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.
‘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?’