fair streak across the front. His features were strong, and there was intelligence and restraint in his bearing. She could well imagine that Veronica York found him most attractive.
The last member of the Danver family was Garrard’s maiden sister, Miss Adeline Danver. She was rakishly thin, her deep green dress failing to mask the sharp bones of her shoulders. Her features exaggerated the flaws in Harriet’s face—her chin was smaller, her nose more prominent—but she had the same dark eyes and fine head of hair, more faded but still thick.
“Aunt Adeline is hard of hearing,” Harriet whispered softly to Charlotte. “If she says something odd, please smile and disregard it. She frequently gets quite the wrong sense of what is said.”
“Of course,” Charlotte murmured politely.
The only other guests were Felix Asherson and his wife. A striking man with black hair and unexpectedly vivid gray eyes, he worked in the Foreign Office with Julian Danver. But it was his mouth Charlotte noticed. She could not make up her mind about it; was it sensuous and strong, or was that wide lip a sign of self-indulgence? His wife Sonia was a handsome woman with bland, regular features, empty of expression, the sort of face fashion advertisers like because it sets off a hat without drawing the eye from it in the least. Her figure was well- proportioned, and on this occasion she wore a gown in a most becoming shade of coral pink, revealing plump, milk-white shoulders.
After the formal greetings had been exchanged, the usual small talk began. Since all the others were known to each other, it centered upon Charlotte and Jack Radley, and Charlotte concentrated on giving answers that made sense factually and were also in keeping with the character she had created for herself. She was supposed to be a young woman of modest means and good breeding, and, naturally, in search of a husband. Maintaining this role required all her attention, and it was not until they were at dinner round a table gleaming with silver and crystal, partaking of a rather too salty soup, that she was able to take time to observe the rest of the company.
The conversation was still very general: comments upon the unpleasantness of the weather, then minor points of news—nothing political or even remotely contentious—and then remarks about a play that most of them had seen. Charlotte replied only when good manners demanded, which gave her time to think. She might not get this opportunity again, so she must take full advantage of it.
The things she hoped to discover were few, but they would add to the little she had learned from Pitt. How long had Julian Danver and Veronica been acquainted? Did their love predate Robert York’s death, and thus cause it? Was Julian Danver an ambitious man, either in his profession or socially? Was there a noticeable difference in their financial status, so that money might have been a motive, either for Veronica or for him?
Charlotte had grown up in a home where quality was intensely admired, even on those occasions when it could not be afforded. It was one of a well-bred young lady’s attributes that she should be able to distinguish the excellent from the merely good, and naturally also its cost. She had been in the hall and withdrawing room of the York house, and she judged that they had had money long enough to be comfortable with it. There was none of the tendency to show off which so often accompanied recent acquisition. They felt no necessity to parade new furnishings or decorations, or put objets d’art in prominent positions.
Of course, she was quite aware that people’s circumstances can change; she had seen many houses with fine rooms where guests were received, while the rest of the building lacked even a carpet and grates did not know a fire from one Christmas to another. And some prefer to keep a full complement of servants while they themselves eat barely enough to keep alive, rather than be seen to have a poor establishment. But Charlotte had noticed the women’s clothes. They were of the latest cut and there were no worn places on cuffs or elbows; nothing had been altered to fit another season, or turned to hide patches. And she had done enough of that kind of thing herself to know precisely where to look for the telltale needle holes, the slightly different shading of fabric.
Now as she pretended to listen to the conversation across the table, she glanced as discreetly as she could at the dining room and its furnishings. The whole effect was silver and blue, pale on the immaculate wallpaper, dark royal blue in the curtains, which seemed to be without the usual faded marks that the sun so quickly made in blues, which meant they were not above a season old. Perhaps that indicated a tendency to extravagance? There was a painting of a Venetian scene on the wall opposite her, but Charlotte could not tell whether it was excellent or merely agreeable. The table itself was mahogany, or at least the legs were; the top was completely covered by crisp damask of heavy quality. The chairs and two sideboards were of the Adam style, and might well be genuine.
After checking that no one was watching her, she took a quick glance to see the hallmark on the reverse of her silver spoon. Perhaps the salty soup was a mere mischance; even the best people could have an accident with a cook. Perhaps they even liked it like this.
She considered the women’s clothes again with an eye to cost as well as to the indications to character they might show. Presumably both Harriet and Aunt Adeline, as unmarried women, were dependent upon Garrard for their support. Adeline’s gown did not have the panache of high fashion, but then nothing she wore ever would; she was not that kind of person, and Charlotte guessed she never had been. Nonetheless, the dress was well cut and of excellent fabric. Much the same could be said of Harriet’s gown.
No, unless there was some hidden factor, some inheritance or the like, it did not seem as if money entered into the match.
“Don’t you, Miss Barnaby?”
She realized with a start that Felix Asherson was talking to her—but what on earth had he said?
“I find Mr. Wagner’s operas a little long-winded and I am tired some time before the end,” he repeated, looking at her with a slight smile. “I prefer something rather closer to life, don’t you? I don’t care for all this magic.”
“I’m not surprised,” Aunt Adeline put in suddenly, before Charlotte had time to find an answer. “There’s enough of it we can’t avoid as it is.”
Everyone stared at her, and Charlotte was totally confused. The remark seemed to make no sense.
“He said ‘magic,’ Aunt Addie,” Harriet said quietly. “Not ‘tragic’ ”
She did not seem in the least put out. “Oh, really? I don’t care for the magic element very much. Do you, Miss Barnaby?”
Charlotte swallowed. “I don’t think so, Miss Danver. I am not sure that I ever met with it.”
Jack coughed discreetly into his napkin, and Charlotte knew he was laughing.
Julian smiled and offered her more wine. A footman and two maids served the fish course.
“Unrequited love seems to be the theme of a great many operas and plays,” Charlotte said to break the silence.
