Vespasia’s face lit with pleasure when she saw Emily. In her youth, Vespasia had been celebrated throughout Europe for her exquisite features and the strength and delicacy of her bones, her flawless skin. Now it was the wit and the passion in her face, the courage and grace of her carriage, that arrested the attention.
“I was hoping you would find a few moments from your duties,” Vespasia said warmly. “How are you, my dear?” She held out her slender hand, which blazed with a single emerald ring.
“Enjoying myself,” Emily replied, accepting her hand momentarily with an answering smile. “At least some of the time.”
“I should hate to suspect you of dishonesty,” Vespasia said drily. “The conversation is deadly, but perhaps some of what is not said is interesting, don’t you think? I noticed you in conversation with Lady Parsons.”
Emily laughed. “I hear what you are not saying,” she observed. “She is far more perceptive than I had thought. Her husband is the chief opponent of this contract you know?”
Narraway moved closer to them and it was he who answered. He was a slender man, not so very much taller than Vespasia, lean and wiry, his eyes so dark as to look almost black. His thick hair was shot through with silver, and time had improved and refined his features rather than dulling them.
“We do know,” he agreed. “But, I think, not all of his reasons. That would be very interesting to find out, and possibly useful.”
“Jack wants me to learn what I can about Godfrey Duncannon,” Emily responded. She wanted to ask Narraway if he could tell her anything, but even though she had known him for some years, she did not dare to presume on the acquaintance to ask. He was a man who had been privy to many of the secrets of the great and powerful. It had been his job, just as it now was Pitt’s. But Pitt appeared so much more open, approachable. Would he become like Narraway, eventually? Would he see the private darkness within all kinds of people, and smile and hide his discernment…until it became useful to him?
Involuntarily she shivered.
It was Vespasia who answered. “Then you had better continue to enjoy your friendship with Cecily Duncannon,” she advised. “But I think it will not be easy for you.”
Narraway looked at her with surprise, his dark eyebrows raised.
Emily understood. Vespasia did not mean that Cecily would not continue to like Emily. On the contrary, the warmth would remain, and increase. What she meant was that learning the source of someone’s pain, understanding their secrets because they trusted you, silently if not openly, faced you with dilemmas to which there was no happy solution.
“I know,” Emily said gently. It was an admission she had avoided making to herself. It was so much less challenging not to know, to sail through life, through relationships of any sort, seeing only what you wished to, never the layers below the surface.
“Has Cecily Duncannon such painful secrets?” Narraway asked quietly, although the fact that he phrased it so exactly made it clear that he knew the answer.
“Of course,” Vespasia replied.
“To do with Godfrey?” he persisted.
“That I don’t know. It’s possible.”
“His future is secure,” Emily put in. “And, as far as I know, his reputation is above criticism. Jack has looked into it most carefully. He can’t afford to have his own reputation tied to another disaster.” She regretted the harshness of the words the moment she had said them. Of course both Vespasia and Narraway knew about the past disasters. Narraway probably knew more than Emily did herself. It still sounded like something of a betrayal to remind them.
Vespasia understood. “I was thinking of her personal life,” she said. “I do not think Godfrey is always an easy man.”
“A mistress?” Narraway said with a smile that seemed like genuine amusement. “I think not. He is far too careful for that. Unexpected passion can catch most people, but I would stake a lot that he is not one of them.”
“A lot?” Emily asked immediately. “Such as a contract that apparently matters intensely to the fortunes of many?”
“Yes,” he replied almost without hesitation. “Godfrey has never allowed any kind of emotion to cloud his honor, or his ambition.”
Vespasia gave a wince so slight only Emily caught it and read it correctly. She had watched Cecily’s face and seen the shadows in it. Maybe they had less in common than Emily had thought. She had loved Jack from the beginning, at least in part because he had always been a friend. They had talked about all kinds of things in the earliest days of their acquaintance, because then he had had no aspirations to marry her, not even any thought that it was possible. There had been none of the awkwardness of a courtship, the forced propriety, the tensions. They had laughed together, given confidences and been open about thoughts, ideas, and even feelings. That had never changed.
Of course, there had been misunderstandings, even rifts between them occasionally, but they had occurred when the friendship was strained, the laughter and ease temporarily absent.
Had Godfrey Duncannon ever offered Cecily such warmth? Perhaps he had not that ease to give to a woman? Sometimes the perceived differences were too great to bridge.
If that were so, was it any of Emily’s right or privilege to discuss it? Not if it had no bearing on the contract. Some griefs could be endured only because no one else knew of them.
The next moment, they were joined by Jack, who greeted Vespasia and Narraway formally, introducing them all to Godfrey Duncannon and Cecily, who accompanied him. Immediately the conversation became generaclass="underline" where people were going to spend Christmas, in the city or at some country estate; what theater or opera was playing, and whether the performances were as good as others they were familiar with; and of course what the weather would do.
Emily listened and watched, keeping a demure look of interest on her face.
“We’ll have to make the best of it in the city this year,” Duncannon said to Emily on the subject of Christmas. “You could attend the midnight service at Westminster Abbey or, of course, Saint Paul’s if you prefer. They both have such a sense of history it makes one feel very much part of a great unity, past, present, and into the future.” He smiled at her, and she had a sudden awareness of his charm. Its source was not warmth in the usual sense, but rather more an intense intelligence, an appreciation of a multitude of things, each of which was beautiful to him.
She smiled back at him. “I imagine the Abbey will be a little crowded.”
“Filled to the very doors,” he agreed. “The music will be sublime, and everyone will be singing their hearts out. It isn’t just the great organ, or the choir, or even the numbers, it’s the joy of the people, the wave of belief. If you wish, I’m sure I can arrange a decent seat for you.” There was complete assurance in what he said, generosity certainly, but also pride. He knew he could do it, and it pleased him, as when a man strikes a perfect shot at golf and the ball sinks into the hole, as he knew it would.
She would like to have had the rank and the confidence to decline, but she did not, and they both knew that.
“Thank you,” she said graciously. “It is an experience I am sure I would never forget.” She felt she should say a little more than that, so she added, “It is very kind of you.”
He was pleased. He inclined his head in acceptance of her gratitude. He did not once glance at Cecily.
The conversation continued along other lines and Emily listened dutifully. They spoke of international affairs, other people’s lives, political news and speculation.
Finally Vespasia inclined her head politely and excused herself on the grounds of seeing an acquaintance she should not seem to ignore. She took Emily’s arm. “Come, my dear, I’m sure Lady Cartwright will be pleased to meet you.”