A Lady's Guide to Fortune-Hunting(33)

Radcliffe had said that ladies must first speak to the gentleman on their left, and so she turned to Mr Sinclair, sending him a tremulous smile and hoping he would be an easier conversational partner than his wife – who could not for the life of her understand why Kitty did not know the Beaufort family, and would not let the matter drop. But alas, though Mr Sinclair was good-humoured, he was not so good-humoured as to spare Kitty the usual interrogation.

‘Biddington? Ah, I know the area well!’ he said. ‘You must know Ducky, of course.’

‘Ducky’? Had she heard correctly? It had certainly sounded like Ducky. She stared at him blankly. Was Ducky a place? A literal duck that was for some reason famous in these circles? Her palms grew a little moist as she wondered what the safest response might be, and Mr Sinclair’s face became increasingly confused at her silence.

‘Lord Mallard,’ he clarified at last, when it became clear Kitty was going to say nothing.

‘Oh,’ she said faintly. A nickname, then. ‘No, I am afraid I do not.’

Mr Sinclair’s brow furrowed. ‘You must,’ he insisted. ‘He has a hunting lodge in the area, I am sure.’

Kitty could not bear it. She decided to take a calculated risk. It was not enough simply to evade these questions without an explanation, she needed to supply a reason for their obscurity if they had a chance of making it through the evening.

‘The truth is, sir,’ she said, throwing caution to the wind. ‘I do not know a single person in London, other than my aunt and the de Lacy family. You see, my father kept us entirely secluded from society – he was quite terrified that we might be led astray, so we never left our town.’

‘Is that so?’ Mr Sinclair appeared intrigued by this. ‘Eccentric fellow, was he?’

‘Very. I must confess my sister and I know very little about the world, so you must forgive my missishness – I am quite terrified of saying the wrong thing!’

‘Why, you must be the greenest girls in all of London,’ Mr Sinclair declared. He observed Miss Talbot for a moment under his heavy brows, before deciding to find this charming.

‘There is no need to be the slightest bit nervous,’ he reassured her, gesturing to the room. ‘Why, this is the friendliest collection of people in the whole city! You can trust us to look after you.’

Mr Sinclair’s self-appointed trustworthiness did not prevent him – once the first course was cleared away and they both turned to their other seating partner – from passing the news of the Talbot sisters’ unusual upbringing straight on to Lady Salisbury, who at the earliest convenience passed it on, too. Murmurs of interest greeted the news and by the time the second course (larger still than the first, with a goose, lobster and guinea fowl amongst the plates) had concluded, the Talbots were looked upon as something of a novelty. The hauteur began to lessen. The assembled lords, ladies and the ton began to wonder if Lady Radcliffe was not a most discerning host for having discovered such charming oddities as these young ladies. Glancing across the table, Kitty caught Aunt Dorothy’s eye and they shared a small smile of relief. Glancing down, she was pleasantly surprised to see Cecily on lively form. She seemed to be giving the young Lord Montagu a long education in Sapphic philosophy, greatly enjoying herself – as people so often do, when allowed to speak at length about their own intellect. Kitty inwardly thanked the manners of the young man in continuing his attention when he must surely be terribly bored.

The ton were not so different from normal people, and Kitty was able to observe now that she did not feel quite so under siege. Yes, they spoke in voices like cut glass, and yes, they took politeness to ritualistic levels, and the jargon was, admittedly, utterly incomprehensible – all about Eton and governesses and London, nicknames for lords and ladies you should know, but that you must not use unless you knew them too. But they ate, like everyone else, and gossiped like fiends – though it was dressed up in ribbons and bows of concern and sympathy to make it more polite.

‘Ghastly news about the Egerton boy, isn’t it?’ Mrs Burrell was saying in an undertone that nevertheless carried around the whole table.

‘What happened?’ Mrs Sinclair asked, her face concerned, her eyes bright.

‘Lost an absolute fortune at cards, the wretched creature, the whole family is up in arms,’ Lady Montagu said, shaking her head sadly. ‘They’ve had to sell a hundred acres of land to pay for it.’

‘And it couldn’t have happened to a better family.’ Lady Radcliffe looked a little ill at the news. ‘He was at Waterloo, wasn’t he, Radcliffe?’

As soon as the words escaped her lips, Lady Radcliffe appeared to regret them. The whole party quieted immediately, staring at Lord Radcliffe, who gave only a vague murmur in response. When it was clear he was not going to indulge them with a story, Lady Salisbury made the plunge.

‘My Lord Radcliffe,’ she called across to him. ‘You must tell us of Waterloo. We are dying to hear your account of it.’

‘Radcliffe is rather bored by talking about the war now,’ his mother interjected quickly.

‘Oh, I’m sure he can indulge us, this once,’ Lady Salisbury insisted. ‘Can’t you, Radcliffe? If we ask nicely?’

‘What would you like to know, my lady?’ Radcliffe said coolly.

‘What was it like?’ She leant forward eagerly.