A Lady's Guide to Fortune-Hunting(54)

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough, with presents exchanged and well wishes given – the food was divine, as always, and the evening ended with a towering cake that Archie dove into with gusto. Radcliffe smiled and laughed along, but he could not help but keep ruminating on his mother’s question – the one she had actually asked, and the one that was subtext – though he was no closer to reaching an answer for either when it was time to leave. He and Archie walked to the door together, Archie thanking him again for his gift.

‘You will come to me, if you need to, won’t you, Archie?’ Radcliffe said abruptly, just as Archie was about to turn for the stairs. His brother looked taken aback and Radcliffe swung his hat awkwardly in his hands. ‘You may not need to, of course, but … If you do. I know we have not spent much time together, in recent years. Perhaps we could ride out, soon, to Wimbledon again – or further afield, if you want.’

Archie nodded, his jaw working furiously.

‘I should like that,’ he said finally. ‘I should like that very much.’

He stared at his brother for a few seconds – and Radcliffe looked back, a little thrown by the strange emotional weight of the moment.

‘James—’ Archie began, stepping forward, but before he could say anything, Amelia crashed into the hallway, interrupting them.

‘Are you still here?’ she said rudely to her eldest brother.

‘I was just leaving, you unconscionable toad,’ he told her imperiously.

But the moment between him and Archie had passed, so quickly that Radcliffe wondered if he had imagined the vulnerability in Archie’s face – for it was now quite casual. Radcliffe chastised himself a little, for forcing such a serious moment on what should be a carefree day. This clumsy kind of interference was exactly, he thought, why such things were best left to his mother.





23


A lesser woman would consider Kitty’s social calendar to be a trifle stressful, over the next few weeks. But Kitty, ever-mindful of her deadline, was determined to jam as many balls, dinner parties, theatre trips, promenades, exhibitions and recitals into her days as possible. Besides, even if it was a little daunting – gazing at her calendar of events that morning – nothing could dampen her mood that day, for she and her family had been invited to call at Mrs Stanfield’s town house. This was, Kitty felt, a very good sign.

‘Of course,’ she said airily to Cecily as they walked, Sally following two steps behind, ‘if he wants to marry me, that does not mean I should automatically accept. It would have to be the best offer, naturally.’

Cecily only hummed in response. Their aunt was not with them, having begged off due to a headache. Aunt Dorothy had been getting rather a lot of these recently, though their origins – given the vast amount of champagne she was consuming nightly – seemed far from mysterious.

They arrived to find several visitors already arranged in the lofty drawing room, though Kitty was gratified to receive the assiduous attentions of Mrs Stanfield as soon as they entered. This was surely a good sign, too, and Kitty suppressed a pleased smile. Across the room, Mr Stanfield sent her a wink. As she spoke to the lady, whose bearing was warm and welcoming, Kitty could not help imagining a life where she might be allowed to have both – to win happiness for herself as well as a fortune for her sisters. It would be … marvellous. And Kitty could not quite believe how close it seemed actually to be happening.

That is, until Mrs Stanfield’s conversation began to beat a very familiar path. She asked first about Kitty’s family – from where they hailed, the whereabouts of their family home – and though Mrs Stanfield’s bearing remained sunny, Kitty’s smile faded a little.

‘The air!’ Mrs Stanfield sang gaily of Dorsetshire. ‘The hills. Just beautiful!’

Commenting upon the air and the hills was, Kitty supposed, a safe bet given that most counties could be depended upon to have both.

‘You must tell me where your family home is, my dear, for I might even have been there – I know it to be close to the Radcliffe’s family estate, is it not?’ Mrs Stanfield asked with supreme, and false, casualness. Mrs Stanfield was desirous of discovering her financial situation – as if it even mattered to her, when their family was already so very rich. And yet still she had asked.

‘Our cottage is certainly not so far from Devonshire,’ Kitty said slowly, ‘a day’s ride at the very most.’

‘Cottage?’ Mrs Stanfield repeated, helping herself to a nibble of cake, but keeping her eyes upon Kitty’s face, the question quite clear.

It was tempting to lie. So very tempting.

‘Cottage,’ Kitty repeated firmly. ‘Where I live with my four sisters.’

‘Four! Lovely,’ Mrs Stanfield gushed with over-the-top enthusiasm. ‘Just lovely. In a cottage, too. What a blessing, indeed. I must see to my other guests, my dear, but I do hope you will partake of the apple cake – it is quite delicious.’

She bustled off before Kitty could utter another word. Kitty stared after her, still not quite sure exactly what had happened. She watched as Mrs Stanfield moved through the clusters of guests, passing her son for a brief moment. They did not speak to one another, but Mrs Stanfield must have made some kind of gesture to her son – a meaningful look, a minute hand gesture – for Mr Stanfield looked immediately over to where Kitty was sitting and smiled at her. But it was not the smile of rascally mischief that Kitty privately thought of as hers. Rather, it was a smile of apology. She knew then that he would be calling on her no longer. Kitty took in a deep breath – trying to control the shock of the blow which she felt deep in her stomach – and engaged herself busily back in social niceties. By the time she and Cecily took their leave, he was deep in conversation with Miss Fleming, and they looked to be having quite the time of it.