A Lady's Guide to Fortune-Hunting(6)
‘Dresses are easy,’ she said grimly. ‘It is far harder to act as young ladies of quality. Have you spent much time in polite society?’
‘We have dined many times at Linfield Manor,’ Kitty offered, not sure if this counted. Mr Talbot and the Squire, even before their children’s engagement, had been great friends – sharing an interest in expensive brandy and gambling – and so the Talbots had often been invited to dinner parties at the Linfield’s grand home.
‘Good,’ Aunt Dorothy approved. ‘To start, I want you to imagine that every time you leave this house, you are at a Linfield dinner party. Stand tall and still, walk slowly – none of this bustling about, every move must be languorous and graceful. You must speak softly and enunciate clearly, strictly no slang or vulgarity, and when in doubt say nothing at all.’
For three days, Aunt Dorothy drilled them in the proper ways of walking and of dressing their hair in the latest style, of holding a fan, a fork, a purse. Becoming a gentlewoman, Kitty soon began to appreciate, was to contain one’s self so tightly that one could not breathe – your whole body had to become a corset, with indelicacies, gracelessness and character kept strictly within. Kitty listened intently to every morsel of information and corralled Cecily into doing the same – it was her sister’s usual habit to let her attention drift off as soon as she recognised a conversation did not interest her – and by the time their first dresses arrived, they were reeling from the education.
‘Thank goodness,’ Aunt Dorothy declared, as the packages were brought in, ‘at least now you can leave the house without any blushes.’
Kitty and Cecily took the boxes upstairs, where they unpacked them with more than a little wonder. Fashion, they were discovering, moved much faster in London than Biddington, and so the beautiful items inside bore only passing resemblance to the dresses they were used to. Morning dresses in pretty blues and yellows, muslin gowns, thick cloaks, satin spencers and, most breathtaking of all, two evening dresses that were finer than anything Kitty had ever seen. Into these, the sisters helped each other with careful hands. They dressed their hair as Aunt Dorothy had shown them, carefully arranged with fresh flowers, and when all was done, they looked quite different.
Standing before the full-length mirror in Aunt Dorothy’s bedroom, Kitty was taken aback by their reflection. She was used to Cecily always appearing as though she had only just awoken from a deep sleep, but now she looked something of an angel, the floating skirts in shining white making her look as if she were about to disappear, her fair hair, arranged in ringlets on either side of her head, softening her face still further. Kitty, too, was dressed in white, as was usual for a young lady in her first Season. The pallor of the dress contrasted sharply against the darkness of her eyes and hair – naturally straight but cajoled now into matching her sister’s curls – and emphasised the dramatic slash of her brows above bright eyes. The girls in the mirror looked impressive, Kitty thought. They looked as if they belonged here, in London.
‘Very handsome indeed!’ Aunt Dorothy clapped her hands in delight. ‘I think you are ready. We will begin tonight.’
They arrived at the Theatre Royal at Covent Garden as dusk was falling, and lit by candlelight, the theatre looked quite beautiful, with its high vaulted ceilings and ornate interior. Though it was not yet as busy as it would be in high Season, there was a still hum of excitement all around.
‘Look at all these people,’ her aunt said appreciatively. ‘Can you sense the opportunity in the air, my darlings?’
‘“Marks of weakness, marks of woe,”’ Cecily said sombrely, in what Kitty recognised as her quoting voice. Aunt Dorothy eyed her suspiciously. As they moved into the great entrance hall, she hissed into Kitty’s ear, quietly, so Cecily could not hear, ‘Is she a fool?’
‘An intellectual,’ Kitty explained softly.
Aunt Dorothy sighed. ‘I was afraid of that.’
They made their way slowly to their seats, Aunt Dorothy peering intently around and waving to acquaintances in the crowd.
‘We are very lucky,’ Aunt Dorothy said in an undertone as they entered the upper gallery. ‘I had not thought to see so many eligible men so early in the Season.’
Kitty nodded, settling into her seat, but she was distracted. She had glimpsed the most regal family she had ever laid eyes on, and her attention had been immediately, and totally, transfixed. Seated high above them, in their own private box, the three strangers, even to Kitty’s uneducated eyes, seemed to stand out from the crowd. Beautiful and beautifully dressed, the young man, young lady, and dashingly handsome woman must be a family – a family that, as she watched them smile and laugh together, had not a care in the world beyond their own enjoyment. Aunt Dorothy followed the direction of Kitty’s gaze and clucked disapprovingly.
‘There’s no point sending your eyes up there, my dear. I admire your ambition, of course, but let us remember our station.’
‘Icarus,’ Cecily chipped in vaguely – whether in agreement or simply to lend some intellectual colour to the conversation, it was unclear.
‘Who are they?’ Kitty asked, still staring upward. The temptation to gossip quickly overcame Dorothy’s disapproval.
‘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.’