Cecily blinked hard but the tears slid down her cheeks anyway.
“Thank you,” she said huskily. “Now I think I had better excuse myself and go and talk to someone I dislike enough to mask all my feelings from them. Please don’t chastise yourself. I feel far less alone.” And without adding anything more she turned and walked away toward a group of people deep in enthusiastic argument.
It was the following evening before Emily had the chance of speaking to Jack about any of the events at the party. After dinner, when Edward and Evangeline had left the table, the sudden silence that lay between them required some remark before it became awkward.
She was not certain how much not only Jack’s career but also his own money might rest upon the contract’s success. She did not like to ask if he had invested earlier in any of the companies that could be affected. It was highly improper for government ministers to place their own money in businesses whose profits their decisions could affect. It was more than dishonorable; it was a criminal offense.
But money invested earlier, before the issues of the contract existed, would not have been removed and reinvested. That too could be a signal to those who were clever enough to see it, of advantage to come.
For that matter, her own fortune might be involved. Both the house in the city and Ashworth Hall were entailed, and would pass to her son, Edward, who was actually titled Lord Ashworth since his father’s death. But what of the rest?
What was Jack withholding that caused the anxiety she could see in his face across the polished table? He had protected her on several occasions, from one sort or another of pain or unpleasantness. She was happy to allow him to, not because she needed it but because it was important to establish the balance of their relationship.
She had been Lady Ashworth when they met: beautiful, titled, and rich. He was handsome and charming, but the third son of a family with neither wealth nor connection to the aristocracy except of the most distant sort. What could he offer her? It did not matter in the slightest to her; she already had such things. But she quickly learned that it mattered to him. A couple of thoughtless mistakes had shown her that wounds to one’s self-belief were deep and did not heal easily. Like broken bones that had knitted at last, a change in the weather could make them ache all over again like new injuries.
“Are you still going to recommend Abercorn a government position?” she asked him.
“Yes. I think he’s a good man, and he’s going to stand for office next chance he gets…I mean when there’s a seat open, even before the next general election. Why?”
“What about Godfrey Duncannon? He wouldn’t agree with you, would he?”
A shadow crossed his face. “I work with Duncannon on this particular project; I don’t have to agree with him over everything.”
“So he doesn’t agree?” she said quickly. “But it’s more than that, Jack. The other night, at the Parsonses’, I happened to glance at Abercorn, and for an instant there was hatred in his face. I don’t mean just dislike, or a difference of opinion. They were nowhere near each other, and Abercorn looked across at Godfrey with…with a terrible expression in his eyes.”
Jack shook his head, his lips tight. “You’re probably imagining it. I daresay he was bored to death with the conversation. And what makes you certain it was Godfrey he was looking at, if he was as far away as you say? They don’t like each other. I know that. They are from very different social backgrounds. Godfrey comes from aristocracy and inherited privilege, Abercorn from relative poverty, and made his own way. There are bound to be differences. Heavens, Godfrey is for the establishment, and keeping everything the same. Abercorn is for change, and what he believes to be social justice, or at least something close to it.”
Emily wanted to argue. What she had seen was not political difference, it was hate, but she could think of no argument that Jack would listen to and believe.
“They agree on the contract,” he went on. “They are both experts on China and sea trade, in their own way. You don’t have to like someone to work with them. It’s politics, Emily, not lifetime partnership!”
She knew better than to argue any further. She changed the subject.
“Do you think we should go to the country for Christmas?” she asked, trying to keep emotion out of her voice.
He hesitated, watching her, trying to read how much it mattered to her.
She did not want to be too obvious. Condescension could deliver the deepest cut of all, like a fine razor. You did not even know how deep it was until you couldn’t stop the bleeding.
“I think it would be rather nice to have it here, for a change,” she went on. His failure to answer told her more than he knew. “Perhaps we should invite Charlotte and Thomas over for dinner? We haven’t done that for ages. If Thomas can come, of course? This horrible bombing at Lancaster Gate is taking all his time.”
“On condition we don’t talk about it,” Jack said with a smile.
“For heaven’s sake!” she exclaimed. “He wouldn’t even think of it. I imagine he dislikes it a lot more than you do. Besides, he’s not allowed to talk about his work. It’s not like it was when he was in the police.”
Jack leaned back a little in his chair. “I know that. And I think it would be an excellent idea. Frankly, I would prefer not to spend a day traveling, and be out of touch with any developments in this contract. But I owe Duncannon every support.”
“Of course,” she agreed. “It’s quite a relief, really. It’s going to be cold, and possibly even snowing. It would be nice not to have to go anywhere. I’ll tell the staff. And tomorrow I’ll invite Charlotte. I hope I haven’t left it too late. It does look a bit last minute, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” he agreed with a smile.
She stood up and walked around to his chair. She put both hands on his shoulders and gently kissed his cheek. “Well, if they can’t come, it will just be us. I would be very happy with that, too.” She felt the tension ease out of him. He said nothing, but put his hand up to cover hers.
Emily went to see Charlotte, as she had promised. Normally neither of them would stop in the middle of the afternoon for tea. It was a meal no one really needed, but it was a nice excuse to sit and talk. Charlotte had baked fresh mince pies.
“My favorite Christmas food,” Emily said as she sat down at the kitchen table.
“Better than roast goose or Christmas pudding?” Charlotte said with much surprise.
Emily did not bother to answer. Even with silver sixpences in the pudding and brandy butter on top, it still did not beat hot mince pies.
She had rehearsed in her mind a dozen times what she would say, but it never sounded as she wished it to. Underneath their differences in taste, social position into which they had married, and the entire styles of their lives, they knew each other too well.
“Jack doesn’t discuss this contract very much, but I know it is extraordinarily important…” Emily began.
“Are you afraid it’s not going to be ratified? Or that it’s not what it is purported to be?” Charlotte asked.
“You don’t give me any room to come at it sideways, do you!” Emily protested with a slight smile.
“Your tea will get cold…” Charlotte’s meaning was obvious, but she said it gently, and pushed the plate of mince pies over toward Emily’s side of the table.
Emily took one and bit into it. It was exquisite, sweet and sharp, and its pastry melted in her mouth.
“I don’t actually know what I’m afraid of,” she confessed. “On the face of it, it’s foolproof. But Jack was so hurt the last time. I mean…”