Page 6 of A Lady's Guide to Scandal

‘Why so few, my dear?’ her father had clucked at her. ‘You have a good hand.’

‘In case I lose,’ she had said, as if it were obvious. He let out a puff of smoke from his pipe and shook a finger at her, admonishingly.

‘One must never begin a game by conceding,’ he warned. ‘Play to win, my dear, always.’

‘Oh,’ Cecily’s voice startled her out of her reverie and back to the present. ‘I think I know her.’

Kitty looked up. And there they were, the de Lacys from the theatre, taking a promenade around the park. Dark-haired Lady Amelia, wearing a smart pelisse and a scowl, and the yellow-haired Mr de Lacy, looking distinctly bored.

‘What do you mean, you “know her”?’ Kitty demanded sharply.

‘We went to school together,’ Cecily replied vaguely – already in danger of losing interest. ‘She was only a little younger, and we shared a love of literature. Lady Amelia de … something.’

‘And you didn’t think it was worth mentioning?’ Kitty hissed, gripping her arm tightly.

‘Ow,’ Cecily complained. ‘How could I have mentioned it any earlier, I’ve only just seen them?’

They were to cross paths in just a few moments. Kitty might hope that Lady Amelia would look up, recognise Cecily in turn, but her gaze was cast downwards and there were nearly ten yards separating them – a veritable gulf.

It would not do.

They were within ten paces now, and she curled her toes. Then, just as the gap closed to five feet, she flicked her ankle out and affected a stumble. Her shoe went sailing through the air, and she leant heavily into her sister with a gasp. ‘Oh no!’

Cecily was startled but bore her weight easily enough. ‘Kitty? Do you need to sit down?’

‘Miss Talbot?’ Sally hurried forward to help, but Kitty waved her off.

‘I twisted my ankle,’ she gasped. ‘But – oh but where is my slipper? It’s come off.’

One, two, three—

‘I beg your pardon, miss, but is this yours?’

Yes. She looked up to see the young gentleman – Mr de Lacy – proffering the slipper with a blush and eyes that were growing more eager as he glimpsed her face.

‘Thank you,’ she gasped gratefully, taking it from him. Feeling a blush of her own would be fitting, Kitty willed her cheeks to obey, without success – she cursed the fact that she was not the blushing sort.

‘Cecily? Miss Cecily Talbot?’ Lady Amelia had now approached, recognition in her eyes. If only Cecily were not to let her down now …

‘Lady Amelia,’ a short bob of recognition, a hand outstretched.

‘Do you live in London now? Is this your sister?’ No such social intricacies were displayed by this young lady – the indulgence of the rich.

‘Yes – my sister, Miss Talbot. Kitty, this is Lady Amelia and …’ Cecily looked at Mr de Lacy questioningly. Really, she was doing very well. The best of sisters.

‘Her brother, Mr de Lacy.’ He rushed to introduce himself with a ready smile, his eyes flickering admiringly between the sisters.

‘Have you hurt yourself very badly?’ Lady Amelia demanded. ‘Archie, for goodness’ sake, offer her your arm, won’t you?’

Mr de Lacy – Archie, it seemed – sent a foul look his sister’s way.

‘You must allow us to escort you home,’ he said gallantly. ‘You ought not to be walking much further on a sprained ankle, we can drop you off in our carriage. Here, lean on my arm.’

Kitty accepted graciously, taking the proffered arm and leaning on him enough to place her slipper back on under her skirts. Mr de Lacy cleared his throat, looking away. Soon their procession was walking slowly towards a row of carriages in the distance. Cecily and Lady Amelia walking ahead, their heads bent together in a quickly resumed intimacy, Kitty and Mr de Lacy following behind. It took Kitty a second to realise she was limping from the wrong foot – she corrected this hastily enough that she was sure no one had noticed.

Kitty might be walking slowly, but she was thinking quickly. This was an opportunity she could never have predicted, and she was certainly not going to botch it. They had, she imagined, only twenty minutes with which to make a mark upon the de Lacys – the six or seven minutes it would take them to find the de Lacy carriage, followed by the short ride thereafter to Wimpole Street. Kitty did not know Mr de Lacy, at all – did not know the best avenue for attack to suit his character – but how different could he be to the rest of his gender?

‘I quite consider you my hero, Mr de Lacy,’ Kitty said, turning wide eyes to stare up at him. ‘To rescue us so kindly. I do not know what we might have done without you.’