A Lady's Guide to Fortune-Hunting(36)

He then pressed a hand on Archie’s shoulder, turned him neatly, and propelled him gently towards the door.

‘You say that as though we’ve discussed it at all,’ Archie complained, dragging his feet a little.

Radcliffe affected not to hear. ‘With Montagu and Sinclair back in town, why not ride out somewhere – get out of London – have some fun?’ he suggested, nudging Archie gently onto the doorstep and waving him off. ‘I’ll see you at the Montagu ball on the morrow!’ Radcliffe called cheerily, and while the door didn’t quite slam behind him, Archie felt it was a near thing. He stared at the burnished doorknob, utterly befogged. What had got into James? He had been distant since he returned from Waterloo, to be sure – but at least when he was in Devonshire, he seemed by his letters to take an interest in Archie’s life. And yet now he could not be more slippery. Having his brother back in London had felt like the start of a new chapter for their family, all together again, but it seemed that even while in the same city, James didn’t want to have much to do with them.

Archie sloped off down the road, trying to shake off these gloomy thoughts. He would have to speak to Radcliffe again, soon, to convince him that this was a long-standing attachment – he could only hope that Miss Talbot would not mind the delay. Although, he thought bitterly, she had not exactly been that keen to speak to him in recent days, either – cancelling their walks, and not seeming at all concerned about not seeing each other for days and days. There was clearly something he was doing wrong – something he was missing about the proper way to conduct these sorts of things – and in the absence of being able to speak to his elder brother about it, he instead sought the company and advice of his nearest friends, who were finally back in London.

Gerry Sinclair, having attended the dinner party at Grosvenor Square, was complaining that the younger Talbot sister was a ‘dead bore’ when Archie joined them at Cribb’s Parlour later that day.

‘Damn near talked my ear off about Italian opera,’ he said indignantly, clutching his glass. ‘Who asked her, is what I want to know? But they were both devilishly pretty, Archie.’

‘But did she look in love with me?’ Archie demanded.

‘Fact of the matter, is, Archie, that she didn’t seem to be paying you much attention at all,’ Gerry told him apologetically. ‘Sure you heard her right?’

‘Yes,’ Archie said, though uncertainly. ‘I could have sworn that she said I ought to speak to my family before I could offer for her. And she wouldn’t have said that, if she wasn’t wanting to be engaged to me, would she?’

Gerry agreed that she most surely would not. Rupert, the other member of the group, did not appear to be listening. The young Lord Montagu considered himself a great poet and spent his days penning depressing verses and ruminating on his own artistry. When Archie insisted on hearing his opinion, he said darkly that the conversation threatened to pollute the artistic sensibility of his mind.

‘Furthermore,’ he added, ‘it does not surprise me that you thought Miss Cecily a bore, Gerry, given that her intellect far exceeds that of your own.’

The conversation was thus distracted, and by the evening they were so full of vim that they ventured into Soho, finding themselves in an infamous faro club. Yet here, having availed himself of the refreshments, Archie felt a melancholy set in. He stared morosely around the room at the doubtlessly superior specimens of manhood and, eye landing on a gentleman he recognised as the dashing Lord Selbourne, said darkly to Gerry, ‘I bet Miss Talbot would pay attention to him.’

‘Oh, I’d steer clear of Selby,’ Gerry said, turning to peer over Archie’s shoulder. ‘Looks like a gentleman, still has the title, but heard he’s a bounder of the worst sort.’

‘Bounder,’ Rupert affirmed, with dark significance.

‘All I’m saying is,’ Archie said crossly, ‘he looks the sort that knows how to make a proper offer to a woman – one everyone would take notice of.’

They all stared at Lord Selbourne, who, sensing their gaze, looked up and waved a laconic finger of acknowledgement their way – they looked quickly away, blushing.

‘I want to be just like him,’ Archie asserted boldly.

‘Not a penny to his name, old boy, and riddled with debt – best be yourself,’ Gerry told him heartily.

After losing spectacularly to the house, they began a meandering walk back across London. Despite the hour, the streets were still spotted with similarly inebriated persons, and so it was not until a group of men followed them down a narrowing side street that they registered something might be a little off. Moments later, another group appeared in front of them, blocking off the street. Rearing back in confusion, Archie felt the clarity of danger rush through him sickeningly.

‘I-I say,’ he heard Gerry stammer uncertainly.

Even Rupert’s usually phlegmatic disposition had given way to alarm. Feeling, somehow, that the situation could be resolved with a little old-fashioned politeness, Archie swept a bow and asked, courteously, ‘How may we help you, gentlemen?’

‘Hand over your money,’ his adversary said calmly. ‘And we won’t hurt you.’

‘The devil of the thing is, we don’t have any,’ Gerry piped up. ‘Lost all our coins at cards.’

‘And the rest of it is all rather tied up,’ Archie agreed, quite troubled.