Belgrave Square

2

CHARLOTTE PITT was frantically busy. Her sister Emily, remarried less than a year after her widowhood, was now expecting a child, which was a source of great happiness both to her and to her husband, Jack. But since Jack had very recently committed himself to seeking nomination as a candidate for Parliament, her rather erratic health was something of an embarrassment. Her first pregnancy with Edward several years before had been relatively easy, but this time she was suffering moments of dizziness and nausea, and found herself unable to stand for the long hours necessary for greeting and receiving at all the sorts of functions it was required both to attend and to host, if Jack were to succeed.

Therefore Charlotte had accepted Emily’s offer of a little financial assistance to go toward employing extra domestic help in her own home, several quite marvelous new gowns, and the loan of three or four pieces of Emily’s jewelry, her first husband having been both titled and extremely wealthy. All of which was held by Emily to be a fair exchange for Charlotte’s time, thought and endeavor to act as hostess for her, or with her, when the occasion required.

Tonight was just such an occasion. Emily was lying in her room, feeling distinctly poorly, and this was the night of the ball she had arranged in order to meet several of the most important people in Jack’s campaign for selection. The seat for which he was hoping was a safe Liberal stronghold, and if he could obtain a nomination for the candidacy, when election time came he was sure to win, so the competition was strong. The Conservatives had not held that seat in decades.

This function was of great importance, therefore Emily had dispatched a footman with a letter only this afternoon, and now Charlotte was pacing the floor in the hall, her heart in her mouth with nervousness, going over arrangements for the umpteenth time. She looked yet again at the banks of flowers at the top of the stairway, in the reception rooms, in the withdrawing room and on the dining room table. The table had been a source of immense anxiety, even though it was Emily’s plan and the cook’s and the kitchen staff’s execution, yet Charlotte still felt it was her final responsibility.

All manner of fruit was arranged in with the mound of flowers so that the center of the table was covered from end to end with its gorgeous display. Around the rest of the surface were piled all the requisite delicacies: crackers, cakes and bonbons; fruit-flavored soufflés, dazzling creams, bright jellies and foaming trifles in glass dishes; oyster patties, lobster salads, veal cakes; cold salmon, game pie, and fowls of several sorts, both boiled and roasted. These last had been carefully carved before having been brought to the table, and then tied together with white satin ribbon so they needed merely a touch of the hand to enable guests to help themselves to meat. Soup was the only dish that would be hot, and that would be served in cups for ease.

Also, naturally, there would be sherry, claret, light and sparkling wines, punch, fruit cups and gallons of champagne.

The Hungarian band was already present, partaking of a little refreshment in the servants’ hall before tuning up ready for the evening. The footmen were in their livery, hair powdered immaculately, the pink-and-silver lights were on at the front of the house, and Chinese lanterns in gay colors were lit in the garden for those who wished to take a little air.

She could think of nothing more to be done, and yet she could not sit down or relax in the slightest. It was a little before ten o’clock, and she could not expect even the earliest guests, those who quite pointedly felt they had somewhere better to finish the evening, to arrive for another hour.

Jack was in his evening clothes ready to receive his guests, and had gone into his study to ponder over the information he had been given on various people’s political interests, relationships and spheres of influence. There was plenty of time for Charlotte to go upstairs again and see Emily, and assure her one more time that everyone would understand her absence, and the whole evening would be an excellent success because her foresight and planning had been so thorough.

She went slowly up the great winding staircase, lifting her skirts so as not to trip on them, and along the balcony above, which was now decked with flowers. In another hour she would be standing there welcoming the guests and explaining herself, and Emily’s absence. Please heaven she would remember what the footman at the door had said were their names, or they would have the tact to introduce themselves again!

Up the next flight she turned left along the landing to Emily’s room. She knocked briefly and went in. Emily was lying on top of the bed in a loose, pale-blue-and-green peignoir, her fair hair over her shoulders. Her face was unusually pale and a trifle pinched around the nose and mouth. She smiled rather wanly as Charlotte came in and sat down on the bed beside her.

“Ah, my dear,” Charlotte said gently. “You do look wretched. I’m so sorry.”

“It’ll pass,” Emily said with more hope than conviction. “It wasn’t nearly so bad with Edward. I felt a trifle squeamish some mornings, but it was gone by ten or eleven o’clock at the very worst. Did you feel like this with Jemima or Daniel? If you did you were very stoic. I never knew it.”

“No I didn’t,” Charlotte admitted. “In fact for the first two or three months I felt better than ever. But you are very early yet. This might not last more than a few weeks.”

“Weeks.” Emily’s blue eyes were full of disgust. “But I’ve so much to do! This is the beginning of the season and I must give balls, receptions, and attend the races at Ascot, the Henley Regatta, the Eton and Harrow cricket match, and endless luncheons, dinners and teas.” She slid down in the bed a little, hunching herself. “Jack won’t get the candidacy if they think his wife’s an invalid. The competition is terribly hot. Fitz Fitzherbert is highly suitable, and under all that devastating charm I think he might be quite clever.”

“Don’t meet disaster halfway,” Charlotte said, trying to comfort her. “No doubt Mr. Fitzherbert will have his problems as well, it is simply that we do not know of them. But then it is our business to see that he does not know of ours. Let us just get this evening over successfully, and by next week you may feel much better. Everything is in good order, the table looks like a Dutch still life-it seems a shame to touch it.”

“What about the band?” Emily said anxiously. “Are they here? Are they properly dressed, and sober?”

“Of course they are,” Charlotte assured her. “They are immaculate, all in black with lovely blue sashes. And yes, they are perfectly sober-I think. Maybe one of the fiddlers was a touch more cheerful than is warranted so far, but quite well behaved. You have no cause for concern, I promise you.”

“I’m very grateful. But Charlotte, please, do be sweet to everyone.” She reached out her hand and took Charlotte’s. “However fatuous they are, or condescending, or whatever objectionable opinions they express? We cannot afford to offend them if Jack is to succeed. He is so new in the political arena. And some of the oddest people are highly influential.”

Charlotte put her hand on her heart. “I promise I will be the essence of tact and will neither express an undignified or unasked-for opinion about anything, nor laugh at anything at all except what was unquestionably meant as a joke.” She watched the tension ease out of Emily and the uncertainty change to laughter.

“I will not mention that my husband is a policeman,” she went on. “I know that is quite socially disastrous, unless of course he is of such senior rank, and a gentleman born, like Micah Drummond. And since Thomas is neither of these things, and both would be necessary, I shall lie like a horse trader.” Pitt’s father had been a gamekeeper on a country estate. Pitt came by his beautiful diction by having been educated with the only son of the big house, to keep the boy company. He was not a gentleman by birth, sympathy or inclination.

Charlotte, who had been born to an aspiring middle-class family, considerably above those who labored for a living and yet not quite into the aristocracy, had had to learn how to cope with only one resident serving girl, and a woman who came in twice a week to do the heavy scrubbing. She had learned how to cook and how to mend clothes, to shop economically, and to manage her household with efficiency, and even some enjoyment.

Emily, on the other hand, had learned how to oversee the workings of an enormous mansion in fashionable London, and on weekends from time to time, and longer spells out of season, of Ashworth Hall in the home counties. She had always been socially ambitious and quick to learn, enjoying the color and the subtleties, the challenge of wits and the exercise of charm. By now she had built herself a considerable reputation, which had even survived her early remarriage, and she was determined to use it to help Jack attain his newly set goal, affirmed so intensely after the revelations made during the murders at Highgate Rise.

