” Then she added gently, “I am surprised you did not know that. But still-perhaps…” She left it trailing in the air, too unkind to speak aloud.
Mrs. Langtry drew in her breath but at last a retort failed her and she forced a wintry smile, relying on beauty and youth alone, which were sure cards in any game. And certainly she was an exceptionally beautiful woman.
Vespasia had filled her time richly and she did not rue its passing, or regret that which was past. She inclined her head graciously.
“Most-interesting-to have met you, Mrs. Langtry.” And she swept away before victory could in any way be turned into defeat, leaving Charlotte to bring up the rear as she chose.
She caught up with Vespasia, opening her mouth to comment, then changing her mind and assuming an air of total innocence as though she had observed none of the exchange. Charlotte swapped a little polite conversation, suppressing her laughter and seeing the bravado in Vespasia’s eye.
Then balancing a glass of champagne and wishing she knew how to manage a cake elegantly at the same time, and knowing she did not, she made her way to where Emily was talking animatedly with Fitzherbert and Lord Anstiss. Odelia Morden stood desultorily a little to one side, her blush-pink gown and parasol delicate as apple blossoms, white ribbons on her hat and white gloves immaculate. She looked more feminine even than Emily. Charlotte felt a little twist of sorrow for her. She seemed isolated, uncertain what to say or to do.
Charlotte joined the group. Fitz made way for her quickly as though she had rescued him from a sudden silence.
“How nice to see you, Mrs. Pitt. I am sure you are acquainted with Lord Anstiss?”
“Indeed.” Charlotte dropped the slightest of curtseys. “Good afternoon, Lord Anstiss.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Pitt.” He smiled back at her. He was a more dynamic man than she had remembered. She was aware not merely of an acute intelligence in his glance, but of an energy within him, a restlessness of interest seeking new knowledge, hungry for experience, curious and powerful, and a needle-sharp humor. He was not a man she would have challenged. The thought of him as a friend was exciting, as an enemy something which raised a prickle of fear.
Apparently she had interrupted a conversation. It was resumed without niceties, and she was absorbed into it easily, which was in itself a kind of compliment.
“We made up a party to see it,” Fitz was saying with a smile. “I must admit I was most keen. Madame Bernhardt has such a reputation…”
“I believe she is to do Joan of Arc next year,” Anstiss said, his eyes bright. “In French.” He glanced at Odelia.
“I should enjoy that,” she said quickly. “I think my French is well enough.”
“I am sure.” He inclined his head very slightly. “After all, we are familiar with the story, and there is something extremely satisfying about watching a drama well played out towards a predestined end of which we are acutely aware. It has a piquancy.”
She seemed aware that he had a meaning deeper than that on the surface, but not what it might be.
“I did see Henry Irving last week,” Fitz offered cheerfully. “He was quite excellent, I thought. Captured the audience completely.”
“Indeed.” Anstiss seemed unconvinced. “Mrs. Pitt? Have you seen anything of interest lately?”
“Not at the theater, my lord.” She suppressed a smile, but saw the quick leap of humor in his eyes. Then as quickly it was gone, and he turned to Fitz again.
“I imagine you will be marrying soon?” He looked in Odelia’s direction. “Are you planning the Grand Tour as a honeymoon? You could leave in a month or two and still be returned long before a general election.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately one must think of such things. I apologize for raising the subject. It seems indelicate, but however graceful and amateur we may wish to appear, politics is a very professional affair, if we wish to succeed.” His words were pleasant, his voice quite light, but there was steel beneath it, and Fitz was not the only one to realize it. An answer was required, if he wished Anstiss to consider him for selection.
Beside Charlotte, Emily drew in her breath sharply.
Fitz raised his eyes slowly, his face losing the casual interest and the ease disappearing. Odelia waited motionless, except that her fingers curled tightly on the handle of her parasol.
“Of course,” he said slowly. “The art is to make the work look like a hobby, an interest undertaken for its own sake, and the skill like an art, something a gentleman might do to fill his time.”
“Oh quite,” Anstiss agreed with a smile that touched only his lips; his eyes did not flicker. “But we have enough dilettante politicians already. We need men who are committed.”
The last trace of lightness disappeared from Fitz’s eyes. He knew he could no longer evade making an irretrievable statement, a date he would have to abide by, regardless of either his own emotions or Odelia’s.
Anstiss was waiting.
Emily opened her mouth to prompt Fitz, then changed her mind, realizing she would intrude in something too serious for such comment to be anything but misplaced.
“I-” Fitz began, then stopped, his face pale. He turned himself to meet Odelia’s gaze. It was a long, painful look, his face puckered in a mixture of apology and shame.
No one else moved, but Anstiss’s brows darkened and the skin across his cheekbones became tighter.
Fitz drew in his breath slowly. The ghost of a smile returned to his lips, but it was bravado. There was no joy in it.
“I value my career, such as it is, and I wish to serve politics wholeheartedly, if I am given the opportunity, but I do not intend to allow it to dictate my personal arrangements, or those of my family. I shall marry when it best suits all those who are concerned.” He met Anstiss’s eyes squarely, although there was still regret and courtesy in his voice. “I hope that does not sound less than civil. It is not meant to.”
There was no answering warmth in Anstiss. His brows drew together, his lips narrowed.
Emily looked at Fitz, then at Odelia. A slow wave of emotion spread up her face, compassion, anxiety, and suddenly Charlotte knew it was not unmixed with guilt. So much hung in the balance, the inflections of Fitz’s words, whether he had the courage or the depth of feeling to cast away all that he was so close to winning, Anstiss’s reaction, Odelia’s-and on all of it depended Jack’s future as well.
Emily avoided Charlotte’s eyes and stepped forward, taking Odelia’s arm.
“Come, let us leave them to talk politics. Tell me of your own thoughts-would you care to do the Grand Tour? I
