A Lady's Guide to Fortune-Hunting(64)

‘Even Archie couldn’t become that bad at gambling,’ Radcliffe said under his breath. He wondered if this was the sort of conversation his parents had shared about him, once, before his father had decided to pack him off to the Continent.

‘I thought you might have a proper talk to him,’ Lady Radcliffe said, ignoring this. ‘Set him straight, you know, put a little fear into him.’

The carriage turned into the courtyard of Somerset House, not a moment too soon for Radcliffe.

‘I’m not going to do that, Mother,’ he said shortly, not looking at his mother. ‘Archie is fine as he is.’

They did not speak to one another as they dismounted and crossed the threshold. Taking a copy of the exhibition catalogue without enthusiasm, Radcliffe’s mood was lowered further when he realised the rooms were already thick with members of the ton, all of whom were more interested in being seen admiring the paintings on opening day, than the actual admiration itself. What insipid fools they were; Radcliffe had almost been in danger of forgetting it, these past few weeks. Miss Talbot – with her schemes, her favours, and early morning visits to his home – had kept him busy enough that he’d not had time to think of much else. Realising he was absent-mindedly searching the crowd for her figure, he jerked his head away and began instead to flick through the exhibition catalogue.

‘What would you like to see, first, Mama?’ Radcliffe asked. ‘Mr Ward’s Portrait of Mrs Gulliver, in her 104th year? Or do you think Mr Hodgson’s Interior of a church might be livelier?’

From the chilly silence that greeted his question, it was clear that Lady Radcliffe was not pleased with him at all – and most likely, doubly irritated to have to endure such a boring afternoon now that her primary objective in acquiring Radcliffe’s company had failed. It was a relief, then, to have their names hailed in only the second room. They turned to see Mrs Kendall waving a welcoming arm in her direction, from where she was gathered with Miss Talbot, Lady Montagu and Mr Fletcher – all of whom, save Miss Cecily he assumed, had given up on the paintings entirely.

‘I cannot believe the heat, for only May!’ Lady Montagu said in greeting, fanning herself vigorously. ‘I should not have come if I had known it was to be so stuffy in here. Though of course,’ she added hastily, ‘one simply must see Turner’s Dordrecht.’

Pemberton appeared, just then, clutching glasses in his hand which he presented to Miss Talbot and her aunt with pride. Though, when he spotted that Radcliffe had joined their company, his pleasure lessened. Radcliffe recollected that he was almost certainly still in Pemberton’s bad books, after their conversation at Tattersall’s. It felt so long ago to him, though it obviously did not to Pemberton from the mutinous look upon his face – dear Lord, was Miss Talbot really going to marry such a buffoon?

‘I have heard,’ Pemberton proclaimed, overcoming his annoyance with Radcliffe, ‘that the Duke of Wellington has returned to London. Do you think we shall see him at Almack’s this week?’

‘Wellington always did like a dance,’ Radcliffe said without thinking, and had the immediate punishment of having all eyes in the circle turn upon him. Pemberton scowled to have his moment so overshadowed.

‘You know him well?’ Pemberton asked sulkily.

‘A little,’ was all the response he gave, hoping this would be the end of it.

Pemberton eyed him for a moment, his dislike of Radcliffe warring with his love of discussing the Napoleonic wars – a subject upon which he considered himself quite the expert. Predictably, it was the latter that won out.

‘I, myself,’ he proclaimed modestly, ‘have studied Wellington’s campaigns at length. Indeed, Waterloo is rather my specialist subject.’

‘Oh?’ Radcliffe’s smile grew faintly derisive – and was that a flicker of a cringe on the face of Miss Talbot?

‘The battle was not without its flaws, you know,’ Pemberton told them all confidentially. ‘I’m sure Wellington would be the first to admit that mistakes were made. Why, one only has to look at the use of the cavalry …’

It appeared – it very much appeared – that Pemberton truly intended to deliver a lecture to Radcliffe upon Waterloo. It was so ridiculous as to be almost amusing. Almost. But as Pemberton began to enumerate in excruciating detail all the ways in which he thought Waterloo could have been fought better, Radcliffe felt his humour dissipate, and his temper begin to rise instead.

‘Of course had I been in Wellington’s shoes, I would have—’

‘I wonder if—’ Miss Talbot tried to interrupt, but it was no use. Pemberton simply raised his voice over hers to drown her out, in full swing now.

‘—But really, that is what happens when one recruits from the lower classes, not an ounce of discipline between them—’

The arrogance, the ignorance, the sheer pomposity of this man was breathtaking. How dare he speak of discipline, how dare he disparage those who Radcliffe had fought alongside – as if class had anything to do with courage on such a bloody battlefield as Waterloo had been. Radcliffe felt the fingers of his left hand begin to tremble.

‘Why, what a shame it is that a man of your wisdom could not be there to save us,’ he said coldly as Pemberton paused to draw breath.

The derision in his voice was now quite audible – to all but Pemberton, it seemed, who puffed up in pleasure while the rest of the group flinched a little.