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.
All too soon, they reached the carriages and Lady Amelia stopped in front of an elegant barouche, its hood lowered in deference to the spring air. The coachman and footman sprang to attention at their approach. After instructing Sally to return to Wimpole Street on foot, and sparing a moment to admire the horses – four perfectly matched greys – Kitty was handed in. Lady Amelia and Cecily arranged themselves next to each other on the forward seat, so Mr de Lacy was forced to sit beside Miss Talbot. He cleared his throat, painfully aware of their proximity, and made sure to leave a polite distance between them. Kitty, for her part, looked sideways up at Mr de Lacy from under her eyelashes – a more difficult feat than she had thought – and was rewarded by another blush when he caught her gaze.
The horses moved smoothly off, and the streets of London began whipping past them. Kitty recalculated rapidly – the traffic of the busy city streets was being navigated far more swiftly than she had anticipated, as if the de Lacy insignia was enough to have horses and carriages leaping out of their way, and so it would take them mere minutes to reach Wimpole Street. She heaved a dramatic sigh, looking up at Mr de Lacy.