Page 5 of A Lady's Guide to Scandal

‘The de Lacys,’ she said, leaning in. ‘The Dowager Countess Lady Radcliffe and her two youngest, Mr Archibald de Lacy and the Lady Amelia de Lacy. The whole family is as rich as kings. Of course, it’s the eldest son, the Earl of Radcliffe, who has the lion’s share, but the two younger ones will receive a handsome fortune each, too – at least eight thousand a year, by my estimation. Expected to make fabulous matches, the lot of them.’

She leant back in her seat as the performance started, but even as the audience began to gasp and laugh, Kitty could not take her eyes from the de Lacys. What must it be like, to know from birth that your future was an assuredly safe and happy one? To tower over the rest of society, in that exclusive box? They looked as though they belonged there, Kitty could admit, high above. Could there ever have been a world in which she herself might have belonged up there with them? Her father had been born a gentleman, after all, and before his marriage would have mixed with lords and ladies such as them without thinking. Had events unravelled a little differently … Kitty felt a nonsensical pang of jealousy for this alternate version of herself, who might have shared a set with the golden de Lacy family. It was not until Aunt Dorothy nudged her with her elbow that Kitty finally looked away.

At the interval, Kitty and Cecily were kept busy by their aunt, who introduced them to all manner of men and women, wealthy merchants and their sons, daughters and wives, lawyers, military men dressed in dashing colours and the prettily dressed women on their arms. It was more people in one night than Kitty had met in her life to date, and she could not help but feel a little daunted – as if she were again a girl of fifteen, approaching the Linfield manor for her very first evening soirée and feeling terribly frightened of doing something wrong. She remembered her mother whispering reassurances into her ear that night, the scent of her rosewater perfume tickling her nose. Eyes and ears, my darling, she had said. Watch and listen and do as they do, it is not so hard.

Kitty took in a breath so deep that she fancied she could almost detect that rosewater scent upon the air, mustered her courage, and set herself out to impress. As one would mould a hat to suit a fashion, she moulded herself to suit her conversational partner: to the men who fancied themselves great wits, she provided a ready laugh, to the vain she was admiring, and to the shy she smiled often and spoke more. Dorothy was in transports on the return home.

‘Mr Melbury, now he’s one thousand a year,’ she relayed to them in the carriage, ‘Mr Wilcox looked quite taken with Cecily, and—’

‘And we agreed Cecily is not here to make a match,’ Kitty interjected. Beside her, Cecily’s shoulders relaxed once more.

‘Fine, fine.’ Aunt Dorothy waved a dismissive hand. ‘Mr Pears was a little harder to read, but he has a lovely shipping fortune of two thousand a year coming his way upon his father’s death. And Mr Cleaver—’

‘Are there any men of your acquaintance who value more than two thousand a year?’ Kitty interrupted again.

‘More than two thousand a year?’ her aunt asked. ‘What on earth were you expecting, my child?’

‘Mr Linfield had a fortune of four thousand a year,’ Kitty said, her brow wrinkling.

‘Four?’ her aunt repeated incredulously. ‘Goodness me, the Squire must have done very well for himself. But you cannot expect such a miracle to be repeated, my dears. One would be hard pressed to have such a fortune without land, my darling, and you won’t find many landed gentlemen in my circles.’

Kitty digested this unpleasant news. She had known Mr Linfield was wealthy, wealthy enough that paying off their considerable debts would be no issue – but she had assumed they would be able to find many more of his kind in London.

‘I should not expect to encounter men of equivalent fortune?’ Kitty clarified, stomach clenching unpleasantly.

‘Not in my set,’ Aunt Dorothy laughed.

Kitty felt hot and foolish. She yearned to be back at Wimpole Street again, so that she might have ink and paper to sit down with the numbers calmly. Would two thousand a year suit, when she had her sisters to support and eventually dower too? Was it enough?

‘How much debt do you have?’ Dorothy asked, shrewdly.

Kitty told her. Cecily – who Kitty had not thought to be listening – gasped, and Aunt Dorothy granted herself the indulgence of an unladylike whistle.

‘Oh my,’ she said, eyes wide. ‘Mr Pears it shall have to be then.’

‘Yes,’ Kitty agreed, though a little dubiously. Two thousand a year was certainly better than nothing, but there was more to it than simply paying the debt. Was two thousand a year enough to clear their not inconsiderable sum, keep Netley, and then after, to secure her sisters’ futures, too? For what if one of her sisters should need a dowry, to secure the gentleman of their choice? What if all of them did? What if, instead, one needed funds to marry a poor man? Or Cecily, who would surely be happiest with no husband, but a great number of expensive books in her possession. She would have expected Mr Linfield to do all this, but the kindest man in the world, with only two thousand a year to spend, would not be able to promise her the same.

‘Would a place such as … Almack’s be where gentlemen of more fortune frequented?’ she asked thoughtfully.

‘Almack’s Assembly Rooms? Kitty, you would be reaching for the stars,’ Dorothy said, much exasperated. ‘There is a vast difference between polite society and high society. High society – the world of lords and ladies, land and fortune – is not a place to which I can give you access. You must be born to that world and there is no other way to secure an invitation. Put these dangerous notions aside and focus your attention instead on the likes of Mr Pears – you would be lucky indeed to have such a husband.’

They had arrived at Wimpole Street. Kitty went up to their bedroom without speaking further. In a state of some melancholy, she ruminated over Dorothy’s words all the way through her nightly ablutions and was still not done when Cecily blew out their candle and got into bed beside her. Her sister fell instantly asleep, and Kitty listened to her breathing in the dark, jealous of the ease with which Cecily could cast aside the worries of the day.

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.