William Monk 09 - A Breach of Promise

not to take offense—or to repeat it.”
    She regarded him uncertainly, then relaxed, and her eyes lost the anxiety they had held until that moment. He realized that without the artificial necessity to be charming, biddable, pretty and accommodating, she was almost certainly an intelligent and most likable person.
    “Yes?” he prompted.
    She laughed. “I found Mr. Melville one of the most comfortable people I ever encountered,” she said, swirling gracefullyin his arms as they negotiated a complicated corner, her huge, pale skirts flying. “He never seemed to misunderstand or to need to prove himself and—and parade … as so many young men do … I—” She bit her lip. “I hope that does not sound too unkind?”
    “Not at all,” he assured her. “Merely very candid. I know precisely what you mean. I have observed it, and I daresay if I were to glance around now I should see a score of examples. I was doubtless guilty of it myself … a few years ago.”
    She wanted to laugh. He could see it in her eyes, but good manners, and the slightness of their acquaintance, forbade it.
    “Perhaps I still do….” He said it before she could complete the thought.
    “Oh no,” she denied. “I’m sure not now. You don’t need to, and you must know that.”
    “The advantage of age.” He laughed at himself.
    Suddenly the vulnerability was back in her eyes, and he knew she was afraid he had referred to the difference in their ages to distance himself from her, to let her know gently that this was merely a courtesy acquaintance and could be nothing more. That was true, but because of his feelings for Hester, not anything to do with Margaret Ballinger. Were it not for Hester, he might well have sought to know Margaret a good deal better.
    He was chilled by the realization of how easy it was to hurt, without the slightest intention, simply because one was thinking of something else, watching some other imperative.
    “Well, perhaps it is more the assurance one gains from some professional success,” he amended, then wished he had not. He was only making it worse. “Tell me more about Mr. Melville’s architectural designs. Is he really innovative?”
    “Yes, quite definitely,” she replied without hesitation. “His designs seem to have far more light than most people’s. They are full of windows and curves where I have never seen them before. There is a house in Hampshire he built, or should I say Mr. Lambert had built, which is wonderful inside. Every roomseems to be full of sunlight, and the windows are quite irregular. It is extraordinarily comfortable to be in. One always seems to be looking outside either at trees or at the sky. I felt so at peace in it. And yet when I asked the housekeeper if it was difficult to care for, she assured me it was actually highly practical. I was most surprised.”
    So was Rathbone. He had not judged Melville to have such courage.
    “I think perhaps he is a genius,” Margaret said very quietly. He only heard her because the music had stopped. They swung to a standstill. He offered his arm again, and she took it.
    “Would you care for a glass of champagne?” he asked. “Or lemonade?”
    “Lemonade, if you please,” she accepted.
    He fetched it for her and they spent a little further time in conversation, now not in the least difficult. Then he returned her to where Mrs. Ballinger was standing alone looking remarkably pleased with herself.
    “I can see how much you have enjoyed your dance,” she said with a smile. “You are excellently matched.” She turned to her daughter. “Mr. Edwin Trelawny has been asking for you, my dear. He remembered you from your meeting in Bath. I think we should return Lady Trelawny’s call … perhaps this week.”
    It was a ploy to make sure Rathbone did not think Margaret too available. No one wished to pursue a young lady if he was alone in the chase. If he were, then she could not be worth a great deal.
    “Yes, Mama,” Margaret said dutifully, cringing at the obviousness of it.
    Mrs. Ballinger was undeterred. In order to marry off daughters one had to develop an exceedingly thick protective armor against disapproval or other people’s embarrassment. She ignored Margaret’s pleading look.
    “Does your family live in London, Sir Oliver? I don’t believe I am acquainted with your mother.”
    Margaret closed her eyes, refusing to look at Rathbone.
    Rathbone smiled with quite genuine amusement. He was now being judged as