“Don’t be impertinent! I know you disagree with me. I can see it in your face. Always thought you knew better, but you don’t!”
Charlotte rose to her feet. “I can see that you are very well, Grandmama. If I speak to Dominic again I shall convey your congratulations to him. I am sure you are glad he has found the path of rectitude.”
The old lady grunted. “And where are you going?”
“To see Great-Aunt Vespasia. I am to take luncheon with her.”
“Are you? You didn’t offer to take luncheon with me.”
Charlotte looked at her long and carefully. Was there any point in telling her the truth? That her endless criticism made her company burdensome, that the only way to tolerate it without weeping was to laugh? That she had never once felt happier, lighter-hearted, braver or more hopeful because of it?
“One would have thought you would have preferred your own family to some lady who is only related to you by your sister’s marriage,” Grandmama went on. “That says something for your values, doesn’t it?”
“One would have hoped it, certainly,” Charlotte agreed. “But Great-Aunt Vespasia likes me, and I don’t think you do.”
The old lady looked startled, a faint flush of pink in her cheeks.
“I am your grandmother! I am family. That is quite different.”
“Absolutely,” Charlotte agreed with a smile. “Relationship is a birthright; liking someone has to be acquired. I hope you have a pleasant day. If you want to read the scandal in the newspapers, it’s on page eight. Good-bye.”
She left feeling guilty, and angry with herself for allowing the old lady to provoke her into retaliation. She took another hansom and sat for the whole journey seething with anger and wondering if Unity Bellwood had suffered with family like Grandmama. She knew the rage within herself and the passion to prove herself right that it engendered. To be continuously thwarted, told she was inadequate to the dream she treasured, that her role was forever limited, brought out the worst in her, a desire to justify herself at almost any cost. She entertained ideas of cruelty which would have horrified her in less-heated moments.
Pitt had told her about the attitudes of the church academic he had spoken to, how he had patronized Unity and belittled her ability, stating, as of a proven matter, that because she was a woman she was necessarily of inferior emotional stability and therefore unsuited to higher learning. The compulsion to prove them wrong in that, and in anything and everything else, must have been overwhelming.
She alighted outside Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould’s home, paid the driver, and walked up the steps just as the maid opened the door for her. Vespasia was the great-aunt of Emily’s first husband, but she had developed an affection for both Emily and Charlotte which had long outlasted George’s death and had grown with their every meeting. She was well over eighty now. In her youth she had been the greatest beauty of her generation. She was still exquisite and dressed with elegance and flair, but she no longer cared what society thought of her, and spoke her opinions with wit and forthrightness, which inspired admiration in many, anger in some, and downright terror in others.
She was waiting for Charlotte in her spacious withdrawing room with its tall windows letting in the sunlight and the great sense of calm its pale colors and uncluttered surfaces credited. She greeted her with pleasure and interest.
“Come in, my dear, and sit down. I think perhaps to ask you to make yourself comfortable would be foolish.” She regarded Charlotte with amusement. “You look in far too high a temper for that. What has occasioned it?” She indicated a carved and upholstered chair for Charlotte, and occupied a chaise longue herself. She was dressed in her favorite shades of ivory and deep cream with long pearls almost to her waist. The entire bodice of her gown was made of guipure lace over silk, with a silk fichu at the throat. The bustle was almost nonexistent, as was so far in fashion as to be all but in advance of it.
“I have been to visit Grandmama,” Charlotte replied. “She was appalling, and I behaved badly. I said things I should have kept to myself. I loathe her for bringing out the worst in me.”
Vespasia smiled. “A very familiar feeling,” she sympathized. “It is remarkable how often one’s family can occasion it.” A ghost of laughter crossed her silver eyes. “Particularly Eustace.”