“We have made it for centuries, and the arts are passed down the generations within a family. Not that mine is one of them,” she added hastily. “We just lived in the region. My husband’s family is, however. His father and brothers were disappointed when he studied politics and chose the diplomatic service, but I think he has never regretted it. Although, of course, we still feel that tug of nostalgia when we go back to the vineyards, the sun on the vines, the labor of picking, the excitement of the first taste of the vintage.
“As a girl I used to daydream about the gentlemen whose tables it would be passed around. I pictured who they would be, what great events of state might be discussed with a glass of port in one hand.” She laughed a little self-consciously. “I would think of daring adventures planned, explorations, discoveries recounted, theories put forward on a hundred new ideas, reforms to change the laws of nations. Silly, maybe, but …”
“Not silly at all!” Charlotte said quietly. “Much better than half the daydreams I had, I promise you. It is something to be proud of.”
Isaura laughed. “Some of my in-laws’ port was in the glasses of great Portuguese navigators, traders in exotic silks and spices, but much of it was also on English dining tables after the ladies had withdrawn. In my mind every great Englishman drank port, while he planned to settle America or Australia, find the Northwest Passage to the Pacific, discover how the circulation of blood works, or write about the origin of species.” She flushed slightly at her own audacity.
“I think you have a marvelous imagination,” Charlotte said warmly. “I shall never look at a good bottle of port again without my own being inspired. Thank you for enriching me so happily.”
Before Isaura could respond, they were joined by three ladies in highly fashionable gowns and hats that drew the attention, and certainly the envy, of every woman who caught even a glimpse of them. With regret, Charlotte reverted to the conversation of gossip and trivia.
“Marvelous,” one woman enthused. “You can’t imagine how it looked, my dear. I’ll never forget it …”
“Do you suppose she’ll marry him?” another asked with intense curiosity. “What a match that would be!”
“I shudder to think.” A third gave the slightest indication with a twitch of one elegant shoulder. “Anyway, I’m quite sure she has her eye on Sir Pelham Forsbrook.”
Charlotte’s attention was caught by that last name. He was the father of Neville Forsbrook, who had so cruelly taunted Angeles. She glanced sideways at Isaura and saw the distress in her face before she could conceal it with a feigned smile of interest.
“Is Sir Pelham thinking of marrying again?” Charlotte asked, with no idea of the circumstances, except that, with a son he owned to, he had to have been married once.
“She is thinking of it, my dear,” the first woman said with a smile very slightly condescending. “Pelham is worth a fortune. All kinds of investments in Africa, I believe. Probably gold, I should think. Didn’t they find masses of it in Johannesburg last year? And he’s a very charming man, sort of dark and interesting, a powerful face.”
One of the others giggled slightly. “I do believe you are attracted to him yourself, Marguerite.”
“Nonsense!” Marguerite said a trifle too quickly. “Eleanor was a friend of mine. I wouldn’t dream of it. Such a tragedy. I haven’t got it out of my mind yet.”
Charlotte made a mental note to ask Vespasia what had happened to Eleanor, who was presumably Forsbrook’s late wife. For the moment, she turned to Isaura and said how delighted she had been to meet her again, and excused herself from the conversation.
She was still wondering about the Forsbrook family when she noticed a group of young women, perhaps seventeen or eighteen years old, laughing and talking together. They were all pretty, with the unlined features and the blemishless complexions of the young, but one of the girls in particular caught Charlotte’s attention.
Her hair and eyes were both startlingly dark and quite beautiful against the peach tones of her high-necked gown. Also, she had an air of intensity that instantly made her stand out; she seemed far more serious than the others, with a look of being occupied in some private concern. Charlotte watched her for several moments as one of the other girls spoke to her and she had to ask for the words to be repeated before she