“I shall be the soul of tact to absolutely everyone,” Charlotte finished triumphantly. “Even if I burst my stays with the effort.”

Emily giggled. “Be especially nice to Lord Anstiss, please? He will probably be the most important man here.” Suddenly the lightness vanished and she was utterly serious. “If anyone drives you frantic, stop before you say anything and think of that poor little woman in her wretched rooms Stephen Shaw took you to, and tens of thousands like her, sick and hungry and cold because their landlords won’t mend the roofs or the drains, and they cannot afford to leave because there’s nowhere else to go. Then you’ll be civil to the Devil himself if it will help.”

“I will,” Charlotte promised, leaning forward and brushing the hair off Emily’s brow gently. “Believe me, I am not so self-indulgent or so undisciplined as you think.”

Emily said nothing, but lowered her eyes and smiled more widely.

For another thirty minutes they talked of fashion, gossip, who might be coming this evening, whom they liked or disliked, and why. Then Charlotte tidied the bed, straightening the sheets and plumping the pillows, and assured Emily one more time of her preparations, and the tact she would exercise, regardless of temptation, and took her leave ready to await the first arrivals.

Jack met her on the stairs. He was a handsome man, not perhaps in the most traditional way, but he had remarkably fine dark gray eyes with lashes any woman would have committed crimes for, and the most utterly charming smile. Indeed in their first acquaintance both Emily and Charlotte had discounted him as a deal too smooth to be of any virtue at all. But a guarded wariness had gradually turned into respect and then affection when he had proved himself a friend of both courage and judgment in exceptionally difficult circumstances after Emily’s first husband had been murdered, and Emily herself had fallen under suspicion. It had been some time before Emily had learned to love him, but now she had no doubt about it whatever, and Charlotte was happy every time she thought of them both.

“How is she?” Jack asked, glancing upwards towards Emily’s room.

“She’ll be all right,” Charlotte said quickly. “It will pass, I promise you.”

He made an attempt to look unconcerned. “Are you ready?” He glanced at her new gown, a gift from Emily for the occasion and something she would never have had the money for herself, nor indeed an event at which to wear such a thing. It was a deep Prussian blue, a shade which suited her dark auburn hair and honey-warm complexion. Naturally, since it was Emily’s gift, it was up to the minute in fashion, décolleté at the front, with a paneled skirt embroidered asymmetrically, very à la mode, and scarcely any bustle at all. The best people were wearing only the very slightest padding this season, but a most elegant train.

Jack had been farsighted enough to learn something about fashion, and he fully appreciated the gown both for its social statement and for the way it flattered her. But mostly, she suspected, because he understood the way it made her feel. He too had spent a good deal of his life with insufficient money to dress or behave as he wished.

His smile broadened to a grin. There was no need for words; explanations would have been crass.

They had reached the top of the stairs when the clatter of horses outside announced the first arrivals, and a moment later the doors opened to a babble of chatter and laughter, a rustle of cloaks being removed, hard heels on the marble floor, and silk and taffeta skirts rattling against each other, and against the balustrade of the stair. The guests swept upward to be greeted, mortified that they were first, but totally unable to retreat and return at a better time. It was simply not done to be first. Then who else would mark one’s arrival?

“Sir Reginald-Lady West, how delightful to see you,” Charlotte said with a radiant smile. “I am Mrs. Pitt. Mrs. Radley is my sister, but most unfortunately she has been taken unwell, so it is my good fortune to stand in her place and make you welcome. Of course you are already acquainted with my brother-in-law, Mr. Jack Radley.”

“How do you do, Mrs. Pitt,” Lady West said a trifle coolly, taken aback at not finding whom she expected. “I hope Mrs. Radley’s indisposition is nothing serious?”

“Not at all,” Charlotte assured her. It would be indelicate to mention its cause, but it could be implied. “It is one of the trials women have to bear, and it is best done graciously.”

“Oh-of course-I see.” Lady West collected her wits and managed to force a smile. It was annoying to be caught out in slow thinking and she was irritated with herself for being stupid, and also with Charlotte for having observed it. “Please give her my very best wishes for her recovery.”

“I will-most kind of you. I am sure she will be obliged.” And with that the Wests moved on to greet Jack, and for him to escort them into the first room cleared for dancing. Charlotte turned to the couple immediately behind them, a dyspeptic-looking young man with ginger hair and a girl in pink, while at the foot of the stairs yet another couple were already being helped out of their cloaks and looking upward.

It was a further half hour before the first guest arrived whom Charlotte knew even by reputation other than Emily’s careful schooling, and a further fifteen minutes before she saw with great pleasure the tall, erect, almost gaunt figure of Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould. She had been Emily’s first husband’s great-aunt, and for many years now one of Charlotte’s dearest friends. Indeed Great-Aunt Vespasia had conspired with Charlotte and Emily in helping to solve many of Pitt’s cases, meddling with considerable flair in the detection of crime, and less successfully in the reform of laws regarding social conditions about which they felt most passionately.

Had it not been totally unacceptable, and therefore embarrassing to everyone, Charlotte would have raced down the stairs and taken Aunt Vespasia’s cloak herself. As it was she had to be content to mutter some polite nonsense to the large woman she was at that moment greeting, and something agreeable but equally inane to her husband, who was dressed more vividly than she. There was a scarlet sash over his chest with a wonderful array of medals and orders bejeweling him. She could do no more than glance over their shoulders at Great-Aunt Vespasia climbing slowly up the curve of the staircase, her silver head high, her tiara winking in the lights, her dove-gray gown sewn with crystals like stars, and her train precisely, to the inch, the most fashionable length.

“Good evening Charlotte, my dear,” she said calmly when she reached the top. “I assume you are standing in for Emily?”

“I am afraid she is not feeling well this evening.” Charlotte dropped the very slightest curtsey. “She will be terribly disappointed not to have seen you, but I am delighted to be in her place.”

Vespasia smiled with perfectly genuine pleasure, inclined her head in acknowledgment, spoke warmly to Jack, and then swept past to join the throng in the first reception room. As she entered there was a hush, a turning of heads and a quick murmur of appreciation. Everyone knew who she was. Fifty years ago she had been one of the great beauties of her day, and even now at eighty she had a structure of bone and a hairline across the brow that made many a younger woman envious. She was frailer than she had been even a short while ago, but she still held her head as if her tiara were a crown, and could with a glance freeze an impertinent comment on the lips of an unfortunate offender.

Charlotte felt a lift of pleasure, almost excitement, as she watched Aunt Vespasia disappear among the crowd. With her here the whole evening would have a quality of glamour and purpose far deeper than a mere social exercise. Something of importance might be begun.

A few moments later she welcomed Mr. Addison Carswell and his wife. Emily had told her he was a magistrate of considerable influence, sitting in one of the central city courts. He was not a remarkable man in appearance, of average height and slightly stocky build. His hair was receding although it was still thick from the top of his head backwards, but it was nondescript brown, and his mustache was minimal, his cheeks clean shaven. It was only when she was speaking to him in the usual polite, rather stilted phrases that she observed the strength of his features, and the intelligence in his eyes. It was a face of good balance, and without meanness.

Mrs. Carswell was a solid woman, strong and thickset, but her face was handsome in its own fashion, with straight nose, steady eye and a candor of bearing that indicated an inner calm. This social whirl might find her out of her depth. She looked the kind of woman who had no ready wit to swap comments with the ladies of high fashion, but neither would she need it for her happiness. Her values might rest largely in her home and family.

