A Lady's Guide to Fortune-Hunting(9)
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.’
Mr de Lacy ducked his head bashfully. Yes, quite so – the fishing line grew taut in her hands.
‘Just what anyone would do,’ Mr de Lacy protested. ‘The gentlemanly thing, you know.’
‘You give yourself far too little credit!’ she insisted warmly, before adding, as breathily as she could: ‘Did you serve upon the Peninsula? You have the bearing of a soldier.’
Mr de Lacy went a bright pink.
‘No-no,’ he hastened to correct her. ‘I was too young – I should have liked to go, but I had not yet finished school. My brother fought at Waterloo – wasn’t supposed to, of course, being the firstborn – but he’s never heeded that sort of thing …’ He trailed off, conscious that he was straying off topic. ‘But I was captain of the cricket team at Eton you know!’
‘Oh marvellous. You must be a very fine sportsman.’
Mr de Lacy was pleased enough to accept this compliment, however blushingly. In fact, over the next few minutes he was pleased to discover all sorts of new things about himself: that he had a soldier’s bearing, a hero’s instincts, a strong arm, yes, but also that he was terribly amusing and strikingly clever. His opinion was listened to intently, a story from his school-days that his family had listened to with only polite indulgence was to Miss Talbot quite hilarious – as Archie had always suspected to be the case. Miss Talbot had an excellent sense of humour, Archie thought. He had quite no idea, of course, that during their compliment-filled conversation, Miss Talbot was also skilfully extracting a steady stream of information from him: that he adored his elder brother Lord Radcliffe, the head of the family, but that this man was rarely seen in London, that Mr de Lacy would soon be twenty-one, upon which date he would receive the majority of his fortune. No, all Mr de Lacy knew was that he had never enjoyed a walk quite so much in his life. In fact, he thought Miss Talbot the best conversationalist with whom he had ever spoken.