Radcliffe approached the busy junction at the corner of Regent Street and he smoothly checked his horses. As they paused, a couple of well-dressed bucks halted their promenade to admire his famous greys. But not even such frank admiration of his horses, usually so satisfying, could lift his introspection.
‘Cheer up, Radcliffe,’ Lawrence called jovially from behind him. The observers gaped to hear a servant address the famous Lord Radcliffe without an honorific, and Radcliffe felt a genuine smile curl his lips for the first time that day.
‘Am I to hope,’ he asked politely, ‘that you shall soon begin to properly address me? We are not, my dear fellow, on the Continent any more.’
‘And don’t I know it,’ Lawrence replied darkly. ‘Much more excitement there. Much more excitement in Devonshire, even. Here we just seem to ride from house to house.’
‘How awful for you,’ Radcliffe apologised. ‘Do let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your stay more palatable.
He was only partially joking. After the danger of their life in Europe, and the freedom at Radcliffe Hall, Radcliffe could well understand that Lawrence’s role in London – accompanying Radcliffe around town to hold and exercise his horses – would be dull in comparison.
‘You could take me to Tattersall’s,’ Lawrence suggested promptly, with an unrepentant grin.
‘At the earliest convenience,’ Radcliffe agreed, a little ironically.
Lawrence was an astute character, and Radcliffe guessed that this over-friendly interjection was in equal parts natural and calculated. Having known each other for so long, it was easy enough to read the other. Familiarity bred knowledge and, as Wellington was so fond of saying, knowledge was power.
‘As it happens,’ Radcliffe continued after a pause, his voice thoughtful, ‘I do have a task for you, that you might perhaps find more diverting.’
‘What’s that, then?’ Lawrence demanded suspiciously.
‘How well do you know Dorsetshire, my boy?’
11
In the balmy moonlight of a precipitously warm spring evening, Vauxhall Gardens seemed quite otherworldly. Alighting from the boat that had taken them across the river, they walked upon paths walled by tall trees, gleaming lamps hanging to light their way. Kitty’s eyes were wide as they passed singers, jugglers and all manner of spectacle and entertainment, the lamps and half-darkness lending them all such glamour. It felt like a fairy garden from one of the stories Mama would tell them all at bedtime – where one ought not to step off the path for fear of what dangers would lie there.
Watching the Dowager Countess and Aunt Dorothy gliding ahead of her, Kitty knew that she need never have worried about her aunt’s performance. As with any challenge, Mrs Kendall had risen to the occasion splendidly.
‘I am not in support of this endeavour, Kitty – I think it unwise and reckless and likely to collapse on top of you,’ she had said severely the night before. ‘But of course I will help.’
They had disagreed a little over her choice of costume. Aunt Dorothy, displeased with her casting as a retiring widow, had poured herself into a dress that, whilst made from a stone-coloured crêpe, had a neckline that could not truthfully be described as sober in the slightest.
‘Trust me, darling, I shall have far more luck making friends with your Lady Radcliffe dressed like this,’ she had said. ‘From what I hear, she’s quite dashing.’
Her only concession, in the face of Kitty’s uncertainty, had been to don a pair of black gloves, though Kitty could not help feeling she was still showing rather too much bosom for a widow – gloves or no gloves.
It was apparent, however, that Dorothy had understood her audience well. Lady Radcliffe had been visibly relieved to find Mrs Kendall a woman of fashion, rather than an austere and disapproving widow – and, dressed in the first style of elegance herself, was displaying quite as much décolletage as Mrs Kendall. And though Aunt Dorothy, true to Kitty’s description of her, had faithfully relayed to the whole party her love of her late husband and the loss she still felt at his passing （et cetera）， she had then promptly dispensed with the topic altogether, transitioning swiftly onto the latest on dits from the ton, a subject far more to Lady Radcliffe’s liking. The gossip – passed to Aunt Dorothy from Sally, who seemed to know all the housemaids in London – was fresh enough that Lady Radcliffe was quickly enamoured of her new friend.
It was obvious that Radcliffe had also come prepared for battle. He had invited along his friend, Captain Hinsley, and the role of this gentleman was evidently to be her chaperone, for there was not one move that she could make without the man joining her. The aim was plainly to prevent any kind of romantic moonlight tête-à-tête between herself and Mr de Lacy – an astute strategy, given that Kitty was utterly determined to speak to Mr de Lacy alone by the end of the evening. This farce with Radcliffe had gone on far too long, and it was high time a proposal be induced. If only she could rid herself of her irritating guard.