A Lady's Guide to Fortune-Hunting(90)

His hand caught her jaw now. There was nothing hesitant about the kiss, nothing uncertain. It was as if they’d both read the script beforehand and had – all along – simply been waiting for the cue. Cue given, they both committed themselves wholeheartedly to the scene, and it was some time before conversation was resumed.

‘James! James!’ They looked up, hurriedly parting, as Archie burst onto the courtyard. ‘There you are! Mama is looking for you – she has quite lost Amelia … I say, is everything all right?’ He eyed them suspiciously.

‘Yes, Archie. More than all right, in fact – Miss Talbot has just agreed to marry me,’ Radcliffe said, taking Kitty’s hand.

‘By Jove!’ Archie looked quite thunderstruck. ‘By Jove, indeed.’

Kitty remembered with a start that this news might not be entirely welcome to him – after all, it was not so long ago that he had thought himself in love with her. By the hesitant look upon James’s face, he was worrying about the same.

‘Archie?’ Kitty said, questioningly. Archie startled out of his reverie and leapt forward to wring his brother’s hand.

‘Splendid news, congratulations,’ he enthused. ‘Was just a trifle bamboozled, but quite all right now. Terribly silly of me – bacon-brained, really – but I had quite thought that you meant to marry me, Kitty. But must say a relief to know that’s absolute stuff – not sure we’re all that suited, really, so it is perhaps for the best. You understand, don’t you?’

This last was said in kindly tones, an expression upon Archie’s face as if he were delivering unwelcome news that she was to take with a stiff upper lip.

Kitty bristled. ‘Archie,’ she said quite irately, ‘are you turning me down?’

James began to laugh.





38


‘You mustn’t expect anything grand,’ Kitty instructed. ‘Netley is a far more modest home than Radcliffe Hall.’

‘I shall endeavour to keep my expectations low,’ James said agreeably.

Kitty frowned at this. ‘Though I should not be surprised if you do find it, in fact, far more characterful than Radcliffe Hall,’ she corrected.

‘Of course,’ he said, apologetically. ‘I have no doubt that I will also find it far superior to Radcliffe Hall in every way.’

The Season was over. The wedding was planned. And the Talbot sisters were travelling home at last. Ensconced in the perfectly proportioned and comfortably furnished Radcliffe carriage, their homeward journey was infinitely more pleasant than the outward had been, with the trees and fields and hedgerows passing smoothly by the window. For most of the journey, Radcliffe had ridden beside the carriage, but this afternoon he had opted to keep the ladies company within – perceiving, perhaps, that Kitty’s nerves were becoming more ragged as they neared home. She had spent the journey wondering if her sisters would look different when they arrived, wondering what she might have missed in the months they had been parted – worrying too, how they would feel about how she had changed, for she would be returning to them quite different, too. She was finally released from the weight of their crushing debt.

It had seemed almost incomprehensible to Kitty how quickly it had been resolved in the end. The morning after their engagement, Radcliffe had turned up at the doorstep of Wimpole Street quite unannounced, with a promissory note for a draft on his bank. They had sat together in the parlour, she penning the letter to Mr Anstey and Mr Ainsley to inform them that the bill was now paid in full, he adding his note without so much as a blink at the eye-wateringly large sum she had quoted. Within moments, it was done. Such a slim envelope, she had thought, to hold so much weight. With an effort, she had resisted the urge to rip it open to read everything through again – just to be quite, quite sure it was done. She looked over to James, intending to confess her disbelief, before all at once realising that they were by themselves again, for the first time since they had stood upon that candlelit terrace. From the look in his eyes, it was a realisation she was not alone in making.

‘Your aunt is visiting Mr Fletcher?’ he had asked, softly into the quiet of the parlour.

‘She is.’ The space between them had never felt so small.

‘Cecily is still asleep?’

‘Yes.’

He gave her a slow smile.

‘I should leave,’ he said, though making no move to rise from his seat. ‘Word is out now; we shall have to start being careful.’

‘How terribly boring,’ Kitty said glibly, leaning towards him. ‘I’m not sure I like the sound of that at all.’

He had still been laughing a little as their hands met, and he tugged her towards him gently, from her seat to his. When their mouths met, the air between them was light and conspiratorial. And, despite the warning against impropriety, it was still some time before he had left that morning.

A soft snore brought Kitty out of this pleasant memory, and she looked over to see Cecily had fallen asleep, her head lolling forward on her shoulders. In her hand was clasped a letter from Lord Montagu – penned entirely in very questionable iambic pentameter – and Kitty frowned thoughtfully at it. She really must put some serious thought into how that romance might be promoted.

‘You have your scheming face on,’ James observed. ‘What are you planning?’