A Lady's Guide to Fortune-Hunting(65)

‘I don’t know about that,’ Pemberton demurred, ‘though I own I should have liked to see the battle with my own eyes.’

‘Let me assure you that the view did not improve with proximity,’ Radcliffe said. Pemberton did not appear to hear him.

‘One cannot help thinking that it might have made the world of difference,’ he told the assembled company, shaking his head a little in sadness. ‘My housemaster did always say I had missed my calling as a general.’

‘Oh, undoubtedly so,’ Radcliffe said.

‘Radcliffe, perhaps—’ Lady Radcliffe lay a hand upon his arm, which he shook off. The polite veneer Radcliffe had managed to hold onto for the Season so far – always precarious whenever the war was brought up – was well and truly cracking.

‘Though of course it is much easier to develop a taste for war once the fighting has concluded, is it not?’ he bit out.

At last, the antagonistic tone seemed to filter through to Pemberton. He flushed angrily, his earlier distaste for Radcliffe’s company recollected in force.

‘What, my lord, are you implying?’ Pemberton demanded.

Around them, drawn in by the well-honed instinct of the haut ton for drama and spectacle, people were beginning to stare. Lady Kingsbury – standing in front of Mr Carse’s portrait The Gossips – had a hand over her mouth in faux distress, but was making no effort to hide her avaricious regard. Radcliffe hated them all – but none so much as this trumped-up turkey.

‘My apologies, Mr Pemberton, for only implying what I intended to make very clear,’ he said.

In his periphery, Radcliffe could see his mother’s face, pale with distress, and Miss Talbot’s – mouth set in a firm line, eyes flickering around the room – but the sight was distant in the face of his rage.

‘You sir,’ he continued with a savage smile, ‘are nothing more than a—’

‘Oh, my goodness,’ Miss Talbot said loudly. ‘I’m going to faint from the heat.’

Warning thusly issued, she dove gracefully straight into the arms of a very shocked Mr Fletcher, to the accompanying gasps of all onlookers.

‘I say – Miss Talbot?’ Mr Fletcher caught her readily enough, but was clearly much shocked, silver whiskers quivering in concern. ‘Miss Talbot, are you all right? Pemberton – fetch her a drink at once! She must get some air.’

The conversation was forgotten as all in the company rushed to help. Pemberton disappeared towards the refreshment table, Miss Talbot was encouraged to lean upon Mr Fletcher’s solicitous arm, while Mrs Kendall fanned her gently, and Lady Montagu began to usher them out towards the doors. Radcliffe was left on the sidelines, deflating slowly – and watching the proceedings through narrowed eyes. His experience of Miss Talbot’s character and behaviour thus far had not given him much reason to believe she was the fainting type, and though she was accepting the attentions with a wan smile and weak expressions of thanks, her colour was as healthy as ever.

As she was led away, she glanced back over her shoulder at Radcliffe. He caught her eye and raised a single brow, while she sent him the ghost of a wink in return.

It was some time before they found themselves in conversation again, by which point Radcliffe had recollected his calm. His mother having gone in search, with Lady Montagu, of Turner’s latest masterpiece and Pemberton being nowhere to be seen, Radcliffe wandered over to sit beside Miss Talbot where she was ‘resting’ upon a plush red couch.

‘I suppose I am to infer from your wink,’ he asked quietly, ‘that that little performance was for my benefit?’

‘For yours, and for your mother’s,’ she agreed.

‘I’m not sure it was necessary,’ he told her.

‘I’m quite sure that it was,’ she disagreed. ‘You looked about to land Pemberton a facer, which would have cast a pall over the evening – for everyone but the gossips. Besides, I did owe you a favour.’

‘Forgive me,’ he said apologetically. ‘I had thought the favour was to be of my choosing, not yours – though perhaps that was rather an audacious assumption?’

‘I believe,’ she said loftily, ‘the correct response is to say thank you.’

‘I will own that the intervention was fortuitous,’ he admitted, smiling a little. ‘My mother was already disappointed with me when I arrived, so I would have been quite in the doghouse if I’d started a brawl. Though,’ he added, looking at her sidelong, ‘I would have perhaps chosen something a little less dramatic.’

‘Ah, that is because you lack vision,’ she explained, her expression perfectly straight but humour clear in her dark eyes – which were singular for their expressiveness.

‘Why is your mother disappointed in you?’ Miss Talbot asked.

With hackles still a little raised from his altercation, Radcliffe was tempted to give her a set down, but – seeing that her face was free of judgement – instead let out a gust of air. ‘She thinks I am taking a too cavalier an attitude to Archie – or, rather, I suppose she should like me to take a more active role in managing the entire family.’

‘And you don’t want to?’ Miss Talbot asked, head cocking in interest.

He gave a vague shake of the head. ‘I suppose …’ he said slowly. ‘I suppose it is more that I don’t know how. My father was— He would have taken a very hard line with Archie – I know, because he took a hard line with me. And if that is what being the head of the family looks like, I’m not sure I can do it.’