Dorchester Terrace Read Online Free Page B

devil on his shoulder,” he went on, watching her face as closely as she was watching his. “A contradiction of a man. More disciplined than anyone else I know. He sleeps on an army bed and rises at some ungodly hour long before dawn. And yet he fell madly in love with Elisabeth, seven years younger than himself, sister of the woman his father wished him to marry.”
    “The empress Elisabeth?” Charlotte said with even sharper interest. There was a vitality in Blantyre that intrigued her. She was unsure whether he spoke with such intensity merely to entertain, or possibly to impress, or whether his passion for his subject was really so fierce that he had no control over it.
    “The very same,” Blantyre agreed. “He overrode all opposition. He would not be denied.” Now the admiration in his face was undisguised. “They married, and by the time she was twenty-one she had given birth to her third child, her only son.”
    “A strange mixture of rigidity and romance,” she said thoughtfully. “Are they happy?”
    She felt Pitt’s hand touching her arm, but it was too late to withdraw the remark. She glanced at Adriana and saw in her eyes an emotion she could not read at all: a brilliance, a pain, and something she was trying very hard to conceal. Becoming aware of Charlotte’s gaze on her, she looked away.
    “No,” Blantyre said frankly. “She is somewhat bohemian in her tastes, and highly eccentric. She travels all over Europe wherever she can.”
    Charlotte wanted to make some light remark that would ease the tension and turn the conversation away from her misjudged question,but she thought now that such a thing would be obvious, and only make matters worse.
    “Perhaps it was a case of falling in love with a dream that one did not really understand,” she said quietly.
    “How very perceptive of you. You are rather alarming, Mrs. Pitt.” Blantyre said this with pleasure, and a distinct respect. “And very honest!”
    “I think you mean ‘indiscreet,’ ” she said ruefully. “Perhaps we had better return to Mr. Strauss and his music. I believe his father was a noted composer as well?”
    “Ah, yes.” He drew a deep breath and his smile was a little wry. “He composed the ‘Radetzky March.’ ”
    A T THE FARTHER SIDE of the room was Victor Narraway, newly elevated and a somewhat reluctant member of the House of Lords. He suddenly smiled as he saw Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould. She was now of an age that it would be indelicate to mention, but she still had the beauty that had made her famous. She walked with the grace of an empress, but without the arrogance. Her silver hair was her crown. As always, she was dressed in the height of fashion. She was tall enough to carry off the huge, puffed upper sleeves that were in style, and she clearly found her great sweeping skirt no encumbrance.
    He was still watching her, with the pleasure of friendship, when she turned slightly and saw him. She did not move, but waited for him to come to her.
    “Good evening, Lady Vespasia,” he said warmly. “You have just made all the trivialities of attending such an event worthwhile.”
    “Good evening, my lord,” she replied with laughter in her eyes.
    “That is unnecessary!” Now he felt self-conscious, which was a very rare thing for him. He had held extraordinary power, discreetly, for most of his adult life, first as a member of Special Branch, then for the last decade and a half as its head. But it was a new experience for him to be given such social deference.
    “You will have to get used to it, Victor,” she said gently. “Elevation to the peerage gains a different kind of influence.”
    “Their lordships’ deliberations are mostly a lot of pontificating,” he replied a trifle sourly. “Very often for the sound of their own voices. No one else is listening.”
    She raised her eyebrows. “Have you just discovered that?”
    “No, of course not. But now that no one is obliged to listen to me, I miss