Page 45 of A Lady's Guide to Scandal

‘Next year,’ Lady Radcliffe was insisting. ‘You are still very young.’

‘All of my friends are attending at least one this Season,’ Amelia complained loudly. ‘Not coming out – but just dipping their toe. Really, I shall be considered quite frightfully green if I’m the only one who hasn’t. Just one, Mama, surely there is no harm? After all, I’m only a year younger than Cecily and she’s been to heaps of them.’

Lady Radcliffe looked torn. She was not unsympathetic to the plea, but she could not help feeling daunted by the prospect of all her children out in society – and no doubt getting up to no good – at once. She hesitated, undecided. Life seemed full of these sorts of weighty decisions this year, and since her husband’s death, she had no one to discuss them with. Except that now, Radcliffe was right there. She turned hopefully to her eldest son.

‘James, what do you think?’ she demanded.

Radcliffe paused with a spear of asparagus halfway to his mouth.

‘What do I think of …?’ he asked, warily.

‘Of whether I should let Amelia be allowed to one ball this Season. Perhaps it would not do any harm – but then, if it will not, what is the problem with waiting?’ She looked at him, expectantly. Across the table, Amelia gazed at him, pleadingly. He stared from one to the other.

‘I would like your view, James,’ Lady Radcliffe insisted when he did not speak.

Radcliffe felt himself begin to sweat. He did not know what his view was and would not feel at all qualified to give it even if he did know. Was there any harm to it? Amelia was still just seventeen, which seemed young – and yet was that the terribly dour sort of opinion his father would have had? Was a terribly dour opinion the right one, anyhow? His cravat was beginning to feel awfully tight.

‘It’s your decision, Mama,’ he said at last, tugging on his collar. ‘I would not presume to know better.’

Lady Radcliffe looked a little crestfallen to have the responsibility batted back so easily.

‘I shall think on it, Amelia,’ she said to her daughter.

Radcliffe knew he had failed to pass her test. But really, why on earth should she call upon him for these matters, when he was barely ten years older than Amelia? Just because he had the title, now, did not mean he had any more experience or wisdom than he had when his father was alive. The late Lord Radcliffe would have had an opinion, of course – and they all would have heard about it, as loud as the church bell’s ringing at St Paul’s, he thought bitterly. He would have cared: cared for what was proper or improper, cared what other families were doing, and what they would think. Whereas Radcliffe could not muster any sense of that thought or effort within himself, though it was so clearly going to be required of him more and more the longer he stayed in London. Not for the first time, a desire to leave – to escape – warred within him with the desire to remain. Life was simpler at Radcliffe Hall; there he was free from family pressures, and yet … the London Season was captivating him more this year than it had before. Some of the responsibility for this lay, he could admit, at the door of Miss Talbot – and the unpredictability she was bringing to matters – and now he had begun the Season he could not help but want to see where it – and she – ended up.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough, with presents exchanged and well wishes given – the food was divine, as always, and the evening ended with a towering cake that Archie dove into with gusto. Radcliffe smiled and laughed along, but he could not help but keep ruminating on his mother’s question – the one she had actually asked, and the one that was subtext – though he was no closer to reaching an answer for either when it was time to leave. He and Archie walked to the door together, Archie thanking him again for his gift.

‘You will come to me, if you need to, won’t you, Archie?’ Radcliffe said abruptly, just as Archie was about to turn for the stairs. His brother looked taken aback and Radcliffe swung his hat awkwardly in his hands. ‘You may not need to, of course, but … If you do. I know we have not spent much time together, in recent years. Perhaps we could ride out, soon, to Wimbledon again – or further afield, if you want.’

Archie nodded, his jaw working furiously.

‘I should like that,’ he said finally. ‘I should like that very much.’

He stared at his brother for a few seconds – and Radcliffe looked back, a little thrown by the strange emotional weight of the moment.

‘James—’ Archie began, stepping forward, but before he could say anything, Amelia crashed into the hallway, interrupting them.

‘Are you still here?’ she said rudely to her eldest brother.

‘I was just leaving, you unconscionable toad,’ he told her imperiously.

But the moment between him and Archie had passed, so quickly that Radcliffe wondered if he had imagined the vulnerability in Archie’s face – for it was now quite casual. Radcliffe chastised himself a little, for forcing such a serious moment on what should be a carefree day. This clumsy kind of interference was exactly, he thought, why such things were best left to his mother.

23

A lesser woman would consider Kitty’s social calendar to be a trifle stressful, over the next few weeks. But Kitty, ever-mindful of her deadline, was determined to jam as many balls, dinner parties, theatre trips, promenades, exhibitions and recitals into her days as possible. Besides, even if it was a little daunting – gazing at her calendar of events that morning – nothing could dampen her mood that day, for she and her family had been invited to call at Mrs Stanfield’s town house. This was, Kitty felt, a very good sign.

‘Of course,’ she said airily to Cecily as they walked, Sally following two steps behind, ‘if he wants to marry me, that does not mean I should automatically accept. It would have to be the best offer, naturally.’

Cecily only hummed in response. Their aunt was not with them, having begged off due to a headache. Aunt Dorothy had been getting rather a lot of these recently, though their origins – given the vast amount of champagne she was consuming nightly – seemed far from mysterious.

They arrived to find several visitors already arranged in the lofty drawing room, though Kitty was gratified to receive the assiduous attentions of Mrs Stanfield as soon as they entered. This was surely a good sign, too, and Kitty suppressed a pleased smile. Across the room, Mr Stanfield sent her a wink. As she spoke to the lady, whose bearing was warm and welcoming, Kitty could not help imagining a life where she might be allowed to have both – to win happiness for herself as well as a fortune for her sisters. It would be … marvellous. And Kitty could not quite believe how close it seemed actually to be happening.

That is, until Mrs Stanfield’s conversation began to beat a very familiar path. She asked first about Kitty’s family – from where they hailed, the whereabouts of their family home – and though Mrs Stanfield’s bearing remained sunny, Kitty’s smile faded a little.

‘The air!’ Mrs Stanfield sang gaily of Dorsetshire. ‘The hills. Just beautiful!’

Commenting upon the air and the hills was, Kitty supposed, a safe bet given that most counties could be depended upon to have both.