A Lady's Guide to Fortune-Hunting(55)

The superb spring weather they had been enjoying for weeks broke that evening. Low clouds smothered the London skyline, extinguishing the last of the light and casting hazy grey mist over the city. It was a fitting weather for how Kitty herself was feeling. She placed Aunt Dorothy’s paste diamonds in her ears and around her wrists, preparing for another outing and resolutely ignoring the sharp pain that had settled beneath her breastbone ever since she had returned from the Stanfield house. She could not give in to a self-indulgent attack of low spirits now, not when she had only herself to blame for having them in the first place. After all, it had been foolish to possess any sort of romantic pretension, and here was the proof of what she had always feared. All she could do now was move onward. There was much still to be done – Kitty still had no proposals to her name, and she could not be happy with a state of affairs where her principal hopes rested upon Mr Pemberton.

She was ruminating upon this at the ball that night, at the edge of the dance floor, when Radcliffe appeared at her side. He offered her a flute of champagne, which she took with a subdued thanks, saying to him flatly, ‘I’m not in the mood to argue tonight.’

Radcliffe’s innocent eyebrow raise communicated his disbelief, and even hurt, that she should suspect him of so foul a motive. But, reading the lack of amusement in her face, he appeared to relent.

‘Noted,’ he said instead, turning so that he too faced the sea of dancers, his eyes following their turns and twirls. ‘How goes the hunt?’

She investigated his tone for any suggestion of mockery but, finding none, answered honestly.

‘I imagine it is easy to guess. Mr Pemberton is rich enough to satisfy.’

‘You are no longer considering Mr Stanfield as among the principals?’ he asked. ‘I imagined him to be your favourite.’

She examined her fan for imperfections – was that a tear in its lace? ‘He was,’ she said quietly. ‘But I am afraid he is committed to finding a wealthy wife.’

‘Ah,’ he said gravely. ‘I suppose that is not so surprising. The Stanfields are affluent spendthrifts – their expenditures are such as they must depend upon an influx of fresh wealth with every new alliance.’

‘It matters not,’ she said with a hint of bitterness. ‘Pemberton has enough wealth to support my family and allow us to keep our home – though I do need another option, for safety.’

He mulled this over for a moment. ‘Your commitment to retaining your family home is, I admit, a little surprising.’

‘How so?’ she asked, deciding to await his answer before becoming offended.

‘Well, you are so obviously at home here, in town. Why not stay in London?’

‘My my, Lord Radcliffe,’ she said archly, ‘and here I thought you couldn’t wait to get rid of me.’

He ignored this. ‘Why not let Netley go, sell, and make your home elsewhere?’

‘I have enjoyed London a great deal more than I thought I would, it’s true,’ she allowed. ‘It is infinitely entertaining, but Netley has been home to me and mine for all of my life. I’m not in a hurry to give that up – and nor would its sale cover the full breadth of our need.’

‘So, it’s sentiment,’ he said, smiling slightly. ‘And I thought you above such feeling.’

She flushed but raised her chin. ‘And so, what if it is? We have lost much, my lord. Would you sell Radcliffe Hall, if your need were great enough?’

‘Point,’ he acknowledged wryly. ‘I would not, it’s true, however tempting it might be. But Radcliffe Hall has been in my family for generations. It’s who I am.’

Kitty shrugged. ‘Then we are not so different.’

‘Perhaps not,’ he said slowly.

‘Is that surprising to you?’ she asked with a wicked glint in her eye that told him she would be very pleased if it was.

‘This conversation is surprising,’ he said instead. ‘I suppose I am not used to discussing property with women.’

She scoffed. ‘You are so used to women owning no property that you imagine they have no taste for it?’

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘Though when you marry,’ he persisted, ‘you will hardly continue to live there.’

‘And why not?’ she asked him.

‘I cannot imagine Mr Pemberton willing to give up residence in his family seat to reside in yours.’

She tilted her head. ‘Perhaps not. But one of my sisters might like to make her home there, when she is of age. A home is an expensive thing, Lord Radcliffe, and I should like my sisters to not be obliged to marry to find one.’ She let that sentence linger for a moment, before lightening her voice and saying flippantly. ‘Besides, who is to say that I could not make Pemberton want to live there, were I so inclined?’

He snorted, his sympathetic feeling squashed by this fresh reminder of her manipulative nature. ‘I’m sure you are more than equal to it. After all, what does the will of your husband matter in the slightest? He might as well be a life-sized purse, for all the agency you would allow him.’

She narrowed her eyes at him, rankled by his tone.

‘And where, my lord,’ she said, ‘do you imagine your future wife residing? At a home of hers … or Radcliffe Hall?’

He frowned at her. ‘It is not the same and you know it,’ he rebutted. ‘If I marry, it would be without manipulation.’