Accompanying their parents were the four Carswell daughters, each presented in turn. The eldest, Mary Ann, had come with her husband, Algernon Spencer. He was a large, rather bluff young man with too much hair for the current mode, but presentable enough otherwise. Mary Ann herself was as pleased as any girl might be who has succeeded in marrying reasonably well, and ahead of her sisters.

Miss Maude, Miss Marguerite and Miss Mabel were all fair haired, rose skinned and comely enough, if rather too like each other to be easily told apart or offer any memorable individuality. They all curtseyed gracefully, looked under their eyelashes with modest expressions of pleasure, and proceeded up the stairs to take their places, be presented to whomsoever their mother chose, or could arrange, and talk inconsequentially but with charm. They had been well schooled in their duty and knew it down to the last glance, murmur, gesture of fan and swish of skirt. No doubt within the next two seasons even the youngest of them would find a suitable husband, which was quite necessary, since two seasons was all society permitted a young woman before writing her off. Naturally they were all dressed in white, or as close to it as made little difference.

On this occasion their brother, Mr. Arthur Carswell, was not with them, having decided to go to a different function, because there would be present at that a young lady whose hand in marriage he aspired to win.

A little behind the Carswells Charlotte was delighted to see Somerset Carlisle. His curious, wry and highly individual face was full of interest, not at the social scene, in which he took no concern at all, but at the interplay of character and political ambition. He had been a member of Parliament himself for several years, to begin with conforming with his party’s views, then as his passion for reform overcame his discretion, branching more and more into his own activities. Charlotte had first met him when his zeal had overridden his propriety to the extent of involving him in the events surrounding the murders in Resurrection Row some years earlier. She had liked him personally, and sympathized with his aims, even then. He had also become a fast friend, and in many instances a collaborator, with Great-Aunt Vespasia. It was Somerset Carlisle, with Aunt Vespasia, who had encouraged Jack to consider Parliament.

He reached the top of the staircase and Charlotte greeted him with delight.

“Anything I can do to help Jack,” he replied with a smile. “I need an ally in the House, heaven knows!”

“What do you think are his chances?” she said more seriously, lowering her voice so those around them could not overhear.

“Well, Fitzherbert is his main rival,” Carlisle replied. “I don’t think the others count. But Fitz is well known and well liked. He’s unmarried as yet, but he’s betrothed to a Miss Odelia Morden, who is very well connected.” He raised his eyes momentarily, and then met hers again. It was a very expressive gesture. “Her mother is third daughter of the earl of something, I forget what, and there is plenty of money.” His voice lifted cheerfully. “On the other hand, not more money than Emily, and Emily has hers now, whereas Odelia may not see a penny for years. Emily certainly has more intelligence and political savoir faire. And as we know, Emily is capable of learning and adapting to almost anything, if she has a mood to; and she can doubtless be as witty, as fashionable and as charming as anybody alive.”

“I don’t think Mr. Fitzherbert has arrived yet,” Charlotte said, trying to recall the names of everyone she had welcomed so far. “Is he very ambitious? What are his beliefs, the issues he cares about?”

Carlisle’s smile broadened. “I don’t think he has anything so specific as an issue, my dear. He is not a crusader, simply a very charming fellow who has decided that Parliament offers a more interesting career than any other presently open to him.” He lifted one shoulder a little. “He will fill it with all the intelligence and grace he possesses, which are considerable, but I doubt with passion, unless something occurs in his life to waken his sensibilities.” His smile remained but his eyes were serious. “Don’t underestimate him. That is precisely the kind of man many leaders desire-popular with the electorate, not disturbing to the prejudices or the intellect, and above all malleable.”

Charlotte’s spirits sank. Already she could see failure more sharply, which hurt not only for Emily’s and Jack’s sakes, but because she truly believed in the goals they would strive for. She had seen the fearful slums just as clearly as Jack, and cared every bit as much for their victims. She had wished as fiercely to begin some small legislative step towards crushing the profiteers who hid behind anonymous companies and ranks of rent collectors, managers and offices of lawyers with gray clothes, scratching pens and hard, blank faces.

“It also depends a great deal on individual patrons,” Carlisle went on, lowering his voice still further. “Whatever the actual politicians say, if you can get Lord Anstiss on your side, you are almost assured of selection. He has a great deal more power and influence than most people realize. And of course selection for the seat is tantamount to victory. The Tories haven’t won it in living memory!”

The arriving guests were beginning to crush closely behind Carlisle. She was holding up progress by indulging in overlong conversation with him. Already she had failed to perform her duty to the highest. She caught his eye and saw a quick understanding in it as he felt the pressure behind him, and he bowed very slightly and proceeded across the landing towards the first reception room and was lost in the bank of flowers, the swirl of skirts and the glitter of jewels and medals.

Charlotte had not heard about Pitt’s latest case, so the names of Lord and Lady Byam meant nothing to her. But as the stair was now becoming more than a trifle cramped she did no more than smile at them dazzlingly and say how delighted she was that they had come, and inwardly note his sensitive, unusual face with its arresting eyes, and the calm inner dignity of Lady Byam, as if she knew the social stage for what it was worth, and no more. It was a quality Charlotte admired.

Odelia Morden she was also able to speak to only in the briefest manner, as she reached the top of the staircase in rather a crush of other fashionable ladies at the optimum moment that convention demanded: not early enough to insult, nor late enough to overflatter or dull her own worth. After all one did not wish to allow others to think one had nowhere else to go. It did not do for people to think too well of themselves. Mr. Morden and Lady Flavia Morden were ordinary enough in appearance, in spite of her having been born daughter of an earl, if Somerset Carlisle was correct. But Odelia had an air of distinction about her; she was unusually handsome, with fine hazel eyes, fair hair a trifle lacking in thickness, and regular features. Her smile was sufficiently individual that one remembered her without difficulty, and yet it was not forward nor insolent, nor yet lacking in candor.

Charlotte summed her up as a rival worthy of respect and certainly not to be taken lightly.

Herbert Fitzherbert came only a few moments after his betrothed. He made rather more of a stir at his entry. He was remarkably charming, seemingly effortlessly so. He had simply to smile and people found themselves warming to him. There were in his eyes both imagination and humor, as if he were willing to share some deep understanding with whoever he spoke to, and at the same time a total lack of deliberate guile. There seemed a vulnerability in him that led many a woman to imagine some secret hurt which only she could ease, and dreams that lay waiting to be realized if only opportunity offered. And yet he was not a poseur, or very little, and with his charm the temptation was great. He had enough intelligence to be able to laugh at himself now and again, and sufficient good humor not to resent it if from time to time others did also.

Charlotte could imagine there were several he irritated, probably men, as would be inevitable, but she also thought that if he took the trouble to court them they would nearly always thaw. To dislike him would appear both petty and churlish.

He was a trifle above average height, with fair hair and gray-blue eyes, but it was the innate grace with which he did everything that left the most lasting impression, along with his rueful, whimsical smile.

Even before Charlotte had finished speaking to him she considered the very real possibility that with all Emily’s work, the money she had inherited and the efforts that Great-Aunt Vespasia might put forth on his behalf, Jack still would not win the selection. “Fitz” would have to make some serious mistake before his loss could be counted on. She was ashamed to find ugly hopes fluttering through her mind-perhaps he would drink too much and commit an unforgivable indiscretion, like making an indecent suggestion to an elderly duchess? But with his charm she might well enjoy it! Or perhaps he would seduce someone’s daughter-a wife would matter far less, as long as she was discreet. Or he might vociferously espouse some completely unacceptable cause, such as female suffrage, or Irish Home Rule. Perhaps that was the best hope?

