She saw Emily and smiled with unaffected pleasure. Cecily excused herself from the two ladies of uncertain age with whom she had been making conversation and walked toward her.

  “I saw you were engaged with Mrs. Forbush and her sister earlier,” Cecily said with a smile. “Some parties seem to last for days!”

  Emily knew exactly what she meant. So many conversations felt as if they ended up almost exactly where they had begun.

  “I suppose time doesn’t really stand still?” Emily replied, not intending it as a question to be answered.

  “I used to be so nervous at events like this,” Cecily confided with a rueful little gesture. “Godfrey was always at ease.” She glanced to her left, where Godfrey Duncannon stood talking to several men of middle years, wide of girth and decorated with orders of one sort or another. They were talking, frequently two at a time, and all nodding in agreement. Godfrey, iron-gray-haired and immaculately dressed, was either completely at ease or else a superb actor. The resemblance to the other man, earlier, was an illusion. Someone was telling a story, smiling as he did so and waving his hands around.

  Godfrey laughed as if delighted by it. Everyone looked satisfied.

  “Women are allowed to gossip, indeed expected to,” Emily said a little ruefully. “But we are not supposed to tell any jokes! Or even listen to them!”

  “A pity,” Cecily answered. “The invented jokes allow you to laugh, which is wonderful. It’s the real absurdities and the ridiculousness of life that hurt. And you cannot help seeing them.”

  Emily caught a note of sadness in her voice, perhaps even fear. She glanced at the other woman’s face momentarily. If it were really sadness or fear Emily had detected, she did not want Cecily to know that she had seen it.

  Deliberately she started on a new subject. It was chatter, a means of expressing that they were friends, without saying anything so overt and clumsy.

  “I just met Lady Parsons,” she said lightly. “In other circumstances I think I could like her. She is not at all as bland as she appears.”

  “I expect not many of us are as we appear,” Cecily said, staring across the room. “I would hate to think I was readable at a glance. It would be like one’s nightmare of having accidentally gone out into the street in one’s undergarments!”

  Emily laughed deliberately, as if she thought Cecily had been at least half joking. “Especially in this weather,” she added. “I wonder if we shall have snow for Christmas.”

  “Do you go to the country for Christmas?” Cecily asked. “It’s such a family thing, it’s rather nice. The city gets so grubby when all the snow turns to slush.”

  Emily looked at Cecily’s face, the strong bones, the ivory skin, the black sweep of eyebrow. There were faint shadows around the dark eyes that powder could not hide. Was it concern over the contract her husband was negotiating, and which seemed to matter so much? Or something far more personal?

  “I’m afraid with so many feet, and so many wheels, that always happens in the city,” she replied. “I love Ashworth Hall in the middle of winter, with all the fires burning and the country outside mantled in snow. But I’m afraid that this year we will almost certainly have to stay home. The contract…international trade doesn’t wait for holidays.”

  Cecily was still looking across the room at her husband. “No,” she agreed. “We cannot afford to assume we will win. It matters intensely to Godfrey…as I imagine it does to all of us.” She included everyone, but Emily knew she meant Jack. Did Godfrey’s career really rest on it anything like as much as Jack’s did? Godfrey Duncannon had made a fortune. Everything he touched had prospered. She had heard that it was Cecily’s money, inherited from her father, that had been the foundation of their wealth, but Godfrey had multiplied it many times over and risen to a pinnacle of respect he might not have dreamed of as a young man. Could any of this possibly matter to him as much as it mattered to Jack, who was still so very much making his way?

  She refused to think of what could happen to his career if in the next election he did not hold his seat! The thought was always just beyond the edge of her mind, but it cost some effort to keep it in check. It was not a matter of money, but of self-belief. She had seen the doubt in him, the loathing of being dependent on her.

  “Yes,” she murmured in agreement. She wanted to know more, but there were questions one did not ask.

  She remained a little longer in pleasant, light conversation. After they were joined by several others, she excused herself and gradually worked her way over toward the most beautiful woman in the room, her great-aunt Vespasia. She had been Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould, a courtesy title inherited because her father had been an earl. Now she was Lady Narraway, because recently she had married Victor Narraway, who had been head of Special Branch immediately preceding Pitt. A scandal had robbed him of that position. Pitt had redeemed Narraway’s reputation, but too late to reinstate him in office. He had been sidelined to the House of Lords. However, he had realized his deep love for Vespasia and at last found the courage to ask her to marry him. It was not that he had doubted his feelings; he had been afraid to lose a friendship he valued above all others by telling her its nature and making the old ease between them impossible.

  Now Emily and Vespasia stood close to each other, momentarily out of conversation with passersby, and Emily seized her chance. Vespasia was not her aunt by blood, but by Emily’s first marriage to Lord George Ashworth. However, their ever-deepening friendship over the years, their sharing of triumph and disaster, had created a bond deeper than that of mere kinship. Emily knew that Vespasia felt an even closer bond with Charlotte and Thomas, but she had long ago ceased to mind about that.

  Vespasia’s face lit with pleasure when she saw Emily. In her youth, Vespasia had been celebrated throughout Europe for her exquisite features and the strength and delicacy of her bones, her flawless skin. Now it was the wit and the passion in her face, the courage and grace of her carriage, that arrested the attention.

