Anne Perry - Dorchester Terrace

“I imagine your husband will arrive soon,” he said to Charlotte.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, forcing herself to smile back at him. “He has been held up. I don’t know why. I apologize.”

“Don’t you?” Alois raised his eyebrows. His expression was agreeably interested. “They stopped our train. Put a hay wagon across the track.” He said it as if he was commenting on something as trivial as the weather. She barely saw the shadow of grief in his eyes. “Unfortunately, they shot my friend Hans. Your husband went straight after the marksman, without hesitation.”

Charlotte was stunned. Suddenly the hubbub of laughter and music drifting from the other room seemed to fade away.

“I’m so sorry. How is your friend?” she asked quietly.

“I am afraid he is dead,” he replied. Only his voice changed, not the bland look on his face. “I think he may not have suffered. It was a perfect shot, straight through the heart.”

She could not think of anything to say. She felt foolish.

“He looked like me,” he said. There was a catch in his voice that he could not hide. “Your husband is a good man. I look forward to knowing him better. Perhaps you will come to Vienna one day? You would enjoy it. It is a beautiful city, full of music, ideas, and history.”

She took a deep breath. “I look forward to it. Thank you, sir.”

He smiled, then turned away to make polite and meaningless conversation with the young woman in pink.

At the farther side of the room, Emily was standing beside Jack. They also finished a courteous discussion and drifted from one group to another.

“Where is Thomas?” Jack said very quietly to Emily. “Why isn’t he here?”

“I don’t know,” Emily replied. “But wherever he is, Charlotte isn’t worried about him.”

“Are you sure?” he asked anxiously. “She wouldn’t show it if she were.”

“Of course I’m sure,” Emily said with an elegant shrug of exasperation. “She’s my sister. I’d know if she was pretending.”

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “You haven’t read her very well over the last few weeks.”

She flushed. “I know, and I’m sorry about it. I thought she was being very self-important.” She took a deep breath. “I was.” She did not add that she had been afraid that Jack was out of his depth with his promotion to Tregarron’s assistant. That was something he might guess, but she would rather that he did not know it for certain. “Charlotte and I understand each other better now,” she added. She knew he was still looking at her, so she flashed a quick, confident smile, and saw him relax. Now she wondered how worried he had been, and decided she would prefer not to know either. It would be a good thing for them both to have the chance to deny things, and for each to be able to pretend to believe the other.

She tucked her arm in his. “Let’s go and be polite to the duchess of whatever it is. She’s a fearful bore. It will take some concentration.”

“All you need to do is listen,” he replied. He placed his hand momentarily over hers in a quick, gentle gesture, then removed it again instantly and walked forward with her beside him.

“That’s not enough,” she whispered, leaning closer. “You have to smile, and nod in all the right places, and try not to fidget, or let your eyes wander to other people …”

Almost under the great chandelier Narraway was standing next to Vespasia. For a moment or two they were not engaged in conversation with anyone else.

“Where is Pitt?” he asked quietly. “Charlotte doesn’t look worried, but he should be here with Duke Alois. I’ve seen Stoker, dressed like a footman, but that isn’t enough.”

She looked at him closely. “You think something could happen here, in the palace?”

“It’s unlikely,” he replied, almost under his breath. “But it isn’t impossible.”

She was alarmed. She turned to face him, studying his eyes, his mouth, trying to read whether it was fear or merely caution that moved him. His eyes were shadowed, nearly black, the lines around his mouth scored deep.

“Such a scandal, here?” she whispered.

He put his hand on hers, his fingers warm and strong. “Oh, nothing so melodramatic, my dear. Far more likely to be a quick scuffle in the shadows of a corridor, and then a body behind the curtains to be found in the morning.”

She searched his eyes and saw no laughter at all, nothing beyond the wry, gentle irony that softened his words.

“I don’t know where Thomas is,” she answered his first question. “I think something might have happened that we are not yet aware of. Duke Alois looks as if he is mastering his emotions with some difficulty, and I have not seen Lord Tregarron. Have you?”

“No. Please don’t … inquire for him …” He stopped, uncertain how to continue.

“I won’t,” she promised. “At least not yet.”

This time he did laugh, so quietly it was almost soundless. “Of course you will,” he said ruefully. “But please be careful. I have an awful feeling that this threat is not over yet.”

“My dear Victor, our concern with threats will never be over. At least, I hope not. And so do you. You would rather go out in a blaze of glory than die of boredom. As would I.”

“But I am not ready to do so yet!” He took a deep breath. “And I am not ready for you to, either.”

She felt a distinct warmth of pleasure. “Then I shall endeavor to see that my next blaze of glory is not an exit line.”

Pitt arrived at Kensington Palace just under two hours after the reception had begun. He had been home to Keppel Street and washed, shaved, and changed into his evening suit. Leaving Tregarron’s rifle locked in the wardrobe, he had then eaten a cold beef sandwich and drunk a cup of tea. Then, with his revolver in his pocket, which felt lumpy and conspicuous, he had caught a hansom cab, paying extra to the driver to take him with the greatest speed possible. He remembered the jolt of the train stopping, and then the shot, the splintered glass, and the blood as the Duke’s man fell. The devil’s luck, or a brilliant shot? He thought the latter. Had the victim been chosen to accompany Duke Alois because he looked so much like him? Had he known that, and still been prepared to take that risk?

Had Pitt made the right decision in turning Tregarron, rather than arresting him for Hans’s murder? He might never have proved it, and even if he had, what would have been the result? A major scandal, a foreign policy embarrassment of considerable proportions, possibly the loss of his own position, for political clumsiness …

Or alternatively, it would never have come to court anyway. That would have left an impossible situation.

Yet it galled Pitt that the man had attempted to murder Duke Alois, had instead murdered the duke’s friend, and would now walk away from it with neither injury nor blame.

He entered the glittering reception hall feeling absurdly out of place. And yet, he did not look outwardly different from the scores of men standing around talking, to each other and to the gorgeously gowned women in their brilliant colors, their jewels sparkling like fire in the light of the huge chandeliers pendent from elaborate ceilings.

His eyes searched the crowd for Charlotte. He saw Emily. He recognized her fair hair with its diamond tiara, and the pale, liquid shade of green that suited her so well. She looked happy.

He also saw Vespasia, but then she was usually easy to see in any crowd. She was beside Narraway and they were talking to each other, heads bent a little.

What could Charlotte be wearing? Blue, burgundy, some warmer color that flattered the rich tones of her skin and hair; lots of women were wearing such shades. All the skirts were enormous, the sleeves high and almost winged at the shoulder-it was the fashion.