A Lady's Guide to Fortune-Hunting(19)
Cecily looked a little confused, not following this leap of logic.
‘I did warn you!’ Dorothy sang out, her face partially hidden from behind the latest edition of La Belle Assemblée. ‘You might have been able to fool the mother, but this Lord Radcliffe seems to quite have your measure … It’s not too late to try for Mr Pears, you know.’
Kitty stood abruptly. ‘Get your hat, Cecy, and call for Sally – we’re going out.’
‘Now?’ Cecily called plaintively after Kitty as she dashed across the room. ‘Where?’
‘Do you want to see these Marbles or not?’ she called over her shoulder.
Archie was in high spirits on the walk back to Grosvenor Square, through the soft purple dusk of the evening. Radcliffe had taken him to his club, White’s, twice this week, a hallowed threshold Archie had expected to be thirty and almost dead before being able to cross. It was even more thrilling than he could ever have imagined: the dark rooms, the low murmur of male conversation, the haze of cigar smoke. Smashing. So tickled pink was he that he could not help giving Radcliffe a blow-by-blow account of their final game of whist, though his brother had also been at the table.
‘Did you see his face when I laid out my hand, James?’ Archie asked in a gush of boyish excitement.
‘I did,’ Radcliffe said patiently. ‘He was certainly displeased.’
‘Absolutely howling, wasn’t he,’ Archie boasted gleefully. ‘What a facer!’
For Radcliffe, the afternoon had held a little less allure. He had in his youth spent much time in White’s and its sister venues, but had not felt the need to visit in years. However, it had been time well spent, of that he was certain. Archie may be boring him excessively with a minute account of the afternoon, but he hadn’t spoken of Miss Talbot since the morning. The previous day, Archie had extolled upon Miss Talbot for hours, his adoration of her, her various and sundry virtues, and his desire even of perhaps marrying her. Radcliffe was pleased to see the prescription of some light gambling take its intended distracting effect. A few more days of this and the threat of Miss Talbot would be relegated firmly to the past. Still, he was relieved when they arrived back at Grosvenor Square – much looking forward to handing Archie back over to his mother and retreating to the relative quiet of St James’s Place.
‘Pattson, are my mother and sister at home?’ Archie called, bounding into the hall. ‘I simply must tell them about the game!’
Perceiving that if he remained, he would be expected to listen to Archie’s oration for a second time, Radcliffe opened his mouth to say goodnight – picturing, in his mind’s eye, the fire and blessed silence of his study – when Pattson answered.
‘They are taking refreshment in the drawing room with the Misses Talbot, my lord.’
‘Miss Talbot is here?’ Archie lit up like a candle. ‘Marvellous! Are you coming, James?’
‘Yes, I rather think I am.’ Radcliffe followed him calmly to the drawing room.
‘My dears!’ the Dowager Countess greeted them. ‘What splendid timing!’
‘How fortuitous,’ Radcliffe bowed to the assembled ladies, ‘that we should find you all here, lying in wait.’
‘You make us sound almost wicked!’ Miss Talbot said sunnily. Archie gave a shout of mirth at this joke, but Radcliffe did not laugh.
‘Do join us,’ Lady Radcliffe instructed. ‘James, the Marbles were just as magnificent as you said they would be. And we were so pleased to stumble upon the Misses Talbot there too!’
‘What a lovely … coincidence.’ Radcliffe’s eyes rested for a moment on the elder Miss Talbot, who raised her chin.
‘By George, isn’t it just?’ Archie said, rather struck by this – entirely forgetting that it was he who had informed Miss Talbot of his mother and sister’s plans by letter this morning. The addition of the Misses Talbot to his already top-drawer day had sent him quite giddy with joy. Remembering his manners, he bowed to the ladies so deeply that they might be duchesses, rather than – as Radcliffe was beginning to appreciate – villainous barnacles. They seated themselves, Archie predictably settling himself down next to his beloved, appearing to commit himself to the task of pleasing her.
‘Miss Talbot, it has been an age,’ he declared. Stricken with the realisation that the fault lay with him, he stammered out an apology for the cancellations. ‘You see, I have been at White’s,’ he explained reverently, with the earnest enthusiasm of the young. ‘It’s the most wonderful place.’
Radcliffe, ignoring Archie, regarded Miss Talbot directly. She did not look like a villain, he supposed, but then was that not the devil’s way? She had dressed herself – much as the wolf does – to blend in, in the latest style of diaphanous skirts and feathered ringlets intended to give young ladies an air of intense fragility. She wore them well, he could admit, though he detected a strong sense of vitality – even sturdiness – about Miss Talbot that did not at all fit in with this fashionable sensibility. One could not say that one expected Miss Talbot to, as was à la mode, faint dead away at any moment, that was for certain.
It was clear, by the undisguised adoration in Archie’s eyes – reminding Radcliffe very much of a small dog waiting on a treat – that none of this had been noticed by his brother. It was not only embarrassing but impolite, too, for Archie was patently paying no attention to Miss Cecily’s description of the Marbles. Though Radcliffe did not entirely blame him, given how very dull it was. It was the elder Miss Talbot, in the end, who rescued them all from the tedium, though with less than altruistic motivations.