“Good evening, Mr. Fitzherbert,” Charlotte said with a dazzling smile. She intended to be especially courteous to him, as a sort of barrier, and was annoyed to find herself liking him even before he spoke, in spite of all her mental precautions. “I am Mrs. Pitt, Mr. Radley’s sister-in-law.”

“Oh yes,” he said with a quick understanding. “Emily said you might be here, if she were not feeling her best. It is remarkably kind of you to give up your time. At least half of us are bound to bore you to within an inch of sleep.”

“I am sure the other half will more than make up for it.” She wanted to be unquestionably polite, and yet keep a cool distance between them. Let him consider himself in whatever half he pleased. She would claim total innocence.

He laughed outright.

“Bravo, Mrs. Pitt,” he said frankly. “I am sure I am going to like you.”

To rebuff him would be appallingly rude, and quite insincere. Despising herself for being quite genuinely outwitted, and without a shred of dislike, she thanked him.

Lord Anstiss was one of the last to arrive. He came up the stairs almost alone and stopped behind Fitzherbert. He was a man of barely average height and sturdy build not yet run to fat although he was probably in his early fifties. He was balding, with fine side whiskers, but no mustache or beard, leaving his blunt, candid features plainly visible. His appearance was commanding because of his obvious strength of will and intelligence. One had only to meet his eyes once to be aware of his personality and to sense his confidence in himself, springing from achievement. He needed no one else’s praise to bolster his self-worth.

Fitzherbert collected his wits rapidly and with grace, turning on the spot to smile at Lord Anstiss and apologize for causing him to wait, and moving with alacrity across the floor and into the reception room.

Charlotte turned back to the stairhead with a butterfly of nervousness high in her stomach.

“Good evening, Lord Anstiss,” she said, swallowing hard and smiling. This man mattered intensely to Emily’s plans. “We are so pleased you were able to come. I am Mrs. Pitt, Mrs. Radley’s sister. Unfortunately she was taken unwell, which has given me the honor of standing in her place for the evening.”

“I am sure you will do it with grace and skill, Mrs. Pitt,” he said courteously. “But please be so kind as to convey my sympathies to Mrs. Radley, and my hope that she will be restored to full health very soon. I trust it is nothing serious?”

Mindful that a member of Parliament needs a wife who is not delicate or liable to fail in her duty, Charlotte had already worked out what to say to him.

“I am sure she will,” she said with conviction. “It is a malady which affects women only in the first month or two, but if we are to provide heirs for our husbands it seems inevitable.”

“I am afraid it does,” he said with a slight bow. “I am delighted it is for such a fortunate reason.” He glanced at the momentarily empty staircase behind him, then offered her his arm. “May I escort you to the ballroom? I hear the sounds of music.” And indeed the band had already begun the opening quadrille.

So far all was well. Everyone who was of importance had accepted her. Now she must make sure she spoke to everyone, passed some small exchange that seemed personal and yet not intrusive, offended no one, and ensured that everyone felt welcome, no one was insulted or overlooked, and that there were no social disasters, the refreshments lasted, the champagne was cold, and the music in time.

“Thank you, I should be charmed,” she accepted, and sailed across the landing and into the ballroom amid the flowers on his lordship’s arm. They did not join the quadrille, being a trifle late, but dallied in small talk for a while, made trivial comments and smiled at everyone. Then after a suitable pause the band struck up the lancers and she was swept onto the floor. She could only just recall what to do with her feet and the train of her gown. Then familiarity reasserted itself, the years vanished and it was as if she were a girl again being traipsed around fashionable balls in hope of finding a husband. Although to be truthful, her mother had never taken her to a function as distinguished as this. It was considerably above the Ellisons’ social station. They had never aspired to the aristocracy, only to gentle birth and comfortable income.

When the music was finished she thanked his lordship and curtseyed, then excused herself. Duty called. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jack and smiled fleetingly, before introducing herself to a group of ladies she knew were influential. She had taken great heed of Emily’s detailed instructions.

Since she knew very little of fashion, it being quite beyond her budget, and to speak about it only rubbed salt in the wound, she was unable to hold a conversation of any detail. Similarly, since she knew nothing about who was courting whom, who had rebuffed whom, been admired or insulted, or what drama was currently playing at which theater, she had decided to exert her charm entirely by asking other people their opinions and listening intently to their answers. It was a ploy which sat ill with her nature, but it was forced upon her by necessity, and it worked astoundingly well.

“Indeed?” she said with wide eyes as a thin lady in blazing sapphires expounded her views on the drama currently playing at the theater in the Haymarket. “Do please tell us more. You make it sound so vivid.”

The lady required no second invitation. She had disliked the play and was bursting to assure her that everyone else did also, and for the same reasons.

“I am not narrow-minded, you understand,” she began vigorously. “And I hope I can appreciate literature of all sorts. But this was totally self-indulgent, every conceivable horror was there and unimaginably vile appetites. It is hardly an excuse that each sin was punished in one manner or another. We still observed things which would outrage every moral instinct.”

“Good gracious!” Charlotte was amazed and fascinated. “I wonder they were able to perform it in public.”

Her eyes widened. “My dear Mrs. Pitt, that is exactly what I said myself.”

A young man walked past them laughing, a girl giggled and blushed on his arm.

“I am so pleased I did not take my daughter,” another woman in gold said fervently, shivering a little and setting her diamonds sparkling. “And I had intended to. Good drama can be so uplifting, don’t you think? And a girl has to have something intelligent to discuss. Silliness is so unattractive, don’t you agree?”

“Oh most,” Charlotte said sincerely. “The prettiest face in the world can become tedious quite quickly if the owner has nothing of sense to say.”

“Quite,” the lady with the sapphires conceded hastily. “But this, I assure you, was beyond a decent person’s desire to discuss, and quite unthinkable for any young lady hoping to attract a respectable gentleman. If she discussed this it would appall any person of sensibility that she was even aware of such subjects.”

Another couple swept past, the girl laughing loudly.

Great-Aunt Vespasia joined the group with a gracious inclination of her head.

“So fashionable, Mrs. Harper,” the sapphire lady observed, watching the couple retreating, heads close together. “Don’t you agree, Lady Cumming-Gould?”

“Up to the minute,” Vespasia granted. “Lovely, until she opens her mouth.”

“Oh! Is she vulgar-or foolish? I had not heard.” There was implicit criticism in her tone.

“Neither, so far as I know,” Vespasia replied. “But she has a laugh like a frightened horse! One can hear it two streets away on a calm night.”

Someone giggled, and suppressed it hastily, unsure whether it was appropriate or not. There was a hesitant silence. Suddenly all the other sounds intruded, the slither of leather soles on the polished wooden floor, the rustle of taffeta, tulle and satin bustles and trains, the murmur of talk, the chink of glass and in the next room one of the violinists retuning his instrument.

“What is the title of the play?” Charlotte inquired innocently.

“Titus Andronicus, but it was said to be Shakespeare,” the sapphire lady answered quickly. “So I went in the belief that it would be noble and uplifting.”

“Was not the language fine?” Charlotte asked.