  “I was hoping you would find a few moments from your duties,” Vespasia said warmly. “How are you, my dear?” She held out her slender hand, which blazed with a single emerald ring.

  “Enjoying myself,” Emily replied, accepting her hand momentarily with an answering smile. “At least some of the time.”

  “I should hate to suspect you of dishonesty,” Vespasia said drily. “The conversation is deadly, but perhaps some of what is not said is interesting, don’t you think? I noticed you in conversation with Lady Parsons.”

  Emily laughed. “I hear what you are not saying,” she observed. “She is far more perceptive than I had thought. Her husband is the chief opponent of this contract you know?”

  Narraway moved closer to them and it was he who answered. He was a slender man, not so very much taller than Vespasia, lean and wiry, his eyes so dark as to look almost black. His thick hair was shot through with silver, and time had improved and refined his features rather than dulling them.

  “We do know,” he agreed. “But, I think, not all of his reasons. That would be very interesting to find out, and possibly useful.”

  “Jack wants me to learn what I can about Godfrey Duncannon,” Emily responded. She wanted to ask Narraway if he could tell her anything, but even though she had known him for some years, she did not dare to presume on the acquaintance to ask. He was a man who had been privy to many of the secrets of the great and powerful. It had been his job, just as it now was Pitt’s. But Pitt appeared so much more open, approachable. Would he become like Narraway, eventually? Would he see the private darkness within all kinds of people, and smile and hide his discernment…until it became useful to him?

  Involuntarily she shivered.

  It was Vespasia who answered. “Then you had better continue to enjoy your friendship with Cecily Duncannon,” she advised. “But I think it will not be easy for you.”

  Narraway looked at her with surprise, his dark eyebrows raised.

  Emily understood. Vespasia did not mean that Cecily would not continue to like Emily. On the contrary, the warmth would remain, and increase. What she meant was that learning the source of someone’s pain, understanding their secrets because they trusted you, silently if not openly, faced you with dilemmas to which there was no happy solution.

  “I know,” Emily said gently. It was an admission she had avoided making to herself. It was so much less challenging not to know, to sail through life, through relationships of any sort, seeing only what you wished to, never the layers below the surface.

  “Has Cecily Duncannon such painful secrets?” Narraway asked quietly, although the fact that he phrased it so exactly made it clear that he knew the answer.

  “Of course,” Vespasia replied.

  “To do with Godfrey?” he persisted.

  “That I don’t know. It’s possible.”

  “His future is secure,” Emily put in. “And, as far as I know, his reputation is above criticism. Jack has looked into it most carefully. He can’t afford to have his own reputation tied to another disaster.” She regretted the harshness of the words the moment she had said them. Of course both Vespasia and Narraway knew about the past disasters. Narraway probably knew more than Emily did herself. It still sounded like something of a betrayal to remind them.

  Vespasia understood. “I was thinking of her personal life,” she said. “I do not think Godfrey is always an easy man.”

  “A mistress?” Narraway said with a smile that seemed like genuine amusement. “I think not. He is far too careful for that. Unexpected passion can catch most people, but I would stake a lot that he is not one of them.”

  “A lot?” Emily asked immediately. “Such as a contract that apparently matters intensely to the fortunes of many?”

  “Yes,” he replied almost without hesitation. “Godfrey has never allowed any kind of emotion to cloud his honor, or his ambition.”

  Vespasia gave a wince so slight only Emily caught it and read it correctly. She had watched Cecily’s face and seen the shadows in it. Maybe they had less in common than Emily had thought. She had loved Jack from the beginning, at least in part because he had always been a friend. They had talked about all kinds of things in the earliest days of their acquaintance, because then he had had no aspirations to marry her, not even any thought that it was possible. There had been none of the awkwardness of a courtship, the forced propriety, the tensions. They had laughed together, given confidences and been open about thoughts, ideas, and even feelings. That had never changed.

  Of course, there had been misunderstandings, even rifts between them occasionally, but they had occurred when the friendship was strained, the laughter and ease temporarily absent.

  Had Godfrey Duncannon ever offered Cecily such warmth? Perhaps he had not that ease to give to a woman? Sometimes the perceived differences were too great to bridge.

  If that were so, was it any of Emily’s right or privilege to discuss it? Not if it had no bearing on the contract. Some griefs could be endured only because no one else knew of them.

  The next moment, they were joined by Jack, who greeted Vespasia and Narraway formally, introducing them all to Godfrey Duncannon and Cecily, who accompanied him. Immediately the conversation became general: where people were going to spend Christmas, in the city or at some country estate; what theater or opera was playing, and whether the performances were as good as others they were familiar with; and of course what the weather would do.

  Emily listened and watched, keeping a demure look of interest on her face.

  “We’ll have to make the best of it in the city this year,” Duncannon said to Emily on the subject of Christmas. “You could attend the midnight service at Westminster Abbey or, of course, Saint Paul’s if you prefer. They both have such a sense of history it makes one feel very much part of a great unity, past, present, and into the future.” He smiled at her, and she had a sudden awareness of his charm. Its source was not warmth in the usual sense, but rather more an intense intelligence, an appreciation of a multitude of things, each of which was beautiful to him.

