Charlotte felt her own muscles knot. Was Emily hinting at another murder?
Alston’s eyes widened, and his grief was swallowed entirely by fear.
Before anyone could collect decent words to say that would not make the appalling thought irretrievable, the parlormaid opened the door and announced that Monsieur Alaric had called and would Mr. Spencer-Brown receive him?
Alston muttered something incoherent, which the girl took to be assent, and after a moment’s agonized silence in which Charlotte glanced at Emily but dared not look at Caroline, Paul Alaric came in.
“Good afternoon . . .” He hesitated; obviously the maid had not warned him that there were other guests. “Mrs. Ellison, Mrs. Pitt.” He turned to Emily, but before he could speak, Alston rose hastily to the occasion, collecting himself in some relief at a clear-cut social duty.
“Lady Ashworth, may I present Monsieur Paul Alaric.” He turned to Alaric. “Lady Ashworth is Mrs. Ellison’s younger daughter.”
Alaric shot a glance at Charlotte, brilliant with inquiry; then in perfect soberness he took the hand Emily offered him.
“How charming to see you, Lady Ashworth. I hope you are well?”
“Quite well, thank you,” Emily replied coolly. “We called to express our sympathy to Mr. Spencer-Brown. Since we have done so, perhaps we should allow you to pay your visit uninhibited by the necessity of making courteous conversation with us.” She rose gracefully and gave him a smile that was barely more than good manners.
Charlotte rose also; she had been on the point of excusing them when the parlormaid had come to announce Alaric.
“Come, Mama,” she said briskly. “Perhaps we may call upon Mrs. Charrington? I did so like her.”
But Caroline remained seated. “Really, my dear.” She leaned back in her chair and smiled. “If we depart the moment Monsieur Alaric arrives, he will think us most uncivil. There is plenty of time yet for other calls.”
Emily caught Charlotte’s eye with a sudden appreciation of the perverseness that faced them. Then she turned back to her mother.
“I’m sure Monsieur Alaric will not think ill of us.” This time she flashed a charming smile at him. “It is sensibility for Mr. Spencer-Brown that makes us withdraw, and not a lack of wish for Monsieur Alaric’s company. We must think first of others, and not of ourselves. Is that not so, Charlotte?”
“Of course it is,” Charlotte agreed quickly. “I am sure that if I were feeling distressed there would be times when the company of my own sex would be especially valuable to me.” She also turned and smiled at Alaric, and was a little disconcerted to see his eyes, bright and faintly puzzled, regarding her so closely.
“I should be flattered beyond the point of vanity, ma’am, to believe any man would prefer my company to yours,” he said with a softness in his voice, although whether it was irony or merely humor she could not tell.
“Then perhaps a little of each?” Charlotte suggested with her eyebrows raised. “Even the sweetest things become boring after a while and one longs for a variety.”
“The sweetest things,” he murmured, and this time she knew unquestionably that he was laughing at her, although there was nothing to show it in his face and she believed it was lost upon everyone else in the room.
“Let alone those with considerable acid to them,” she said.
Alston had not followed the conversation, but his innate good manners overrode his confusion. There was an ease in convention, the comfort of knowing the rules.
“I cannot imagine wishing you to leave, any of you.” His gesture embraced them all. “Please do remain a little longer. You have been so kind.”
Caroline accepted immediately, and there was nothing Charlotte or Emily could do but reseat themselves and, with as much grace as they could muster, begin a new conversation.
Caroline made it easy for them; from being merely polite and silently sympathetic, suddenly she was glowing, her intensity reaching out until it could be felt throughout the room.
“We were just encouraging Mr. Spencer-Brown to take the best care of himself,” she said warmly, looking from Alston to Alaric. “It is so easy in one’s grief for someone one has loved to forget oneself. I am sure you will be able to help him more than we can.”
“That is why I called,” Alaric said. “Social gatherings are unacceptable, naturally, but to remain alone inside the house makes everything harder to bear.” He turned to Alston. “I thought in the next few days you might like to come for a carriage ride? It can be very pleasant if the weather is fine, and you would not be required to meet anyone.”
“Do you think I should?” Alston seemed uncertain.
“Why not? Everyone must bear grief in his own manner, and those who wish you well will not grudge you whatever ease you can find. Music pleases me, and contemplating the great works of art, whose beauty survives the life and death of their creators to reach out to all pain and all aspiration. I would be happy to accompany you to any gallery you choose—or anywhere else.”
“Do you not think people might expect me to remain in?” Alston frowned anxiously. “At least until after the funeral? That is not for several days yet, you know. Friday. Yes.” He blinked. “Of course you know. How foolish of me.”
“Would you care for me to ride with you?” Alaric asked quietly. “I shall not be in the least offended if you would like to be alone, but I rather think if I were in such a situation, I should prefer not to be.”
The crease ironed out across Alston’s brow. “Would you? That really is most generous of you.”
Charlotte was thinking the same thing, and it annoyed her. She would much rather have disapproved of Paul Alaric, and have had grounds in her mind for doing so. She glanced sideways at Caroline and saw the radiance in her eyes, the softness of approval.
Then she looked at Emily and knew that she had seen it also.