“My dear Mrs. Pitt, I have no idea.” She bridled slightly. “But if it were, that is no excuse. Far too much is excused these days on a point of style, as if style mattered! We are losing all our values. There is scandal everywhere.” She sniffed. “I feel so sorry for the Princess of Wales, poor creature. She cannot help but have heard what people are saying.”

“I doubt it,” Vespasia said dryly. “She is as deaf as a post, poor thing-but it may save her the malicious whisperings that would otherwise be bound to wound.”

“Yes indeed,” said another woman, in pink, who nodded her head and set her tiara blazing in the light. “It is fearful what people will say. What with her husband keeping mistresses quite openly for all the world to see-Lillie Langtry-I ask you! The woman is nothing better than a-” She shrugged and refused to speak the word. “And her son a complete wastrel, of which she can hardly be unaware. Do you know I even heard that the Duke of Clarence was creeping out of the palace at night and visiting women of the streets. Can you believe it?”

“I heard it was one particular woman.” The sapphire lady raised her eyebrows very high and her face took on an expression of great knowledge. “And that the affaire was far beyond the mere satisfaction of one of the less forgivable appetites.” She lowered her voice confidentially. “Of course it is only speculation, but some say that it had to do with those fearful murders in Whitechapel last year. The Ripper, you know.” She avoided Vespasia’s eyes and her tone became critical.

“Of course I was always dubious about the value of a police force. My grandfather was irrevocably against it.” She shrugged. “He said they would be expensive, intrude into a man’s dignity and independence, interfere where they had no business, and do very little good. Which seems to be the case.” She looked from one to another of them. “If such a thing could go on in the heart of London and six months later they have caught no one at all, it rather proves my point, does it not?”

Vespasia kicked Charlotte just as she was about to explode in defense of Pitt in particular, and the police in general.

“Your logic is impeccable,” Vespasia said with a wry smile. “I should do away with doctors also. They are clearly quite useless. They could not even save the Prince Consort. In fact when I come to think of it, absolutely everyone I ever knew of died in the end.”

They all turned to stare at her, none of them except Charlotte quite sure how to take this last, totally ridiculous remark.

Vespasia’s face was marvelous. Not a muscle moved and there was not even a glimmer of humor in her beautiful silvergray eyes.

Charlotte waited with her breath held. She would not spoil the delicious moment.

“Ah… er,” the sapphire lady began, then stopped. Everyone looked at her hopefully, but she had exhausted her aplomb for the moment and fell silent.

The pink lady fidgeted, opened her mouth then changed her remark into a cough.

At last Vespasia took mercy on them.

“It is a hard world,” she said sententiously. “The surgeons and physicians cannot prevent mortality, they can only ease pain and help a few accidents and diseases here and there; and the police cannot get rid of human iniquity, they can only apprehend some of the perpetrators and see they are punished, which discourages the rest.” She avoided meeting Charlotte’s eyes. “Even the Church has not got rid of private sin. The pity of it is I cannot think of a better idea.”

“I… er… I-” Again the sapphire lady did not know what to say.

“Has anyone seen Gilbert and Sullivan’s latest opera?” Charlotte came to the rescue, but did not dare look at Vespasia.

“Ah indeed, Ruddigore,” the pink lady said gratefully. “A little sad I think, don’t you? I much preferred the Pirates of Penzance. And I didn’t understand Princess Ida. I am not sure whether they are for women’s education or against it!”

“Women should be educated in the gentilities, nothing more,” the sapphire lady said decidedly. “Academic subjects are of no use and only disturb the mind. We are not designed for such things, either by God or by nature!”

“Are they not the same?” Charlotte inquired.

“I beg your pardon?”

“God and nature,” Charlotte explained.

The sapphire lady’s eyebrows shot upward. “I hardly think-”

In the distance the band had begun the valse.

“If you will permit me?” Charlotte seized the opportunity to abandon the subject and move away.

But they would not permit her to escape so easily.

“Did you enjoy it, Mrs. Pitt?” the pink lady inquired with great interest.

“I beg your pardon?” Charlotte was totally confused.

“Ruddigore!” the lady explained patiently.

“I regret I have not seen it,” Charlotte admitted. “I wonder-”

“Oh you must! I am sure-”

“Of course.” Vespasia cut across and took Charlotte by the arm. “We are monopolizing you, my dear. Come with me, I shall introduce Lady Byam to you. I am sure you will find her most agreeable.” And without permitting anyone to interrupt her again, she swept Charlotte away.

“You did that on purpose,” Charlotte whispered fiercely.

“Of course,” Vespasia agreed without a shred of remorse. “Laetitia Fox is a fool and not a particularly pleasant one. She bores me silly. But you will like Eleanor Byam, and her husband is a most important man. He has great power not only in the Treasury, but within political circles in general. His approval will help Jack. Although of course Lord Anstiss is the one whose patronage you really need.”

“Tell me more about him,” Charlotte requested. “I know he is a great patron of the arts and has benefited many galleries and theaters, and that he has also given a great deal of money to charities of all natures, but what is he like as a person? What are his tastes, his likes and dislikes? What shall I speak to him of?”

“You want a great deal, my dear.” Vespasia nodded courteously to people as they passed. She knew and was known by almost everyone who mattered in society, although few of them could claim more than an acquaintance with her.

Charlotte glanced at the band, who were still playing vigorously; the center of the floor was swirling with dancers.

“Regina Carswell,” Vespasia said absently as they passed the Carswells engaged in conversation with a group of elderly gentlemen. “Agreeable woman, and more sense than many, but three more daughters to marry, and that is no easy task, especially when they are all much the same.”

“But she has both position and money,” Charlotte pointed out as they skirted around a general in scarlet and two subordinates.

“Indeed. Addison Carswell is a magistrate,” Vespasia agreed. “But three daughters is still a formidable task. It is to her credit that she has kept any sense of proportion at all.”

“Lord Anstiss,” Charlotte prompted.

“I heard you, Charlotte. He is a man used to great power, great wealth and the respect that those things bring with them, the ability to support arts and sciences as he wishes.” Vespasia accepted a glass of chilled champagne from a footman in livery. “To patronize individuals and causes,” she continued, “which of course means people court his favor. All this considered, he is remarkably gracious and restrained.” She nodded to an acquaintance. “There is nothing vulgar about him and he abhors ostentation, although he does enjoy good company and is not so noble as to despise admiration.”

“Very good,” Charlotte said softly. “Do you like him?”

“That is irrelevant,” Vespasia replied.

“You don’t.”

“I neither like nor dislike him,” Vespasia said in defense. “I know him only publicly. He has qualities I admire, and his acts I certainly approve. Personally I have spoken with him little.” She sipped her champagne. “Although he has intelligence, and that always appeals. No my dear, you will have to make up your mind yourself. Just remember he has great power, never forget that, and at the moment it is Jack who matters.”

“I shan’t.”

Vespasia smiled.

“Thank you,” Charlotte said sincerely.

“Then you had better be about your duties,” Vespasia prompted, and Charlotte obediently took her leave, at least temporarily. And since Emily had also stressed his importance, she felt it obligatory to make a specific effort to speak again to Lord Anstiss and assure as far as it was possible that he was in good company and aware of his welcome.

She found him with little difficulty, standing with a wineglass in one hand and talking with Lord and Lady Byam and a thin woman with flaxen fair hair and a marvelous emerald necklace. They moved aside to include Charlotte as soon as she approached them.

“An excellent affair, Mrs. Pitt,” Anstiss said courteously. “Of course you know Mrs. Walters?” He inclined his head slightly, indicating the woman with the emeralds.

