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She looked at him with a smile, quite a casual one, but not so slight as to appear cool or studied.
“Have you a case which troubles you, a new one?”
Would he retreat into that excuse, or was it the truth anyway? She had left the way open for him.
“No,” he said quite directly. “I suppose in a sense it has to do with law, but it was most certainly not the legal aspect of it which was on my mind.”
This time she did not look at him. “The legal aspect of what?”
“Of what concerns me.” He put his hand on her back to guide her through the throng of people, and she felt the warmth of it ripple through her. It was a safe feeling, disturbingly comfortable. Why should comfort disturb her? That was ridiculous.
Because it would be so easy to get used to. The gentleness, the sweetness of it was overwhelmingly tempting. It was like coming into sunlight and suddenly realizing how chilled you had been.
“Hester?”
“Yes?”
“Perhaps this is not really the best place, but …”
Before he could finish what he was about to say, he was accosted by a large man with sweeping silver hair and an avuncular manner.
“My goodness, Rathbone, you are miles away, man! I swear I have seen you pass half a dozen acquaintances as if you were unaware of their existence. Do I credit that to your charming companion or a particularly challenging case? You do seem to select the very devil of the lot of them.”
Rathbone blinked slightly. It was something very few situations had ever caused him to do.
“To my companion, of course,” he replied without hesitation. “Hester, may I introduce Mr. Justice Charles? Miss Hester Latterly.”
“Ah!” Charles said with satisfaction. “Now I recognize you, ma’am. You are the remarkable young lady who uncovered such damning evidence in the Rostova case. In the Crimea, weren’t you? Extraordinary! How the world is changing. Not actually sure I care for it, but no choice, I suppose. Make the best of it, eh?”
At another time she would have challenged him as to what he meant. Did he disapprove of women having the opportunity to make such a contribution as Florence Nightingale had? Their freedom? Their use of knowledge and authority, and the power it gave them, even if only temporarily? Such an attitude infuriated her. It was antiquated, blind, rooted in privilege and ignorance. It was worse than unjust, it was dangerous. It was precisely that sort of blinkered idiocy which had kept inadequate men in charge of the battles in the Crimea and cost countless men their lives.
She drew in her breath to begin the assault, then remembered Rathbone standing so close to her he was actually touching her elbow, and she let out her breath in a sigh. It would embarrass him dreadfully, even if in truth he half agreed with her.
“I am afraid we are all in that situation, sir,” she said sweetly. “There is a good deal I am quite certain I do not care for, but I have not yet found a way of altering it.”
“Not for want of seeking,” Rathbone said dryly when they had bidden Mr. Justice Charles good-evening and moved a few yards away. “You were remarkably tactful to him. I expected you to take him thoroughly to task for his old-fashioned views.”
“Do you think it would have changed his mind one iota?” she asked, looking at him with wide eyes.
“No, my dear, I don’t,” he said with a smile, on the verge of laughter. “But that is the first time I have seen such a consideration halt you.”
“Then perhaps the world really is changing?” she suggested.
“Please do not allow it to change too much,” he said with a gentleness that amazed her. “I appreciate the tact—it has its place—but I should not like you to become like everyone else. I really care for you very much exactly as you are.” He put his hand on hers lightly. “Even if at times it alarms me. Perhaps it is good to be disturbed now and again? One can become complacent.”
“I have never thought of you as complacent.”
“Yes, you have. But I assure you that you would be wrong if you thought so now. I have never been less comfortable or less certain of myself in my life.”
Suddenly she was not certain either. Confusion made her think of Monk. She liked Rathbone immensely. There was something in him which was uniquely valuable. Monk was elusive, unyielding, at times arbitrary and cold. But she could not turn away from him. She did not wish Rathbone to say anything which would require an answer.
Her heart was quieter again. She smiled and put up her hand to touch his cheek.
“Then let us forget yesterday and tomorrow, and simply be certain that this evening is an island of friendship, and of a trust of which there is no doubt at all. I have no idea what the play is about either, but since the audience is laughing every few moments, I expect it is just as witty as they say.”
He took a deep breath and smiled back at her. There was a look in his face of sudden ease. He took her hand and moved it softly to his lips.
“I should enjoy that enormously.”
