had nothing new to offer a hostess were less valued callers—the poor in social currency.
The morning might have been more interesting, she admitted to herself, if she’d been acquainted with the people involved and their histories, as everyone else seemed to be. But she wasn’t. She was also a novice in the language of looks and gestures that embellished these conversations, implying much more than was said for those in the know.
They ended at Mrs. Prine’s house. Squeezed between two mansions, it was even smaller than Henry’s, though in a far more fashionable neighborhood. The inside was like a jewel box, each element lovely and obviously chosen with care. Charlotte complimented their hostess as they were ushered into a parlor hung with gold brocade, and Mrs. Prine looked pleased.
The two older women began to pool the gleanings of their mornings, not only exchanging tales but also dissecting them in an almost professional way. As they decided between themselves which calls they would make on the morrow, Charlotte was reminded of two generals planning a campaign. She had no doubt they would find out whatever they wanted to know.
Tea arrived, and the two turned their attention to Charlotte. “You know, my dear, you really must order a few more gowns,” said Lady Isabella. “You can’t be seen in the same ensemble too many times.” Mrs. Prine nodded her agreement.
“I can’t afford any more,” Charlotte admitted, clearly shocking Mrs. Prine—whether because of her poverty or her willingness to speak of it she didn’t know.
Lady Isabella waved this away like an unpleasant smell. “As to that, one must… allocate. Some small economies at home—invisible—can help you support a creditable appearance.”
Mrs. Prine nodded again, and Charlotte wondered what she knew about it. Everything in her house was obviously costly. Neither of these women could have any idea of what it was like to watch every penny.
“I’m sure my modiste would be quite accommodating in extending credit,” Lady Isabella added. “I can speak to her…”
“No. I will have to make do with what I have. Mrs. Trask… that is, I know a good seamstress, and we are going to see if we can alter some of my old dresses to make them more modish.” This idea had emerged when she found Mrs. Trask at her fancy work, completing a dress for one of her granddaughters that might have come from the finest shop on Bond Street.
Mrs. Prine looked scandalized, far more shocked than she’d been by any gossip they shared. Briefly, Charlotte considered telling her that the seamstress was her cook, but Lady Isabella seemed annoyed, so she kept this to herself.
They left soon after, embarking on the long drive to Charlotte’s neighborhood. “I was wondering about Henry,” she ventured. She’d been considering this topic all morning, and now she had the opportunity.
Lady Isabella turned to her with raised brows. “Henry?”
Sir Alexander had advised her not to talk about what they’d found in Henry’s rooms, but surely Henry’s sister must know things about him. They’d spent the first ten years of Henry’s life in the same house, and school holidays for years after that. “He wasn’t very… communicative, you know. And since he died, I’ve been wondering… oh, why he never married before he met me.” The earrings in his hidden cupboard showed that other women had figured in his life. “Was he never attached or engaged when he was young?”
“Henry?” Lady Isabella repeated.
“Young men are… susceptible. Surely when he was first presented to society, he…”
“Henry never attended a ton party in his life,” Lady Isabella interrupted. She said it as if the idea was ludicrous. “Or any other sorts. He was such a… morose person.”
“Even when he was young?”
“He wasn’t.”
“Wasn’t…?”
“Young. He seemed fussy and old even when he was a child. At university, they say he spent all his time buried in the library. Everyone knows that young men get up to all kinds of mischief at college, but not Henry.”
“And then he came down to London,” Charlotte said.
“He leased that house—close to the British Museum, can you imagine?—and then bought it with his inheritance after Father died, I suppose.”
“So he never mentioned anyone…”
“My dear, he didn’t even tell us when he married you!” Lady Isabella looked as if her nose for gossip had been roused. “Why do you ask?”
Charlotte thought of telling her about the earrings, but Sir Alexander had been so adamant. “It’s just strange, knowing so little about a man one was married to.”