Charlotte had no idea who she was.

“Of course,” she murmured; she would not admit to ignorance, it would be too insulting. “How charming to see you, Mrs. Walters.”

“How kind,” Mrs. Walters replied noncommittally. “Lord Anstiss was speaking of the opera. Do you care for music, Mrs. Pitt?”

“Indeed I do,” Charlotte answered, hoping they would not ask her for a list of the performances she had seen lately. Such things were quite beyond her finances. “I enjoy all forms of music, from one person singing to please himself through to the grandest choruses.”

“I had great voices in mind, rather than merely large numbers,” Mrs. Walters said coolly, and it crossed Charlotte’s mind that in some way this woman resented her intrusion. She wondered what the conversation had really been. She looked more closely at Mrs. Walters, and saw the fine lines of irritation in her face, as if her habitual expression was one of anticipating anger. There was a mixture of eagerness and tension in her now, and she seemed acutely aware of Lord Anstiss. Her eyes flickered to him as if she was uncertain whether to speak or not.

Charlotte smiled at her sweetly, and indeed she felt a certain sympathy.

“I was thinking of type rather than quality. Perhaps I expressed myself poorly. I apologize. Have you seen anything of great interest recently, Mrs. Walters?”

“Oh-” Mrs. Walters shrugged. “I saw Otello a few weeks ago. Verdi, you know? It is his latest. Have you seen it?”

“No,” Charlotte admitted readily. “I have been rather preoccupied with other things. Was it excellent?”

“Oh yes. Do you not think so, Lord Anstiss?” She turned to him with a bright glance.

“Indeed.” Anstiss gave a lengthy, informed and sensitive opinion of the work and of the particular performance he had seen, his face full of power and animation, his choice of words individual and obviously colored by his own intense feeling. No one interrupted him, and Charlotte listened with interest. It made her wish dearly that such events were within possibility for her. But it was never going to be more than a dream, and this was a game, a few days out of Emily’s life. Charlotte should enjoy them for what they were, and do her best to acquit herself honorably.

“How well you describe it, my lord,” she said with a smile. “You make me feel not only as if I had been there, but in the most excellent company.”

A quick pleasure lit his face. “Thank you, Mrs. Pitt. What a charming compliment. You have made my evening doubly enjoyable in retrospect.” The phrase was conventionally polite, and yet she felt had he not meant it he would have said nothing.

Mrs. Walters’s face darkened. “I am sure we all find you most interesting to listen to,” she said a trifle peevishly. “You must have seen something of note, Mrs. Pitt. You surely have not spent all your time pursuing your brother-in-law’s career? I thought he was but very lately come to political interest.”

Next to Mrs. Walters, Lord Byam disengaged himself from his group and turned towards them.

“His interest is long-standing,” Charlotte contradicted. “It is his decision to stand for Parliament which is recent.”

“A nice distinction,” Anstiss observed with relish. “Don’t you think so, Byam?”

Byam smiled, a warm, natural gesture. “I take your point, Mrs. Pitt. Still, it is a pity if it has required so much of your time you have had no opportunity to refresh yourself with theater or music.”

“Oh I have, my lord.” Charlotte did not wish to appear too earnest or single-minded. She racked her memory for any acceptable affair she had attended, and stretched the truth by a few years. “I did a short while ago see a delightful performance of a light opera by Messrs. Gilbert and Sullivan. Not quite Verdi, I confess, but a charming evening.”

Mrs. Walters raised her eyebrows, but said nothing.

“I agree,” Eleanor Byam said quickly. “We cannot be indulging in great tragedy all the time. I saw Patience again last month. I still found it highly entertaining, and so many tunes stayed in my mind.” She glanced at her husband.

“Indeed,” he agreed, but he looked not at her but at Anstiss. “Did you not find the whole plot and the humor of it delicious-knowing your opinion of the aesthetic set?”

Anstiss stared somewhere over their heads, his eyes bright with inner humor, as if he took some point deeper than the mere words. “Mr. Oscar Wilde should be flattered,” he replied lightly. “His wit and his ideas have been immortalized and will be sung and whistled by half London, and done so without their knowing why.”

“Particularly the song about the silver churn,” Byam said quietly, smiling and looking at no one in particular. He hummed a few bars. “Magnetism is a most curious quality. Why do some have it, and some not?”

“Are you talking of metals or people?” Anstiss asked.

“Oh either,” Byam answered. “The mystery is equal-to me.”

“Rather an effete young man, I heard,” Mrs. Walters said with a quiver in her voice. “Do you approve of him, Lord Anstiss?”

“I admire his turn of phrase, Mrs. Walters,” Anstiss replied carefully. “I am not sure I would take it further than that.” His tone was very slightly condescending. “I was referring to his characterization in Bunthorne. Mr. Gilbert was making satire of the aesthetic movement, of which Mr. Wilde is the leading light.”

“I know that,” she said crossly, and blushed.

Anstiss flashed a look at Byam, then they both looked away again, but the understanding had been there, and in Byam’s face a spark of sympathy.

“Of course,” Anstiss said soothingly. “I said it only to explain my own feelings. I am not personally acquainted with Mr. Wilde, or with any of his admirers, for that matter. I have read a little of his poetry, that is all.”

“I prefer the classical theater.” Mrs. Walters now chose to take a completely different line. “Don’t you, Lady Byam? I saw Sir Henry Irving in Hamlet recently. That was truly inspiring.”

With a quick smile at Anstiss and a glance at Eleanor Byam, Charlotte excused herself, making a remark about her duty to other guests, and retreated, leaving the field to Mrs. Walters.

Charlotte spent the next half hour exchanging polite inconsequentialities with almost everyone she had not yet spoken with, passing by the table several times to make sure it was still in good order, watching the band to ascertain they were indeed sober, about which she had some doubts, and snatching an opportunity to report to Jack on the general success of the evening.

By midnight she was again walking with Great-Aunt Vespasia in a pleasant and companionable silence. They had reached the balcony beyond the main ballroom and came upon Lord and Lady Byam standing beneath the Chinese lanterns, the soft light casting a warmth over them and making Eleanor, with her dark hair, look faintly exotic.

Greetings were formal and very polite, then conversation passed quickly through the trivial to common interests, which of course were centered on the political scene. Not unnaturally the matter of future elections arose. Neither Jack nor Herbert Fitzherbert were mentioned, but a great deal of subtle reflections were made and more than once Charlotte caught Eleanor’s eye and they smiled at each other.

“Of course the matter is very complex,” Byam said quite seriously, but without the pomposity that Charlotte found most trying in some people who held high office. “One can seldom make a financial decision that affects only one group of people or one interest. I think some of our would-be reformers do not appreciate that. Money represents wealth, it is not wealth itself.”

“I don’t understand you,” Eleanor said with admirable candor. “I thought money was perhaps the most obvious form of wealth.”

“Money is merely paper, my dear,” Byam explained with a small smile. “Or at best gold, a comparatively useless commodity. You cannot eat it, or clothe yourself in it, nor will it serve any other of life’s requirements. It is pleasing to the eye, and it does not corrupt with time, as do lesser metals; but it is less useful than steel, and immeasurably less useful than coal, timber, cotton, grain, wool or meat.”

“I do not take your point.” Eleanor was not yet satisfied.

At that moment they were joined by a young man with hooded, brilliant eyes, a strong nose and the most remarkably beautiful, curling, deep auburn hair, which was ill cut at present, and far too long. He plunged in to answer the question without hesitation, and without waiting to be introduced.

