see you." He would have used the same tone of voice had he found an apple core in his pudding.
She inclined her head. "How typical of your generosity to say so," she answered, dismissing it as if it had been a vulgarity apologized for at the table.
His face tightened. He had no choice but to continue the charade by introducing his sister, her husband, and the lady who was visiting. Vespasia's lack of reason for intruding hung heavily in the air. He did not quite ask her what she wanted, but the attitude of his body, the expectant angle of his head, demanded she explain herself.
She smiled at the widow, a Mrs. Arbuthnott. "A friend of mine, Lady Wilmslow, has mentioned you most kindly," she lied. "And she has asked me if I should encounter you to be sure to make your acquaintance."
Mrs. Arbuthnott blinked with pleasure. She had never heard of Lady Wilmslow, who, in any event, did not exist, but she certainly had heard of Vespasia, and was enormously complimented.
Vespasia salved her guilt with generosity. "If you are in town for the rest of the month," she continued, "I shall be at home on Mondays and Wednesdays, and if you find it convenient to call, you will be most welcome." She slipped a card with her address out of its silver case in her reticule, and offered it.
Mrs. Arbuthnott took it as if it had been a jewel, and indeed in social terms it was, and one that money could not purchase. She stammered her thanks, and Garrick's sister hid her envy with difficulty. But then, if she conducted herself with any care at all, Mrs. Arbuthnott was her guest, and she could accompany her without raising any eyebrows.
Vespasia turned to Garrick. "I hope you are well, Ferdinand?" It was merely a politeness, something one would say as a matter of form. The reply was expected in the affirmative; no information was required, or wished for.
"In excellent health," he replied. "And you appear to be also, but then I have never seen you look less." He would not allow himself to be maneuvered into ill manners, especially in front of his guests.
She smiled at him as if she had heard what he had said and accepted the compliment, although she knew it was made for effect, not because he meant it.
"Thank you. You speak with such warmth one does not discard your generosity as merely the instinctive answer of courtesy." There was a dark, angry part of her enjoying this. She had forgotten how much she disliked Garrick. He reminded her of other aggressively virtuous people she had known, closer to home, obsessed with rule-keeping, self-control, and slowness to forgive, a suspicion of laughter, and an icy pleasure in being right. Perhaps her opinion was more supposed than real. She was indulging in exactly the same sin for which she blamed him. Later, when she was alone, she must try to recall what she actually knew about him.
She kept her face deliberately mild and interested. "How is Stephen? I believe I saw him in the park the other day, but he was moving at some speed, and I might have been mistaken. Would he have been riding with the Marsh girl, I cannot remember her name, the one with so much hair?"
Garrick was absolutely motionless. There was no evidence of it, but she was certain that his mind was racing for an answer.
"No," he said at last. "It must have been someone else."
She remained looking at him expectantly, as though the merest courtesy demanded some further explanation. To have stopped there would be a snub.
A flicker of annoyance crossed his face, for an instant quite unmistakable.
Vespasia considered whether to notice it or not. She was afraid he would change the subject.
"I apologize," she said quickly, just before his brother-in-law could rescue him. "I did not mean to embarrass you."
Anger washed up his cheeks, dull red, and the muscles of his body locked rigid. "Don't be absurd!" he said tartly, his eyes stabbing at her. "I was merely trying to think who it was you could have seen. Stephen has not been well. The coming winter will exacerbate his difficulty." He breathed in. "He has gone to stay in the south of France for a spell. Milder climate. Drier."
"Very wise," Vespasia acknowledged, uncertain whether she believed him or not. It was an extremely reasonable explanation in every way, and yet it did not sit well with what Gracie had