called for the footman in the night?
Alaric was still waiting, composed, but a pucker of question between his brows. She had forgotten what he had said and was obliged to ask.
“I beg your pardon?”
“A most generous lie,” he repeated.
“Lie?”
“To say that you feel better for going to church. I cannot believe it was the truth. You have not the enchantment of mystery, Mrs. Pitt. You are an open book. All your fascination lies in wondering what devastating truth you will deliver next. I doubt you could lie successfully, even to yourself!”
What did he mean by that? She preferred not to think. Honesty was her only skill, and her only safety against him.
“The success of the lie depends a great deal upon how much the hearer wishes to believe it,” she replied.
He smiled very slowly, very sweetly.
“And therein lies the entire foundation of Society,” he agreed. “How terrifyingly perceptive of you. You had better not tell anyone else. You will ruin the whole game, and then what will there be left for them to do?”
She swallowed hard and refused to meet his eyes. With great care, she took the conversation back to the previous point.
“I lie very well, sometimes!”
“Which returns me to the sermons in church, does it not? The comfortable lies we repeat over and over again because we wish them to be true. I wonder what Lady Ashworth’s poet will have to say? Whether we agree or not, I think the faces of the audience will be vastly entertaining, don’t you?”
“Probably,” she answered. “And I dare say his words will provide fuel for indignation for weeks to come.”
“Oh indeed. We shall have to make a great deal of noise to convince ourselves all over again that we are right and that nothing really can or should be changed.”
Charlotte stiffened. “You are trying to make me seem a cynic, Monsieur Alaric, and I find cynicism very unattractive. I think it is a rather facile excuse. One pretends nothing can be done; therefore, one can do nothing and feel perfectly justified. I think it is only another kind of dishonesty, and one I like even less.”
He suddenly surprised her by smiling broadly and quite without disguise.
“I didn’t think any woman could disconcert me, and you have just done it. You are quite appallingly honest; there is no way of entangling you in yourself.”
“Did you wish to?” Why on earth should she feel so pleased? It was quite ridiculous!
Before he could reply, they were joined by Jessamyn Nash, her face as blemishless as a camellia and her cool eyes sweeping over Alaric before settling on Charlotte. They were wide, blazing blue, and intelligent.
“How charming to see you again, Mrs. Pitt. I had no idea you were going to visit us so often! Is not your own circle of society missing you dreadfully?”
Charlotte stared back at her without a flicker, smiling into the marvelous eyes.
“I hope so,” she said lightly. “But I shall support Emily whenever I can, until this tragic business is resolved.”
Jessamyn had more composure than Selena. Her face softened, the full mouth easing into a warm smile.
“How generous of you. Still, I dare say you may enjoy the change?”
Charlotte took her point perfectly, but kept up her innocence. She would match smile for smile if it choked her. She had no gift for guile, but she had always known that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.
“Oh quite,” she agreed. “We have nothing so dramatic where I live. I don’t think there has been a rape or a murder for years! In fact, maybe never!”
Paul Alaric tore out his handkerchief and sneezed into it. Charlotte could see his shoulders shaking with laughter, and the color burned up her face in exhilaration.
Jessamyn was white. Her voice, when it came, was as brittle as glass splinters.
“And perhaps not soirees like this, either? You must permit me to advise you, as a friend! One should circulate, speak to everyone. It is considered good manners, especially if one is in some degree or other a hostess, or connected with the hostess. You should not allow it to become obvious that you prefer one guest to another- however much you may do so!”
The shot was perfect. Charlotte had no choice but to leave, the heat flaming in her neck and bosom that Alaric might already imagine she had sought his company. And what was worse, her embarrassment now could only confirm it. She was furious and swore she would disabuse him of the idea that she was one of those stupid women who spent their time pursuing him! With a stiff smile she excused herself and sailed away, head so high she nearly fell over the step between the two reception rooms, and was still regaining her balance when she collided with Lady Tam-worth and Miss Lucinda.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered in apology. “I do beg your pardon.”
Lady Tamworth stared at her, obviously noting her high color and the clumsiness of her deportment. Her thoughts regarding young women who drink too much in the afternoon were apparent in her face.
Miss Lucinda was on quite another tack. She grasped Charlotte fiercely with her plump little hand.
“May I ask you, quite confidentially, my dear, how well does Lady Ashworth know the
Charlotte’s eyes followed Miss Lucinda’s to a slender young man with olive complexion and dark features.
“I don’t know,” she said immediately, glancing at Lady Tamworth. “If you like, I shall ask her?”
But they were not abashed.
“I should, my dear. After all, she may not be aware who he is!”
“No, she may not,” Charlotte agreed. “Who is he?”
Lady Tamworth looked nonplussed for a moment.
“Why-he’s a Jew!” she said.
“Yes, so you said.”
Lady Tamworth snorted. Miss Lucinda’s face dropped, her eyebrows puckered.
“Do you approve of Jews, Mrs. Pitt?”
“Wasn’t Christ one?”
“Really, Mrs. Pitt!” Lady Tamworth shook with outrage. “I accept that the younger generation has different standards from our own.” She stared once more at Charlotte’s still glowing neck. “But I cannot tolerate blasphemy. Really, I can’t!”
“That is not blasphemy, Lady Tamworth,” Charlotte said clearly. “Christ was a Jew.”
“Christ was God, Mrs. Pitt,” Lady Tamworth said icily. “And God is most certainly not a Jew!”
Charlotte did not know whether to lose her temper completely or laugh. She was glad Paul Alaric was out of earshot.
“Isn’t He?” she said with a slight smile. “I never really thought about it. What is He then?”
“A mad scientist,” Hallam Cayley said from over her shoulder, a glass in his hand. “A Frankenstein who didn’t know when to stop! His experiment has got a little out of hand, don’t you think?” he stared around the room, his face mirroring a disgust so deep it hurt him.
Lady Tamworth chewed her teeth in impotence, her rage too great for words.
Hallam regarded her with contempt.
“Do you really imagine this was what He intended?” he finished his glass and waved it round the room. “Is this bloody lot in the image of any God you want to worship? If we’ve descended from God, then we’ve descended a hell of a long way. I think I’d rather join Mr. Darwin. According to him, at least we’re improving. In another million years we might be fit for something.”
At last Miss Lucinda found speech.
“You must speak for yourself, Mr. Cayley,” she said with difficulty, as if she, too, were a little drunk. “For myself, I am a Christian, and I have no doubts whatever!”