“Money is a convenience by which civilized man has agreed to make bartering immeasurably easier, but it is a mechanism.” He held up long, sensitive hands. “And if our agreement fails because one party possesses all the goods that are worth bartering, then the means itself is useless. A loaf of bread is always a loaf of bread. It will feed a man for so many days. But a piece of paper is worth whatever we agree it is worth, no more, no less. When the agreement fails, we have financial anarchy.” He looked from one to another of them. “That is what happens when we lend money to people at exorbitant rates, and pay them too little for their goods or their labor, so they can never earn sufficient to repay us. The fact that we begin with the advantage enables us to set the prices we will pay, and keep the debtor always in our power.”

“You sound passionate about it, Mr…” Vespasia said with interest; indeed her hesitation because she was unaware of his name did not carry the criticism of his manners that Charlotte would have expected.

“Peter Valerius.” He introduced himself with only the faintest blush for having intruded in such a fashion. “Forgive me. Yes I am.”

Charlotte, as hostess for the evening, introduced the others, remembering to speak of Vespasia first, as the socially senior member, and herself last. She could not recall meeting Mr. Valerius as he came in, but she could scarcely ask him now if he had been invited.

“I think usury, whether local in one man to another, or international in one nation to another, is one of the vilest practices of humanity.” He turned to Charlotte. “I hope trade and banking practices will be subjects to which Mr. Radley will turn his attention?”

“I am sure he will,” Charlotte said quickly. “I shall draw his attention to it myself. He is highly sensitive to social wrongs-”

“It will not win him his party’s approval,” Valerius warned her, seeming hardly aware of Lord Byam’s presence almost at his elbow. “He will win himself few friends, and certainly no chance of promotion to office.”

“I don’t think he is aiming or hoping for high office,” she said candidly. “It would be more than good enough to influence those who do.”

He smiled suddenly and vividly. In his intense face the gesture was both charming and startling.

“And you will no doubt learn Mr. Fitzherbert’s views in the matter,” Byam said wryly.

“But of course,” Valerius agreed with wide eyes. “Is this not what these very delightful social gatherings are for? To learn who believes what, and who is prepared to fight, how hard, and at what risk?”

“Very blunt,” Byam said ruefully. “I see why you do not run for office yourself, Mr. Valerius.”

Valerius colored very slightly, but he was not deterred. However before he could pursue the subject any further they were joined by a duchess like a galleon under full sail, followed by her three daughters.

“My dear Lady Byam,” she said in a penetrating contralto. “How perfectly delightful to see you. Is this not a magnificent ball?” She lowered her voice only fractionally in what was apparently meant as a confidence. “And I really do believe this is Mrs. Radley’s own house! At least Lady Bigelow swears it is. So many ladies hire other people’s houses these days, their own not being suitably impressive, one never knows.” She opened her pale eyes wide. “How can one possibly assess someone if one does not even know if the furniture belongs to them? The whole of society is coming to pieces.” She leaned forward. “I must learn more about this Jack Radley. Who is he, do you know? I must admit I know nothing about him whatever.” She seemed oblivious of the rest of them, and Charlotte caught a gleam of amusement in Lord Byam’s eyes, but no malice.

Eleanor drew in her breath to reply, half turning toward Charlotte as if to introduce her, but the duchess plunged on.

“He isn’t radical, is he?” She stared fiercely. “I can’t abide radicals-so unreliable. What does Lord Anstiss think? Perhaps I shall give a ball myself. I shall invite Mr. Radley, and of course Mr. Fitzherbert, and see for myself. Shall you be at Henley this year?”

“Oh indeed,” Eleanor replied. “I love watching the boats, and if the weather is agreeable it is a delightful way to spend a summer day. Shall you, your grace?”

“But of course. I have three daughters still to marry, and as we all know, regattas can be splendid for that.” She nodded meaningfully. “Lord Randolph Churchill proposed to Miss Jerome after only four days’ acquaintance at the Cowes regatta.”

“I heard the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough were very much against it,” Eleanor replied. “Although of course that was some time ago now. And it did not prevent the marriage.”

“Well she was an American,” the duchess pointed out reasonably. “And not everyone is prepared to marry an American, no matter how beautiful she is or how much he may need the money. I am not at all sure I should. But I shall certainly be at Henley, you may depend upon it.”

She glanced around for the first time to make sure her daughters were still with her. On assuring herself they were, she resumed the conversation. “And that is one place one may be reasonably certain one will not run into the fearful Mrs. Langtry. All over London ladies are obliged to invite the wretched creature, or the Prince of Wales and the whole Marlborough House set will not come. It is too bad.”

“I would rather forgo the privilege than be obliged to invite someone I did not care for,” Eleanor said candidly.

“Well of course one would,” the duchess agreed tartly. “But we cannot all afford to. Your position is assured, and you have no daughters to marry. I cannot indulge myself so. The duke, may the Lord bless him, has neither wit nor influence to obtain a position in the government, and I am obliged to society for all my entertainment.” She screwed up her face in an expression of intensity. “Have you any acquaintance with Mr. Oscar Wilde and that very eccentric set? I hear they are quite marvelously amusing, and of course pretend to be very wicked.”

She lifted her shoulders. “Young Fitzherbert told me it is all a pose. He associated with them, before he agreed to stand for Parliament, but he had to give it up. There is a fine marriage proposed. Her mother is delighted.” Her voice cooled and her face lost its enthusiasm. “Quite a feather in her cap. Though I admit Odelia-if that is her name-is a handsome enough girl and knows precisely what to do, what to say, and how to dress; always an advantage. Don’t you think so, Mrs…” She turned to Charlotte, her wide blue eyes full of inquiry.

“Mrs. Pitt,” Charlotte supplied. “Mrs. Radley is my sister.” She thought she had better explain herself before anything further was said which might prove embarrassing. “Indeed, there is always an advantage in being well taught, and biddable.”

The duchess looked at her with acute perception.

“Pray do not humor me, Mrs. Pitt. I fear I have overstated my case. It is good in brides; it becomes a bore in a married woman.” She snorted very slightly. “No one ever had any pleasure out of life being biddable. I think I shall inquire more into Mr. Oscar Wilde. If I am forced to entertain the disreputable, I had rather it were a man, and a wit, than a harlot any day.” Her eyebrows shot up. “What on earth use have I for yet another beautiful woman of amenable virtue? I am pleased to have met you, Mrs. Pitt. You must call upon me some time. Lady Byam. Come Annabel, Amelia, Jane. For goodness sake, child, stop gazing at that fatuous young man. He is nobody at all. Jane! Do you hear me?” And without even seeing Peter Valerius she swept away again as if all sails were set and the wind behind her.

Charlotte looked at Eleanor and saw in her face humor, exasperation and a relish in the wide eccentricities of people. No words whatever were necessary, or would have been appropriate.

With a smile Charlotte excused herself and went to ascertain that the guests were still enjoying themselves and that the band was still more or less in tune, the refreshments had not yet run out, and no scandal was brewing amid the flowers or in the shaded corners where young couples were sitting in the long pauses between dances.

It was half an hour later and nearly one o’clock when she came across Herbert Fitzherbert and his fiancée, Odelia Morden, in one of those softly lit spaces provided for just such a purpose. Odelia was sitting in a corner chair half shaded by a huge potted palm, its exotic leaves throwing a dark pattern over her creamy shoulders and the pale billows of her gown, satin glimmering as if moonlit, petticoats like foam around her. It crossed Charlotte’s mind to wonder if she had arranged herself so artistically on purpose, or by happy chance. Perhaps it was one of the arts the duchess had referred to.

