A Lady's Guide to Fortune-Hunting(85)
He jabbed Radcliffe good-naturedly in the ribs – perhaps a little too hard, he thought in concern, judging from the pain upon his brother’s face.
It did not feel worth telling Radcliffe that he had a horrible suspicion that Miss Talbot still intended to become Mrs Archibald de Lacey, after all. No use complicating matters this evening, it had already been such a busy day – and anyway, damned if he knew what he was going to do about that, either. Couldn’t bear to let the poor creature down, when she’d gone so far out of her way to help him. But … Couldn’t help thinking that perhaps Radcliffe had been right and they weren’t that well suited after all.
‘Should we tell Mama what Miss Talbot did?’ Archie asked after some thought. ‘Not sure she’d approve, can’t say it was at all proper, Hinsley bringing her along.’
Radcliffe shrugged. ‘She might surprise you.’
The scene at Grosvenor Square was not a pleasant one. Pattson had reported to Lady Radcliffe the details of Captain Hinsley’s visit as soon as she had returned that night, and so by the time her sons entered the drawing room she seemed on the point of calling for the Bow Street Runners to search the Thames.
The narration of Archie’s evening only went downhill from there. In the first instance, Lady Radcliffe fell into quasi-hysterics simply from hearing that Archie had been to faro clubs in Soho. This rather irritated Archie, who felt it to be an overreaction.
‘If you’re going to be like that about everything,’ he said crossly, ‘this is going to take us hours and I’d rather like to go to bed before dawn.’
Radcliffe winced as Archie was taken loudly to task for his insensitivity towards his mother, whom he had almost killed with his behaviour.
‘I am not a well woman!’ she reminded him.
The ensuing lecture ended with the lady loudly forbidding him from leaving the house ever again, whether alone or under supervision. After Archie pointed out that they were all expected at Lady Cholmondeley’s ball on Monday evening, his mother gave him special dispensation for balls and routs only. Radcliffe had been correct, however, in predicting his mother was made of sterner stuff than she seemed – for once the story had begun in earnest, she stayed quiet, hanging on his Archie’s every word without interruption. At the end, she turned to Radcliffe and they shared an aghast stare: how close Archie had come to being quite ruined.
‘We owe Miss Talbot a great debt,’ she said seriously, to them both. ‘And we must all do whatever we can to repay her.’
Strangely, this made Archie look more anxious than he had for several hours.
‘Must we?’ he asked tentatively. ‘Whatever we can?’
‘Archie, the girl risked her life for you,’ his mother scolded. Archie sighed, looking glum again. Lady Radcliffe dismissed him to bed soon after, and he left gratefully, looking bone tired.
‘Goodness,’ Lady Radcliffe said into the room. ‘Goodness, what a night.’
‘I owe you an apology,’ Radcliffe said abruptly. ‘You were right to worry – I should have listened.’
‘Neither of us could have known the extent of it,’ Lady Radcliffe said, waving a hand in forgiveness. ‘And I do understand why you were reluctant to get involved. Interference … has not always been the right thing, in our family.’
Radcliffe nodded jerkily, looking up at the ornate ceiling. Lady Radcliffe reached up her hands to pat at her hair, still looking shocked.
‘And to think,’ she said, nervous laughter in her voice. ‘To think I was considering letting Amelia come to her first ball. I should rather instead like to lock you all up for years.’
‘… I think it would be a good idea,’ Radcliffe said, after a pause. He was still not looking at her. ‘To let Amelia try a ball this Season. It is – it is your decision, of course, but that is what I think.’
Lady Radcliffe gave him a tremulous smile.
‘Thank you, James,’ she said simply.
He bade her goodnight, walking into the hall – but instead of letting himself out of the door and heading home, he walked up the stairs. Without quite knowing how he got there, he pushed his way into the third door on the second floor – into his father’s study. It had not been touched since the man’s death, though it looked well-tended – someone had clearly been in to dust. Radcliffe traced his fingers over the wood of the great desk, remembering a thousand arguments they had had in this room together. Words of anger thrown at each other like blows, a competition of who could hurt the other the most that both of them had lost. He sat in the chair behind the desk, looking around the room.
‘My lord?’
Radcliffe looked up to see Pattson standing in the doorway, observing him with a faint smile. He spread his arms.
‘How do I look, Pattson?’ he asked.
‘Very fine, my lord.’
‘I suppose if I am to sit on this side of the desk, and you that,’ Radcliffe said, ‘I should probably start letting you know how much you’ve disappointed me.’
Pattson’s lip quirked an infinitesimal amount. ‘It would be tradition,’ he agreed.
‘Worst hours of my life,’ Radcliffe reminisced. ‘But you know the damnedest thing? As soon as the old man died, I would have given anything to hear one of those blasted lectures again. He did put so much thought into them, you know. Say what you want about the man, he crafted a very impressive telling-off. I should have liked to hear the one he had written for my return from Waterloo. I’m sure it would have been quite powerful.’