The afternoon had been more daunting than the morning, but without unpleasant incident. The Dowager Countess of Berwick had arrived promptly with Nora to take Chloe visiting, and they had called upon three ladies and stayed for a very correct half hour at each house. There were other visitors too, all ladies, with some of whom Chloe had a prior acquaintance from her earlier stays in London. A few of the others she had met at Manville Court on the day of the funeral. Several she had not met before. Some were more friendly than others, but all were polite. Chloe wondered if Mrs. Barrington-Hayes, who welcomed them to her home with almost obsequious deference and presented them to her other guests with open pride, remembered the time six years ago when her butler had informed Lady Muirhead and Miss Muirhead that she was not at home.
Ralph was already home when Chloe returned. He came out of the study as she was removing her gloves.
“Your mother and Nora took me to pay three afternoon calls,” she told him, “and I have arrived home all in one piece.”
“As I see.” His eyes swept over her best green outfit—the one she had worn to her wedding. “I hope you have not tired yourself out. We have guests coming for dinner.”
“Oh?” Her spirits fell.
“Your father and your brother,” he told her. “I ran into your father at White’s.”
She smiled with relief. “That will be lovely.”
“I hope so.” He inclined his head to her and turned back to the study.
There had been not a glimmering of a smile on his face or lurking in his eyes, she thought as she climbed the stairs to her room. But then she supposed having her father and Graham to dinner would be no great pleasure for him. He had invited them for her sake. She warmed herself with the thought.
* * *
Ralph did not need to make any great effort to keep the conversation going during dinner. Graham, when asked, was quite willing to recount some of his experiences in the London slums, where he did most of his work. None of the stories redounded to his glory or made the poor and the destitute sound like inferior beings, Ralph was interested to note. There was real affection in Graham’s voice when he talked of people Ralph himself would pass in the street without so much as a glance. It was a humbling realization and filled him with that old mingling of admiration and irritation.
Sir Kevin, when prompted, spoke of the time when his daughters and his son were children, and Chloe and Graham chimed in with memories of their own, sometimes conflicting ones. All of them were careful not to exclude Ralph from the conversation, however. They explained things to him that might have been puzzling and identified people he did not know. They must have been a happy family, he concluded.
Chloe described her afternoon visits when her father asked about them and amused them all with her keen observations on various ladies she had met. She was obviously enjoying herself enormously, Ralph thought, noticing her sparkling eyes and somewhat flushed cheeks. Whatever had driven her from home a few months ago seemed to have resolved itself, and all of them appeared to be having a merry time.
Perhaps Sir Kevin was going to be content to leave it thus.
“But all the conversation has been about us,” Chloe said at last, looking apologetically across the table at Ralph. “How dreadfully ill-mannered we have been. We will talk of nothing but you, Ralph, when you join me in the drawing room with Papa and Graham. It is a promise. I shall leave you to your port now.”
Muirhead spoke up as she got to her feet.
“Chloe.” He glanced Ralph’s way and set his napkin down on the table. “I will come with you if I may.”
“Of course.” She raised her eyebrows in surprise but smiled with obvious pleasure. “You do not want any port, Papa?”
“Not tonight,” he said, taking her by the elbow. “I would prefer to have a word with my daughter.”
His voice and his manner were grave, and her smile faltered before she left the room with him.
Graham, Ralph was interested to note, made no move to follow them. He was looking steadily at Ralph instead. With a brief nod Ralph dismissed the footman who remained in the room.
“You know?” he asked when the two of them were alone.
“He told me a few hours ago,” Graham said. “I suspected, of course. Well, I suppose I knew. But sometimes it is preferable to cling to illusion than to admit an unpalatable truth. I loved my mother. I still do. But all through life, it seems, we have to learn and relearn the lesson of loving people unconditionally, no matter what. It is not always easy to do with our parents. We grow up believing them to be perfect.”
Ralph poured them each a glass of port. “And will this knowledge change your feelings for Chloe?” he asked.
“If I were not a peaceable man,” Graham said, “I might feel obliged to plant you a facer for asking that question, Stockwood. Chloe is my sister. Does the reality of her birth make you think any less of her?”
“Not at all. But I had little doubt of the truth even before I married her,” Ralph told him.
“Does she know?” Graham asked.
“In the same way you did—and did not,” Ralph told him. “Having the matter put beyond all doubt will be a blow to her. But ultimately it will surely be better for her to know.”
He hoped he was right.
Graham toyed with his glass, twirling it by the stem.
“Why did you marry her?” he asked.
“I needed a wife,” Ralph said after a small hesitation. “More specifically, I needed—I need—a son, an heir. Chloe wanted a husband and children but thought all her chances had passed her by. She knew—she overheard me tell my grandmother—that I was reluctant to marry, that I had nothing beyond material goods to offer any prospective bride. So she made me an offer. We could both have what we wanted, but there would be no illusions, no sentiment, no pretense of any emotional attachment.”