Page 28 of A Conspiracy in Belgravia
Every muscle in Livia’s body seized, yet she felt as if her arms and legs were flopping wildly, uncontrollably. “I haven’t been introduced to any man.”
Which was God’s truth, even if it was far from the whole truth.
“No, you haven’t,” said Charlotte.
Silence again, but not such a soft, calm silence anymore. Livia had no idea what to do. Should she lie? Should she confess? Or should she continue to stare at Charlotte, saying nothing?
Charlotte sat down on the windowsill, the same one she had occupied the night of her scandal, immediately before she told Livia that she would be running away from home. “Actually, I came to ask you for a favor.”
“Wh—I mean,of course. Anything.”
Anything to get the subject away from the man to whom Livia had not been introduced.
“It’s about Lady Ingram.”
“Wouldn’t you know it, I met her last night at the soiree musicale Mamma dragged me to. I couldn’t believe it, but she was very decent to me—said she understood exactly how much I wanted to escape all that yodeling. She even asked about you.”
Was this effusive enough an answer for Charlotte to forget what they were talking about before?
“She did?”
Charlotte didn’t raise a brow or the volume of her voice, but Livia thought she heard a note of surprise.
“Yes, rather nonchalantly, too. None of that look-all-around-then-lean-in-and-whisper business.”
Charlotte didn’t speak for a minute, as if needing time to digest this unexpected nugget of intelligence. “What do you think of Lady Ingram?”
Livia shook her head. “Women of her kind make me nervous—they are so sure of themselves. I don’t know that I ever think about them so much as I pray they don’t think badly of me.”
It took only a passing glance from someone like Lady Ingram for Livia to be acutely conscious of her shortcomings. Or it could be said that she was already acutely conscious of her shortcomings and that a whiff of disdain from any quarter, real or imagined, heated that general anxiety to a froth of self-scorn.
“What I meant was, do you believe she ever loved Lord Ingram?”
What an odd question from Charlotte, who had never commented on that marriage. Had rarely brought up Lord Ingram in conversation, in fact, despite their long-standing friendship. Sometimes Livia wondered about the two, but it was usually to speculate on whether Lord Ingram might be secretly in love with Charlotte: She was fully prepared to accept that Charlotte had never felt the slightest twinge of romance in her twenty-five years on earth.
“I don’t know that Lady Ingram ever loved her husband, but I do remember thinking that she seemed awfully pleased with the match. Not to an unseemly degree, mind you, but still. I envied her that happiness.”
“Our envy always lasts longer than the happiness of those we envy.”
“Oh, I’m not entirely sure about that. Her happiness lasted a good long while—at least it seemed so to me.”
Charlotte cocked her head to one side. “What if it was all a pretense?”
“It was, wasn’t it? She only married him for his inheritance.”
“No, I mean, what if that happiness was all a pretense? What if she’d never been happy to marry him, even in the beginning?”
“Why are you interested in Lady Ingram, all of a sudden?”
Charlotte glanced out of the window again. “I’m going to tell you something that I learned recently, but you can’t say anything to anyone else.”
“You know I have no bosom bows eager to receive gossip from me. But very well, I won’t tell anyone. What is it?”
“I have heard that before she made her debut, Lady Ingram had been in love with someone else. Someone unsuitable.”
Livia sucked in a breath—and was almost sad she didn’t have a group of lady friends before whom she could dangle this juicy tidbit. “How unsuitable?”
“As unsuitable as our brother would have been.”
