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Authors: Anne Perry
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had not mentioned it to Mary—it would be disloyal—but there was a streak of cruelty in him which appalled her; there were dark areas of his character, impulses she did not trust. She could not commit herself to such a man, not as anything more than a friend.
Or would she marry Oliver Rathbone, if he were to yield to any emotion powerful enough to make him ask her? She ought to. It would be a far better offer than most women ever received, certainly any woman at all at her age. She was nearly thirty, for heaven’s sake. Only heiresses couldexpect marriage at that time of life. And far from being an heiress, she was obliged to earn her own living.
Then why would she not leap at the chance?
Mary was still looking at her with her eyes full of laughter.
Hester started to speak, and then had no idea what she was going to say.
The amusement died out of Mary’s face. “Be very sure which one you want, my dear. If you make the wrong decision you may rue it the rest of your life.”
“There is no decision to make!” Hester said far too quickly.
Mary said nothing, but the comprehension, and the disbelief, were plain in her face.
The train was slowing down again, and with a clatter it finally came to a stop. Doors opened and someone was shouting. The stationmaster passed by on the platform, calling the name of the station outside every carriage. Hester rearranged the rug more closely around their knees. Outside in the flickering darkness a hand bell rang, and a few minutes later the engine belched steam and began to move forward again.
It was almost half past ten. Hester felt the tiredness of the previous night’s journey beginning to catch up with her, but Mary was obviously still wide-awake. Oonagh had said that her medicine should be given no later than eleven o’clock or, at the outside, a quarter past. Apparently Mary did not habitually retire early.
“Are you tired?” she suggested. Actually she was enjoying Mary’s company, and mere would be no further opportunity to talk in the morning. They would arrive shortly after nine and the time would be taken up with alighting, finding baggage and locating Griselda and Mr. Murdoch.
“No,” Mary said cheerfully, although she had smothered a yawn once or twice. “No doubt Oonagh has told you I am to retire by eleven at the latest? Yes, I thought so. I think Oonagh would have made a good nurse. She is naturallyintelligent and efficient, the most practical of my children; but more than that, she has the art of persuading people to do the right thing in such a way that they are convinced that it was their own idea.” She pulled a slight face. “That truly is an art, you know? I have often wished I had it myself. And her judgment is excellent. I was surprised how quickly Quinlan learned to respect her. It is not often a man of his nature will have that kind of regard for a woman, especially one close to his own age, and it is genuine—I am not speaking of the kind of good manners he shows towards me.”
Hester did not find it hard to believe. She had seen the strength of determination in Quinlan’s face and the intelligence behind those quick, blue eyes. He would be far better served to make a friend of Oonagh than anyone else in the family. Baird obviously loathed him, Deirdra was indifferent, occupied with her own interests, and by Mary’s account, Alastair relied upon Oonagh’s judgment as he had done since they were children.
“Yes, I expect she would,” Hester agreed. “But good judgment and the arts of diplomacy are never wasted in a large family. They may make the difference between happiness and misery.”
“You’re right, of course you are,” Mary agreed with a nod. “But perhaps it is a fact not everyone appreciates.”
Hester smiled. It would have been clumsy to acknowledge her understanding.
“Will you have a pleasant time in London?” she asked. “Will you have the opportunity to dine out and to go to the theater?”
Mary hesitated a
Or would she marry Oliver Rathbone, if he were to yield to any emotion powerful enough to make him ask her? She ought to. It would be a far better offer than most women ever received, certainly any woman at all at her age. She was nearly thirty, for heaven’s sake. Only heiresses couldexpect marriage at that time of life. And far from being an heiress, she was obliged to earn her own living.
Then why would she not leap at the chance?
Mary was still looking at her with her eyes full of laughter.
Hester started to speak, and then had no idea what she was going to say.
The amusement died out of Mary’s face. “Be very sure which one you want, my dear. If you make the wrong decision you may rue it the rest of your life.”
“There is no decision to make!” Hester said far too quickly.
Mary said nothing, but the comprehension, and the disbelief, were plain in her face.
The train was slowing down again, and with a clatter it finally came to a stop. Doors opened and someone was shouting. The stationmaster passed by on the platform, calling the name of the station outside every carriage. Hester rearranged the rug more closely around their knees. Outside in the flickering darkness a hand bell rang, and a few minutes later the engine belched steam and began to move forward again.
It was almost half past ten. Hester felt the tiredness of the previous night’s journey beginning to catch up with her, but Mary was obviously still wide-awake. Oonagh had said that her medicine should be given no later than eleven o’clock or, at the outside, a quarter past. Apparently Mary did not habitually retire early.
“Are you tired?” she suggested. Actually she was enjoying Mary’s company, and mere would be no further opportunity to talk in the morning. They would arrive shortly after nine and the time would be taken up with alighting, finding baggage and locating Griselda and Mr. Murdoch.
“No,” Mary said cheerfully, although she had smothered a yawn once or twice. “No doubt Oonagh has told you I am to retire by eleven at the latest? Yes, I thought so. I think Oonagh would have made a good nurse. She is naturallyintelligent and efficient, the most practical of my children; but more than that, she has the art of persuading people to do the right thing in such a way that they are convinced that it was their own idea.” She pulled a slight face. “That truly is an art, you know? I have often wished I had it myself. And her judgment is excellent. I was surprised how quickly Quinlan learned to respect her. It is not often a man of his nature will have that kind of regard for a woman, especially one close to his own age, and it is genuine—I am not speaking of the kind of good manners he shows towards me.”
Hester did not find it hard to believe. She had seen the strength of determination in Quinlan’s face and the intelligence behind those quick, blue eyes. He would be far better served to make a friend of Oonagh than anyone else in the family. Baird obviously loathed him, Deirdra was indifferent, occupied with her own interests, and by Mary’s account, Alastair relied upon Oonagh’s judgment as he had done since they were children.
“Yes, I expect she would,” Hester agreed. “But good judgment and the arts of diplomacy are never wasted in a large family. They may make the difference between happiness and misery.”
“You’re right, of course you are,” Mary agreed with a nod. “But perhaps it is a fact not everyone appreciates.”
Hester smiled. It would have been clumsy to acknowledge her understanding.
“Will you have a pleasant time in London?” she asked. “Will you have the opportunity to dine out and to go to the theater?”
Mary hesitated a
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