  She smiled back at him. “I imagine the Abbey will be a little crowded.”

  “Filled to the very doors,” he agreed. “The music will be sublime, and everyone will be singing their hearts out. It isn’t just the great organ, or the choir, or even the numbers, it’s the joy of the people, the wave of belief. If you wish, I’m sure I can arrange a decent seat for you.” There was complete assurance in what he said, generosity certainly, but also pride. He knew he could do it, and it pleased him, as when a man strikes a perfect shot at golf and the ball sinks into the hole, as he knew it would.

  She would like to have had the rank and the confidence to decline, but she did not, and they both knew that.

  “Thank you,” she said graciously. “It is an experience I am sure I would never forget.” She felt she should say a little more than that, so she added, “It is very kind of you.”

  He was pleased. He inclined his head in acceptance of her gratitude. He did not once glance at Cecily.

  The conversation continued along other lines and Emily listened dutifully. They spoke of international affairs, other people’s lives, political news and speculation.

  Finally Vespasia inclined her head politely and excused herself on the grounds of seeing an acquaintance she should not seem to ignore. She took Emily’s arm. “Come, my dear, I’m sure Lady Cartwright will be pleased to meet you.”

  “Thank you.” Emily murmured, the moment they were out of earshot, “Who is Lady Cartwright?”

  “No idea,” Vespasia replied. “For heaven’s sake, what a cold man! Is he always like that?”

  “Duncannon? I think so. Perhaps not in his own home…” She let the suggestion trail.

  “You mean in the bedroom,” Vespasia replied. “If so, one might be better off sleeping through the whole thing.”

  Emily kept her face straight with difficulty. “I think he is nervous about the contract. Many people overtalk when they are anxious. It does mean a great deal to him. Or perhaps he is afraid of you?”

  Vespasia smiled. “I hope so.” Then suddenly she was serious. “You may be right about this contract. Victor will not discuss it with me, though I am perfectly sure he knows a great deal.”

  “And he is in favor of it?” Then Emily wondered if perhaps she should not have asked. Would apologizing make it worse?

  “Very much,” Vespasia replied unhesitatingly. “But there will be those who lose. Or, of course, who have political objections.”

  “But not ethical ones?”

  “I don’t think so. And those are the ones that matter.”

  Emily looked at her with surprise, not that she should think so, but that she should say it. It seemed naïve for Vespasia.

  Vespasia laughed. “I am not being sanctimonious, my dear! It is that good men will fight for an ethical cause, and they are the hardest to beat, partly because one is not ever certain that one wishes to.”

  “Is Godfrey Duncannon a good man?”

  “I don’t know,” Vespasia admitted honestly. “There are times when he is certainly tedious enough that one would believe he wishes to give that impression. But whether his exhaustive knowledge comes from intelligence as well as the overwhelming desire to impress, I don’t know.”

  “Or the wish to dominate the conversation and keep it off all personal matters,” Emily suggested.

  “Ah,” Vespasia said gently. “How perceptive of you. That could indeed be it. We are about to meet another man who is exhaustingly righteous.” She smiled with a grace that disguised all dislike. “How nice to see you, Mr. Abercorn. Emily, may I present Josiah Abercorn. My niece, Mrs. Jack Radley.”

  Abercorn was the man Emily had earlier briefly mistaken for Godfrey Duncannon. Closer to, he was of unusual appearance. His eyes were large and very blue. They should have been magnificent, but were marred by dark shadows around them, as if he never slept sufficiently. His features were strong, with the same power as Duncannon’s, and there was a similar fire of intelligence in his eyes, although Duncannon’s were dark.

  He greeted Emily politely enough, and with marked interest—no doubt because she was Jack’s wife.

  “Mrs. Radley,” he said cordially. “Perhaps your husband has not mentioned me. He is admirably discreet. I am one of the lawyers who is drafting this contract we are all so eager to have signed. It will benefit more people than most of us can imagine.”

  “My husband has said as much,” Emily replied warmly. “Although, of course, he does not mention any details.”

  “Of course not,” Abercorn agreed. “But I assure you, if you are a woman of conscience and compassion for those less fortunate, you will rejoice when as much of it as possible is made public. This will open up vast areas of opportunity, and perhaps right some of the terrible things we committed against the Chinese people during our Opium Wars.”

  She could only guess what he was referring to, but she managed to look suitably impressed.

  “I count it a great privilege to have a part in it,” he continued. “It will be the crown of my aspirations to serve my country.”

  Emily felt Vespasia tense beside her, with just the slightest stiffening of her already straight back.

  “One jewel in the crown, Mr. Abercorn,” Vespasia interjected. “I am sure there will be more.” Her tone was impossible to read.

  “I see no further than this, Lady Narraway,” he said blandly. “ ‘I do not ask to see the distant scene, one step enough for me,’ ” he quoted the famous hymn.

  “How cautious of you,” Vespasia responded. “And perhaps wise. Politics can move so quickly it is best not to play all your hand at once.”