There was a look of immeasurable satisfaction on Odelia’s face as she regarded Fitzherbert sitting forward on a stool a yard away from her feet, his elbows on his knees and his attention upon her. Possibly he was the more graceful of the two of them, because his pose was effortless.

Charlotte hesitated before intruding, they were so obviously absorbed in each other, but she had to remind herself of her duty to Emily. In the distance she could hear the band begin the Highland Schottishe. She wished she were free to dance, and someone would ask her, but the role she had been invited here to play was quite different.

“Good evening, Miss Morden,” she said cheerfully. “I am so pleased you were able to come. I have been looking forward to meeting you. Mr. Fitzherbert.”

Fitzherbert rose immediately and bowed, and as a younger, unmarried woman Odelia rose also, but far more slowly, and her smile was polite but cool. If Fitz had not recalled that Charlotte was Jack Radley’s sister-in-law, Odelia certainly had, and she was ambitious.

“Good evening, Mrs. Pitt. It was most kind of Mrs. Radley to invite us. It is a charming event, and I hope we shall meet at many more, most particularly if poor Mrs. Radley’s health does not improve. She has my deepest sympathy. It is a most unfortunate time to be unwell.”

It was a series of remarks with many edges, and Charlotte was aware of all of them. She looked Odelia straight in the eye and joined battle.

“Of course it is,” she said with a radiant smile. “But the bounties of nature are frequently heralded by a certain discomfort, as I hope you will be blessed to discover for yourself, eventually. And perhaps it is more fortunate to be unwell now than later on when running for Parliament. Election times are so short, and one cannot so easily explain to the general public as one can to friends.” Again she smiled with absolute directness, and no candor at all. “And Emily is fortunate, she takes a confinement very well.”

“How agreeable for her,” Odelia murmured. “But the timing!”

“Mrs. Gladstone had eight children,” Charlotte said sweetly. “And cared for them all herself, refusing even to have a wet nurse. She taught them all their lessons and heard their prayers at night, and did endless charitable work as well. It does not seem to have hampered her husband from being the best prime minister this century.”

“Good gracious!” Odelia’s eyes opened wide. “Does Mrs. Radley fancy to be a prime minister’s wife?”

Charlotte ignored the sarcasm as completely as if she had failed to perceive it.

“I have not asked her, but it seems a noble ambition. Do you not?” She turned and smiled briefly and with some sympathy at Fitz. There was a spark of humor in his eyes.

“I wish to be Fitz’s wife,” Odelia said sweetly. “And to do that to the best of my ability. Of course if he is successful to that degree, I shall aim to do everything possible to excel equally, and not quite as eccentrically as Mrs. Gladstone. I hear her entertaining was most erratic, and offended many.”

Charlotte was caught off guard. She knew nothing about it.

“Then it would seem the offense was of no importance,” she replied hastily. “I have heard nothing but admiration for her, and Mr. Gladstone must surely be the most politically successful man in the last half century.”

Odelia changed her point of attack.

“I do admire your gown, Mrs. Pitt; such a-a robust shade! So fashionable. I shall not forget it.”

Charlotte translated in her own mind, knowing precisely what Odelia meant. “Let me warn you, Mrs. Pitt, the color is too loud, verging on the vulgar, and it is so up to the minute that next month it will be out of date, and I, for one, will be acutely aware if I ever see you in it again-and will probably say so at the most inconvenient moment.”

“Why thank you, Miss Morden,” Charlotte said with an even wider smile. “Your own gown is most delicately suitable, both to the occasion and to yourself.” To be translated: “Your gown is insipid and entirely forgettable. If you wear it on every other occasion this entire season no one will notice, or care.”

Odelia’s face froze.

“Most kind,” she muttered between her teeth.

“Not at all.” Charlotte nodded to Fitzherbert, and excused herself, sweeping back into the ballroom to accept an invitation to dance the Highland Reel with Peter Valerius.

At half past one, after the last cotillion, the guests adjourned to take supper, and Charlotte was completely occupied with making sure that the maids were on their toes; that the footmen waited upon everyone; and that there were none but the most civilized of unpleasantnesses.

By half past two the party was still in full swing, and at three people were still dancing, a certain sign that the whole venture was a success.

The first high wing of false dawn was glimmering faintly in the sky above the garden, the ferns and the Chinese lanterns, when Charlotte observed the encounter which gave her the most food for thought of the entire evening. She was leaving the room beyond the ballroom and walking towards the balcony and the garden for a breath of air. She was beginning to feel tired and her attention was less sharp than it had been. She passed a bower of white flowers and hesitated a moment to enjoy the cool perfume of them, when her eyes were caught by a gleam of light on a white shirt front and the scarlet splash of a sash of some order, the sparkle of the star.

She hesitated in case she should intrude on someone; such meetings were often more in the nature of assignations between young couples otherwise unable ever to be alone together.

Then she saw that the second person was not a woman but a man. It took her a moment to focus her gaze and recognize Lord Byam. He was standing well beyond the first man and staring out at the garden, the dark web of the trees across the eastern sky, the fancy lanterns still lit and far above them the faint wing of the reflected light over the horizon where in a short while the true dawn would come. She moved a step forward soundlessly.

The other man half turned. It was Lord Anstiss. His face was set in a most curious expression: his lips smiled as if there were some pleasure involved, and yet his eyes stared into the darkness wide and bright. From the very slight flaring of his nostrils Charlotte could not avoid the sensation that he was angry. His hand rested on the balustrade of the balcony, a short, broad-palmed hand with spatulate, artistic fingers. It was perfectly relaxed, even caressing the marble as if the polished texture of the stone satisfied him. There was no tension in it at all; it was a hand ready to caress, not to strike.

Byam was facing sideways, but his eyes were on the press of guests beyond Charlotte moving towards the head of the staircase on the way down to the waiting carriages. His expression was one of deep thought, a little wistful, but there seemed both eagerness and pain in him, and his face was curiously vulnerable.

“Too early to tell,” Anstiss said quietly. “Radley’s a bit of a wild card, but I like the look of him. A man who knows people, I think.”

“And Fitz?” Byam asked, still looking past Anstiss towards the stair head.

“Lightweight,” Anstiss replied. “No staying power. Too easily molded, I think. What I might make of him, another might as easily unmake. By the way, what about Mrs. Radley? Is she delicate?”

“Don’t think so,” Byam said lightly. “Expecting a child, that’s all. Used to be Lady Ashworth. Always in society then.”

“Sounds acceptable. Who is this Mrs. Pitt, for heaven’s sake?”

“Her sister, I gather.” Still Byam was facing the open door and the stair beyond. “It hardly matters, she’ll be gone soon enough. Just standing in for these few weeks. Seems agreeable, and she’s certainly handsome, and quick witted.”

Anstiss pulled a face of distaste. “Hope she doesn’t have social ambitions. God preserve me from ambitious women.”

“No idea.” Byam moved in the direction of the far doorway. “I must go-considerable amount to do tomorrow-”

“Of course,” Anstiss agreed with a shadow of amusement in his voice. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Byam replied, and then without turning back he disappeared between the banks of flowers towards the stair head.

Anstiss turned to the false dawn again, now a white fin above the treetops.