A Lady's Guide to Fortune-Hunting(8)

Two thousand would not mean the end to their worry and their strife, but it would help, at least. Her mother had settled for far less than two thousand a year, after all – this was a sum, in fact, far greater than what Mr and Mrs Talbot had been given in exchange for their leaving London together so many years ago. It had not been enough for them, of course – especially since Papa had never quite been able to adapt his lifestyle from that of an affluent single gentleman to a father of five with a rapidly decreasing income of five hundred pounds a year. Kitty might not enjoy gambling or hundred-year-old port, but she still had four sisters to support – and unlike her Mama and Papa, would not have the luxury of a loving marriage to ease her mind when the pennies began to pinch.

Kitty wished, for perhaps the hundredth – the thousandth, the millionth – time, to be able to speak to her mother. Kitty was grateful to have Aunt Dorothy as a skilled London guide, but it was not the same. She wanted desperately to speak to someone who knew her intimately, to someone who loved her sisters as much as she did – who would be just as haunted as she was by the visions of Jane, Beatrice, Harriet and Cecily alone and stranded in dark and unkind corners of the country – and someone who would understand that no lengths were too great in the pursuit of their happiness, as Mama would. She would know what Kitty ought to do next, Kitty felt sure, and she would not be bothered by such self-limiting silliness as hierarchy or social tiers – after all, it was she, and not Aunt Dorothy, who had had the gumption to fall in love with a gentleman far above her station.

Kitty rolled onto her side, trying to marshal her rebellious thoughts into order. It was useless to ruminate upon matters she could not possibly change. Her mother was gone, and this was Kitty’s task alone to bear, now. Aunt Dorothy was the only advisor she had, and she had laughed when Kitty had asked after men of greater fortune than Mr Pears. The laughter had not been malicious; she had honestly considered it absurd, and perhaps Kitty should heed that.

Sleep came uneasily that night, in fits and starts as exhaustion fought with anxiety for dominance. And even as sleep finally drew ahead, Kitty was still wondering: was it so wrong to wish that, if she had to sell herself for her family’s sake, it would at least be to a higher bidder than Mr Pears?





4


Kitty awoke the next morning longing for a break from the clutter of London’s streets. After breakfast she persuaded Cecily to walk with her to Hyde Park. Accompanied, at Aunt Dorothy’s insistence, by her housemaid Sally – who followed two steps behind – Kitty and Cecily found their way to the park easily enough. They began their turn around the Serpentine, their quick pace – despite Aunt Dorothy’s teachings – quite incongruous to the languorous gait of the other ladies, and Kitty breathed in the clean air and bright green of the grass and the trees with relief. Though far more structured than any of the landscape in Biddington, the view was as close to home as any Kitty had seen so far in London.

Kitty wondered if their parents had ever walked here, together. Certainly not on a day so fine as this, of course. Theirs had not been a traditional courtship: being so heartily disapproved of by Mr Talbot’s family, it had by necessity taken place outside of the public eye, upon the fringes and margins and quiet places of society. When a day was fine and the ton flocked to London’s green fields, they would take shelter indoors and away from the hordes – they were far more likely to have visited Hyde Park together in the rain or high winds, when one could be assured of privacy. Her mother would not have minded that, Kitty knew. Though born and raised in the city, she loved nothing more than being outside in the elements, rain or shine, whereas Mr Talbot’s passions had lain more in indoor pursuits.

Some of Kitty’s fondest memories of her father had been playing cards together in the parlour, each Sunday afternoon, for as long as she could remember until the very day before his death. He taught her the rules of whist, faro, and all manner of card games, and they had gambled always with real money – though with only pennies by Kitty’s insistence – as Mr Talbot firmly believed that one played differently with money on the table. Kitty could still remember playing piquet for the first time together. After learning the rules, Kitty had opted to bet with only a single ha’penny at each juncture.

‘Why so few, my dear?’ her father had clucked at her. ‘You have a good hand.’

‘In case I lose,’ she had said, as if it were obvious. He let out a puff of smoke from his pipe and shook a finger at her, admonishingly.

‘One must never begin a game by conceding,’ he warned. ‘Play to win, my dear, always.’

‘Oh,’ Cecily’s voice startled her out of her reverie and back to the present. ‘I think I know her.’

Kitty looked up. And there they were, the de Lacys from the theatre, taking a promenade around the park. Dark-haired Lady Amelia, wearing a smart pelisse and a scowl, and the yellow-haired Mr de Lacy, looking distinctly bored.

‘What do you mean, you “know her”?’ Kitty demanded sharply.

‘We went to school together,’ Cecily replied vaguely – already in danger of losing interest. ‘She was only a little younger, and we shared a love of literature. Lady Amelia de … something.’

‘And you didn’t think it was worth mentioning?’ Kitty hissed, gripping her arm tightly.

‘Ow,’ Cecily complained. ‘How could I have mentioned it any earlier, I’ve only just seen them?’