Page 46 of A Lady's Guide to Scandal

‘You must tell me where your family home is, my dear, for I might even have been there – I know it to be close to the Radcliffe’s family estate, is it not?’ Mrs Stanfield asked with supreme, and false, casualness. Mrs Stanfield was desirous of discovering her financial situation – as if it even mattered to her, when their family was already so very rich. And yet still she had asked.

‘Our cottage is certainly not so far from Devonshire,’ Kitty said slowly, ‘a day’s ride at the very most.’

‘Cottage?’ Mrs Stanfield repeated, helping herself to a nibble of cake, but keeping her eyes upon Kitty’s face, the question quite clear.

It was tempting to lie. So very tempting.

‘Cottage,’ Kitty repeated firmly. ‘Where I live with my four sisters.’

‘Four! Lovely,’ Mrs Stanfield gushed with over-the-top enthusiasm. ‘Just lovely. In a cottage, too. What a blessing, indeed. I must see to my other guests, my dear, but I do hope you will partake of the apple cake – it is quite delicious.’

She bustled off before Kitty could utter another word. Kitty stared after her, still not quite sure exactly what had happened. She watched as Mrs Stanfield moved through the clusters of guests, passing her son for a brief moment. They did not speak to one another, but Mrs Stanfield must have made some kind of gesture to her son – a meaningful look, a minute hand gesture – for Mr Stanfield looked immediately over to where Kitty was sitting and smiled at her. But it was not the smile of rascally mischief that Kitty privately thought of as hers. Rather, it was a smile of apology. She knew then that he would be calling on her no longer. Kitty took in a deep breath – trying to control the shock of the blow which she felt deep in her stomach – and engaged herself busily back in social niceties. By the time she and Cecily took their leave, he was deep in conversation with Miss Fleming, and they looked to be having quite the time of it.

The superb spring weather they had been enjoying for weeks broke that evening. Low clouds smothered the London skyline, extinguishing the last of the light and casting hazy grey mist over the city. It was a fitting weather for how Kitty herself was feeling. She placed Aunt Dorothy’s paste diamonds in her ears and around her wrists, preparing for another outing and resolutely ignoring the sharp pain that had settled beneath her breastbone ever since she had returned from the Stanfield house. She could not give in to a self-indulgent attack of low spirits now, not when she had only herself to blame for having them in the first place. After all, it had been foolish to possess any sort of romantic pretension, and here was the proof of what she had always feared. All she could do now was move onward. There was much still to be done – Kitty still had no proposals to her name, and she could not be happy with a state of affairs where her principal hopes rested upon Mr Pemberton.

She was ruminating upon this at the ball that night, at the edge of the dance floor, when Radcliffe appeared at her side. He offered her a flute of champagne, which she took with a subdued thanks, saying to him flatly, ‘I’m not in the mood to argue tonight.’

Radcliffe’s innocent eyebrow raise communicated his disbelief, and even hurt, that she should suspect him of so foul a motive. But, reading the lack of amusement in her face, he appeared to relent.

‘Noted,’ he said instead, turning so that he too faced the sea of dancers, his eyes following their turns and twirls. ‘How goes the hunt?’

She investigated his tone for any suggestion of mockery but, finding none, answered honestly.

‘I imagine it is easy to guess. Mr Pemberton is rich enough to satisfy.’

‘You are no longer considering Mr Stanfield as among the principals?’ he asked. ‘I imagined him to be your favourite.’

She examined her fan for imperfections – was that a tear in its lace? ‘He was,’ she said quietly. ‘But I am afraid he is committed to finding a wealthy wife.’

‘Ah,’ he said gravely. ‘I suppose that is not so surprising. The Stanfields are affluent spendthrifts – their expenditures are such as they must depend upon an influx of fresh wealth with every new alliance.’

‘It matters not,’ she said with a hint of bitterness. ‘Pemberton has enough wealth to support my family and allow us to keep our home – though I do need another option, for safety.’

He mulled this over for a moment. ‘Your commitment to retaining your family home is, I admit, a little surprising.’

‘How so?’ she asked, deciding to await his answer before becoming offended.

‘Well, you are so obviously at home here, in town. Why not stay in London?’

‘My my, Lord Radcliffe,’ she said archly, ‘and here I thought you couldn’t wait to get rid of me.’

He ignored this. ‘Why not let Netley go, sell, and make your home elsewhere?’

‘I have enjoyed London a great deal more than I thought I would, it’s true,’ she allowed. ‘It is infinitely entertaining, but Netley has been home to me and mine for all of my life. I’m not in a hurry to give that up – and nor would its sale cover the full breadth of our need.’

‘So, it’s sentiment,’ he said, smiling slightly. ‘And I thought you above such feeling.’

She flushed but raised her chin. ‘And so, what if it is? We have lost much, my lord. Would you sell Radcliffe Hall, if your need were great enough?’

‘Point,’ he acknowledged wryly. ‘I would not, it’s true, however tempting it might be. But Radcliffe Hall has been in my family for generations. It’s who I am.’

Kitty shrugged. ‘Then we are not so different.’

‘Perhaps not,’ he said slowly.

‘Is that surprising to you?’ she asked with a wicked glint in her eye that told him she would be very pleased if it was.

‘This conversation is surprising,’ he said instead. ‘I suppose I am not used to discussing property with women.’