Dorchester Terrace Read Online Free PDF Page A

the pretense of respect, but far more, I miss the knowledge of my own purpose.”
    She caught the pain in his voice, even though he had tried to mask it with lightness. He knew she had heard it and he was not sure if he wished he had been cleverer at concealing it, or that she knew him less well. But perhaps the comfort of friendship was of greater value than the privacy that came from not being understood.
    “You will find a cause worth risking something for,” she assured him. “Or if none presents itself, you will create one. There is enough stupidity and injustice in the world to last us both the rest of our lives.”
    “Is that supposed to comfort me?” he said with a smile.
    She raised her silver eyebrows. “Certainly! To be without purpose is the same as being dead, only less peaceful.” She laughed very delicately. It was a mere whisper of amusement, but he knew she meant it passionately. He remembered her speaking once, only briefly, of her participation in the revolutions against oppression that had fired Europe almost half a century ago. They had rocked the entire continent. For a few short months, hope of a new democracy, freedom to speak and write as one chose, had flared wild and bright. People met together and talked all night, planning new laws, an equality that had never existed before, only to see their hope snuffed out. In France, Germany, Austria, and Italy, all the old tyrannies were restored with barely any change. The barricades were swept away and the emperors and kings sat back on their thrones.
    “I have grown used to being given my causes without the effort of looking for them,” he admitted. “I accept the rebuke.”
    “It was not meant as a rebuke, my dear,” she answered. “I would welcome your assistance in finding something worthy of doing myself.”
    “Nonsense,” he said very softly, looking across the room to wherePitt and Charlotte were speaking with Evan Blantyre. Looking at Charlotte caused a sudden catch in his breath, a twist of his heart. The memories of their time in Ireland were still far from healing. He had always known that it was his dream alone; she had been there only to help him, and in so doing, to help Pitt. It was Pitt whom she loved. It always would be. “Right now I am sure you are very much occupied in worrying about whether Pitt is going to be eaten by the lions,” he said, looking back at her.
    “Oh, dear! Am I so transparent?” Vespasia looked momentarily crestfallen.
    “Only because I am worrying about the same thing,” he told her, pleased that she had not denied it. It said something for their friendship that she had owned the concern. Now she met his eyes, her anxiety undisguised.
    “Are you afraid he will retain his respect for the upper classes, and defer to them even if he suspects them of treason?” he asked her.
    “Certainly not!” she responded without hesitation. “He has been a policeman far too long to do anything so idiotic! He is painfully aware of our weaknesses. Have you already forgotten that miserable affair at the palace? I assure you, the Prince of Wales has not! Were it not for the queen’s own personal gratitude to Pitt, he would not have the position he does now, nor, very likely, any position at all!”
    Narraway pulled his mouth into a bitter line at the memory. He knew His Royal Highness was still carrying a deep grudge about the whole fiasco. It was not forgiveness that stayed his hand, it was his mother’s iron will and strong personal loyalty to those who had served her with grace, and at the risk of their own lives.
    But Victoria was old, and the shadows around her were growing ever longer.
    “Does the prince’s anger concern you?” he asked Vespasia.
    She gave a shrug so slight it hardly moved the deep lavender silk of her gown. “Not immediately. By the time the throne is his, he might have more pressing issues to occupy him.”
    He did not interrupt her brief silence. They stood side by side, watching