‘Warm tonight, isn’t it?’ he said with polite cheer. ‘Can you believe it’s already April?’
‘“With swift and silent pace, Impatient time rolls on the year”，’ said Cecily sombrely.
‘… Right you are,’ Mr de Lacy agreed, a little warily. He never much liked it when people quoted poetry at him. Always made one feel terribly foolish, as you never knew quite what people meant by it, especially if you couldn’t remember which stuffy old boot had said the thing in the first place – which Archie never could. He abandoned Cecily to Lord Montagu as soon as he could, to hover at Kitty’s shoulder.
Kitty had thought that allowing the flames of Mr de Lacy’s passion to die gently would be the kindest and easiest resolution to their short-lived romance. Doing so, she hoped, would avoid any kind of nasty conversation that might necessitate a distance from his family, on whom she very much still depended. But she had not expected Mr de Lacy to be so quivering with excitement to get her alone, even now. As soon as she allowed him to silo her into conversation, he at once began to spill forth a rambling tale of his adventures the previous night, appearing quite confident that she would be agog to hear its conclusion. To be fair to him, Mr de Lacy had no way of knowing, of course, that her affection was a far more flighty creature now that she had no financial incentive to stroke his ego. Kitty nodded along, smiling politely, while scanning the room behind him for more interesting persons.
‘And then we were set upon! By highwaymen!’ he said in delight. ‘They had muskets a-a-and knives, and had very much committed themselves to murdering us or at the very least robbing us blind. And all looked to be lost, but then – BAM! A shot fired!’
‘Is that Beau Brummell?’ Miss Talbot interrupted, unable to help herself.
Mr de Lacy was quite shocked at this appalling lack of feeling. After a beat of silence, he answered in chilly tones, ‘I’m sure I couldn’t say, ma’am, though I feel sure that Mr Brummell is still on the Continent.’
Ma’am? Kitty looked back at him in surprise to see a rigidly cross expression upon his face.
‘Oh, Mr de Lacy, pray forgive me,’ she said, forcing herself to focus only on him. ‘It was a moment of distraction, do go on – I must hear the end.’
‘Well, you displayed so little anxiety about my being murdered,’ he said to her hotly, pride very much injured, ‘that I have a great mind not to tell you whether I was or not.’
Despite this strong stance, Kitty coaxed out of him the end of the tale, and at its conclusion was able to say, with complete truth, ‘That sounds altogether alarming, Mr de Lacy. Have you told your brother?’
‘Told me what?’
Radcliffe had appeared behind her, looking – she could admit – rather debonair. For all that he claimed to hate modern society, he played the role of fashionable young lord well.
‘James, you would not believe it,’ Mr de Lacy said, regaining some of his breathless excitement. But he was to be disappointed in this audience, too, for his brother merely took a laconic pinch of snuff.
‘I have already heard the whole from our mother,’ he said. ‘Twice – both an epistolary and in-person rendition – so I have no need to hear it a third time.’ Archie wilted visibly, so he added, more warmly, ‘I must say it is a relief to find there is no reason to believe you murdered after all.’
‘Oh, you know Mama, always getting into a snit. It wasn’t at all like that,’ Archie assured him.
‘I’m glad to hear it. She was all for finding you a nearby turret to spend your days in.’
‘Really?’ Archie said, agog. ‘Damned strange thing to do.’
‘Do not worry yourself,’ his brother reassured him, ‘I explained to her that you don’t have the hair for it.’
Taking a moment to mull this over, Archie realised that he was being made fun of and gave out a shout of laughter.
‘Perhaps I might suggest calling for a carriage on your next evening in Soho?’ his brother suggested gently.
‘No fun in that,’ Archie said, horrified. ‘Wouldn’t be at all the thing.’
Kitty was once again paying little attention to their conversation – gazing over at a group of young men standing with her sister and wondering at their wealth – so she did not heed her next words as much as she would usually.
‘You ought to take with you a pistol, then,’ she said vaguely. The tall gentleman, at least, must be rich – one simply had to look at his fob watch!