A Lady's Guide to Fortune-Hunting(57)

We are sending all of our love to you and Cecily. We were most pleased by the poem Cecily enclosed in your last letter – though sadly, none of us fully understood the meaning.

Until we can speak again, I remain your loving sister,

Beatrice





24


The engagement of Mr Stanfield and Miss Fleming was announced the following week. And it was fine, it was utterly fine, because whatever Mr Stanfield was doing changed nothing for Kitty, of course. She still had Pemberton as a suitor – he was a veritable fixture at her side these days – and now Mr Crawton, too, who Kitty had been pursuing persistently and successfully ever since their first meeting. In fact, all that mattered from the Mr Stanfield episode was that she had learnt something useful – that a man’s annual income was not so revealing a statistic as she had always believed. That she might have engaged herself to Mr Stanfield without knowing his financial unsuitability, despite his six thousand a year, was cause for considerable disquiet – and a valuable lesson. She must be sure of each suitor’s financial situation beyond their jointure. The rub was also that one could not simply come out and ask, for such a conversation did not lend itself well to a romantic tête-à-tête. So how was she to investigate Mr Pemberton – and now Mr Crawton’s – finances to ascertain if she could safely back either one of those horses? The solution seemed too inevitable to deny even to herself. Kitty looked over to the grandfather clock in the corner. Quarter to nine in the morning. She ought really to wait until later … but Kitty found she did not want to. By the time she arrived it would be past nine, at least.

‘As you know,’ Kitty began, speaking to Radcliffe in her most calming tones, for she had arrived at St James’s Place to find him in a most disagreeable mood, before she was interrupted by Beaverton bringing in a tray. He served them both hot coffee – his face fixed into an expression of quiet sympathy, such as one might wear at a funeral. Radcliffe accepted his cup like a starving man and regarded Miss Talbot suspiciously through the steam. She began again. ‘As you know, I am on the point of choosing between my suitors.’

‘Oh, do accept my congratulations,’ Radcliffe said sarcastically.

‘But it has occurred to me the foolishness of committing myself when all I have to prove their wealth is the assurances of other members of the ton.’

He looked at her. ‘And that does not satisfy you?’ he asked.

‘Not at all. What if it transpires that despite his income, he has significant debt?’

A slight cough from Radcliffe was meant, she felt, to draw attention to the irony of this objection.

‘Yes, I am quite aware that I have lots of debt,’ she said crossly. ‘But there’s no point in neither of us being rich. I need proof before I go any further with either of my suitors. The stakes are simply too high.’

‘Proof?’ He glanced once more despairingly at the clock. ‘How, exactly, does that involve me?’

‘I was hoping you could find out for me,’ she said. ‘You must see that it would be impossible for me to make enquiries myself,’ she added, when he continued to look appalled.

‘I do see that,’ he agreed. ‘However, I do not see why I should be doing it, or how you think it will be any easier for me to do so.’

‘You are so much better connected than I!’ she said at once. ‘After all, you found out my secret quite easily enough. Would it take so much to ask a few questions in the right ears? How would you achieve the thing if it were Amelia asking?’

‘I’d tell her she surely knows better than to bother me before twelve on a Saturday,’ he muttered.

‘Be serious.’

‘Oh, believe me, Miss Talbot, I am being very serious.’

‘Is there nothing I could give you in return to make it worth your while?’ she cajoled. ‘If you will not do it out of charity, then what is it that you do want? You know I have little money, but I am not entirely without value.’

Radcliffe closed his eyes and took an audibly deep breath. For a moment, his theatrical distress reminded her irrepressibly of his mother and she fought to keep her face still.

‘Perhaps I could cure the next of your mother’s illnesses,’ she suggested.

He scowled at her. ‘You know as well as I that my mother will be in quite top health until the last ball of the Season,’ he snapped.

She opened her mouth to make another suggestion.

‘Very well,’ he said, before she could. ‘Very well! I’ll ask around. And in return, you can owe me a favour.’

‘A favour.’ She looked at him dubiously. ‘Of what sort?’

‘It shall be a “favour of my choosing at a time of my appointment”,’ he said, beginning to enjoy himself. She opened her mouth to argue—

‘Please,’ he held up an imploring hand to forestall her. ‘Let us just leave it there. I shall think of something when I am a little less fatigued, I promise you.’

‘All right,’ she said reluctantly. ‘But you can’t ask me to leave town before I have a marriage organised.’

‘I won’t,’ he promised faintly.

‘And it cannot be something that would in any way affect my standing in society.’

‘All right.’