The girl managed to untangle herself and fled, sobbing now. Neville Forsbrook remained where he was with a half smile on his face, which quickly changed to a look of bewilderment. He shrugged and spread his hands, elegant and strong, but the shadow of a smile remained. Was it out of embarrassment, or was there still the faintest hint of mockery there? Charlotte wasn’t sure.
Someone stepped forward and began a polite conversation about nothing in particular. Others joined in gratefully. After a few moments the hum of voices resumed, the rustle of skirts, distant music, the slight sound of feet moving on the polished floor. It was as if nothing had happened.
“That was very ugly,” Charlotte said to Vespasia as soon as she was certain they were not overheard. “What an insensitive young man.”
“He must feel foolish,” Vespasia replied with a touch of sympathy.
“What on earth was that all about?” a dark-haired woman near them asked confusedly.
The elderly man with her shook his head. “Young ladies tend to be rather excitable, my dear. I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s just some misunderstanding, no doubt.”
“Who is she, anyway?” the woman asked him, glancing at Charlotte also, in case she could shed light on it.
“Angeles Castelbranco. Pretty young thing,” the elderly man remarked, not really to anyone. “Going to be a beautiful woman.”
“That’s hardly relevant, James!” his wife snapped. “She doesn’t know how to behave! Imagine her doing that at a dinner party!”
“Quite bad enough here, thank you,” another woman joined in. The brilliance of her diamonds and the sheen on her lush green silks could not disguise the bitterness of her expression.
Charlotte was stung to the girl’s defense. “I’m sure you are right,” she said, meeting the woman’s eyes boldly. “You must know far more about it than we do. All we saw was what appeared to be a rather self-assured young man quite clearly embarrassing a foreign ambassador’s daughter. I have no idea what preceded it, or how it might more kindly have been handled.”
Charlotte felt Vespasia’s hand fall very lightly on her arm again, but she ignored it. She kept the fixed, inquiring smile on her face and did not lower her gaze.
The woman in green colored angrily. “You give me too much credit, Mrs …. I’m afraid I do not know your name …” She left the denial hanging in the air, not so much a question as a dismissal. “But of course I am well acquainted with Sir Pelham Forsbrook, and therefore his son, Neville, who has been kind enough to show a very flattering interest in my youngest daughter.”
Pitt now rejoined them with a glance at Vespasia, but Charlotte did not introduce either him or herself to the woman in green. “Let us hope it is more graciously expressed than his unflattering interest in Miss Castelbranco,” she continued in a tone so sweet as to be sickly. “But of course you will make sure of that. You are not in a foreign country and uncertain how to deal with ambiguous remarks from young men directed toward your daughter.”
“I do not know any young men who make ambiguous remarks!” the woman snapped back, her eyebrows arched high.
“How pleasant for you,” Charlotte murmured.
The elderly man coughed, and raised his handkerchief to conceal his mouth, his eyes dancing.
Pitt turned his head away as if he had heard some sudden noise to attract his attention, and accidentally pulled Charlotte with him, although in truth she was perfectly ready to leave. That had been her parting shot. From here on it could only get worse. She gave a dazzling smile to Vespasia, and saw an answering sparkle in her eyes.
“What on earth are you doing?” Pitt demanded softly as soon as they were out of earshot.
“Telling her she’s a fool,” Charlotte replied. She had thought her meaning was obvious.
“I know that!” he retorted. “And so does she. You have just made an enemy.”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “That may be unfortunate, but being her friend would have been even more so. She’s a social climber of the worst sort.”
“How do you know? Who is she?” he asked.
“I know because I’ve just seen how she acts. And I have no idea who she is, nor do I care.” She knew she might regret saying that, but just at the moment she was too angry to curb her temper. “I am going to speak to Senhora Castelbranco and make sure her daughter is all right.”
“Charlotte …”
She broke free, turned for a moment and gave him the same dazzling smile she had offered Vespasia, then moved into the crowd toward where she had last seen the Portuguese ambassador’s wife.
It took her ten minutes more to find her. Senhora Castelbranco was standing near one of the doorways, her daughter with her. The girl was the same height as her mother, and even prettier than she had appeared at a distance. Her eyes were dazzling, and her skin softly honey-colored with a faint flush across her cheeks. She watched Charlotte approach them with an alarm that she could not hide, even though she was clearly trying to.
Charlotte smiled at her briefly, then turned to her mother. “I’m so sorry that wretched young man was rude. It must be impossibly difficult for you to do anything, in your diplomatic position. It really was inexcusable of him.” She turned to the girl, then realized she was uncertain how fluent her English might be. “I hope you are all right?” she said a little awkwardly. “I apologize. We should have made sure you were not placed in such an ugly situation.”
Angeles smiled, but her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, I am quite all right, madam, I assure you. I … I am not hurt. I …” She gulped. “I just did not know how to answer him.”
Isaura put a protective arm around her daughter’s shoulder. “She is well, of course. Just a little embarrassed. In our own language she would’ve known what to say.” She gave a little shrug. “In English one is not always sure if one is being amusing, or perhaps insulting. It is better not to speak than risk saying something one cannot later withdraw.”
“Of course,” Charlotte said, although she felt uneasy. It seemed like Angeles had actually been far more distressed than they were admitting. “The more awkward the situation, the harder it is to find the words in another language,” she agreed. “That is why he should have known better than to behave as he did. I am so sorry.”
Isaura smiled at her, her dark eyes unreadable. “You are very kind, but I assure you there is no harm done beyond a few moments’ unpleasantness. That is unavoidable in life. It happens to all of us at some time or another. The Season is full of events. I hope we will meet again.”
It was gracious, but it was also a dismissal, as if they wished to be left alone for a while, perhaps even to leave.
“I hope so too,” Charlotte agreed, and excused herself. Her feeling of unease was, if anything, greater.
As she returned to where she had left Pitt, she passed several groups of people talking. One of half a dozen included the woman in green, of whom she had undoubtedly made an enemy.
“Very excitable temperament,” she was saying. “Unreliable, I’m afraid. But we have no choice except to deal with them, I suppose.”
“No choice at all, so my husband informs me,” another assured her. “It seems we have a treaty with Portugal that is over five hundred years old, and for some reason or another, we consider it important.”
“One of the great colonial powers, I’m told,” a third woman said with a lift of her fair eyebrows, as if the fact was scarcely credible. “I thought it was just a rather agreeable little country off the west side of Spain.” She gave a tinkling laugh.
Charlotte was unreasonably irritated, given that she knew very little more of Portuguese colonial history than the woman who had spoken.
“Frankly, my dear, I think she had possibly taken rather too much wine and was the worse for it,” the woman in green said confidentially. “When I was sixteen we never drank more than lemonade.”
The second woman leaned forward conspiratorially. “And too young to be engaged, don’t you think?”
“She is engaged? Good heavens, yes.” Her voice was emphatic. “Should wait another year, at the very least. She is far too immature, as she has just most unfortunately demonstrated. To whom is she engaged?”
“That’s the thing,” the third woman said, shrugging elegantly. “Very good marriage, I believe. Tiago de Freitas. Excellent family. Enormous amount of money, I think from Brazil. Could it be Brazil?”
