Before Charlotte could reply, Octavia hurried into the room, followed closely by Jeremy.
“Oh, you need not have troubled yourself to come to me, Mrs. Ashton,” Octavia exclaimed. The words belied the daggers in her eyes. “I was just seeing to having tea served to Lord Sterling and Mrs. Sloane before responding to your summons.”
Isobel eyed Jeremy, her expression inscrutable. “How kind of you to stop by, Lord Sterling.”
Charlotte realized that of course they must know each other.
“I’m so glad to have the chance to express my condolences in person, Mrs. Ashton,” he answered smoothly, as if he hadn’t heard the hint of friction in her voice. “It is a great loss for you, and for all of us who considered your husband a friend.”
“Thank you.” A pause as her gaze took on a speculative gleam.
Jeremy often drew such looks from women, thought Charlotte. But this one seemed strangely impersonal.
“Elihu enjoyed your company, and your intellectual curiosity,”went on Isobel. “Most of his investors are not particularly interested in his ideas, merely what they produce.”
Was that an edge of bitterness, wondered Charlotte. Or some other emotion?
Jeremy acknowledged her words with a small nod. “That’s very kind of you to say.”
The majolica rooster suddenly felt heavy as lead in Charlotte’s hands. The air of perfect politeness wasn’t fooling anyone. Beneath it crackled a current of tension.
Octavia’s eye was drawn to the flutter of color. “Ah, I see you’ve found Eli’s pet.”
The widow stiffened at the use of her husband’s name.
“He was very fond of that silly bird,” added Octavia.
“It seems Mrs. Sloane had a sentimental attachment to a similar one from her past,” replied Isobel. A pause, made with an actress’s instinct for effect. “So I’ve made it a gift to her. I know Elihu would be delighted that it will bring pleasure to someone who’ll appreciate it, now that he’s gone.”
The color drained from Octavia’s face. “But . . .”
“But what?” asked Isobel softly.Steel within silk.Her looks might deceive a great many people, but Charlotte wasn’t fooled. Beneath the widow’s fragile femininity, she sensed there was a will that would break before it would ever bend.
Octavia bit her bloodless lip.
“If Miss Merton would take comfort in having it as a token—” began Charlotte.
“She has a great many mementos of my husband, if indeed such things have any sentimental meaning to her,” said Isobel firmly. “However, I doubt that is the case. Miss Merton has said on numerous occasions that she prides herself on being ruled by reason and practicality, not emotion.” A glance at Octavia. “Isn’t that so?”
“Yes.” The whisper had no breath behind it.
“So you see, Mrs. Sloane, the matter is settled. It gives megreat pleasure to know the piece of pottery will have an appreciative home.”
Charlotte had no choice. To refuse the gift would appear unforgivably churlish. “That’s exceedingly generous of you.”
“Not at all,” replied the widow frankly. “True generosity is when you part from something that has value to you.”
Charlotte sensed her mettle was being tested. “Then call it charitable. An act of kindness to a stranger.”
Amusement touched Isobel’s lips. “I would have suggested pragmatic. As I said, it saves me the worry of transporting a fragile object—and the guilt of breaking something which Elihu enjoyed.”
“Pragmatism,” murmured Charlotte, “is, to my mind, a worthy trait.” Especially for a woman.
“Indeed.” The windows rattled as a rising gust slapped against the diamond-shaped pane. A spattering of raindrops ricocheted against the glass. Octavia started, but the widow didn’t flinch.
Isobel Ashton, decided Charlotte, would be a formidable enemy.
The shadows deepened and darkened within the room. A rattling suddenly sounded in the corridor as well, along with tentative footsteps. Looking uncertain, the young maid carrying the heavily-laden tea tray hesitated upon entering the room.
