Archie was not used to people saying this so overtly. ‘Yes, I think so,’ he said, before admitting, ‘Or, at least, I will in a few weeks – upon my majority.’ His mother had always impressed upon him the importance of honesty, and though it might lower him in the man’s estimation to know he was not yet one and twenty, he thought it best to speak the truth.
‘If I were you, I’d be having an awful lot more fun,’ Selbourne said carelessly. ‘Is this really your idea of a good time?’ He waved to the room in such a way as to intimate his total disgust for the entire ball and its contents.
‘Well, I suppose not,’ Archie said. ‘Of course not. Damned squeeze.’
‘I’m only here out of duty, of course,’ Selbourne said languidly. ‘Only way it seems to get a wife, and my mother does nag so. Family name and all that. But when I’m not here,’ he leant in confidentially, and Archie leant in too, hanging upon his every word. ‘You can be sure that I know how to have fun …’
Kitty’s dance card was full the whole night. Once her dance with Radcliffe was concluded, she had a bevy of other requests for her hand within mere minutes. Twirling across the room amongst London’s elite, she felt weightless, and truly powerful – the world was within her grasp, and she the only one brave enough to take it. They stayed at the ball into the early hours of the morning, dancing all night in their shimmering slippers, before Aunt Dorothy indicated, with a simple flick of her fingers, that it was time for them to leave. Collecting Cecily on their way – extracting her from where she had trapped Lord Montagu once more into conversation – they bade goodnight to their hostess and headed out into the night.
Kitty leant back into the carriage seat with a sigh.
‘Did you enjoy yourself, Cecy?’ she asked, an obvious afterthought.
‘No,’ her sister lied.
18
What a difference a single night could make. After the Montagu ball, the Talbots’ social calendar became, if not jam-packed, then certainly pleasantly busy, with a stream of invitations and calling cards landing on their doorstep within hours of their returning home at dawn. Now there were two further balls just this very week to prepare for, as well as countless invitations to dine – from mothers, Kitty assumed, on their sons’ requests – and stacks of calling cards from young men bent on affixing their attention with the sisters. She informed Cecy of this exultantly over the breakfast table, but the poor creature was uninterested, picking drippily at her toast.
‘I should be reading Plato,’ she moaned disconsolately in response. ‘Or observing the work of great artists – meanwhile all you have me do is escort you to silly parties.’
‘My greatest sympathies, Cecily,’ Kitty said. ‘But how, pray, do you plan to feed yourself after a day spent reading philosophy? I don’t believe it generates money, but then I cannot pretend to understand it wholly.’
No sooner had Sally packed away the breakfast table than she was returning to inform them that a young gentleman was at the door, requesting entrance.
‘Send him in,’ Miss Talbot said at once, seating herself primly upon the settee. She breathed in, vowing to keep her mind open, her eye discerning, and her mouth set into a smile. First came the unfortunate Mr Tavistock （three thousand a year, as Aunt Dorothy had gleaned from a delightfully indiscreet Lady Montagu） who began by complimenting Kitty upon her sapphire blue eyes. This precipitated an awkward moment where they were both reminded that Kitty’s eyes were, in fact, brown, an awkwardness from which they did not recover. Then came Mr Simmons （four thousand a year） who, with his chin held uncomfortably close to his neck, endeavoured to disagree with everything Kitty said, even down to her （very accurate） description of the day’s weather. Worst was Mr Leonard, who called for Cecily, and opened the conversation with a compliment so oily Kitty was surprised grease did not drip from his lips.
‘Does it get tiring, being the most beautiful woman in every room?’ he whispered to her unctuously, causing a quite visible shiver of revulsion to run down Cecily’s back.
Kitty felt no qualms about dispatching this man very promptly – Cecily was not to be bothered by men such as that, and all the gentlemen who called for her younger sister in Mr Leonard’s wake were watched very closely. Among the callers, Kitty’s favourite was undoubtedly Mr Stanfield. It would be a mistake of the gravest degree, she knew, to develop genuine romantic feelings for any suitor, and yet she could see even now how very easy it would be to fall into such a trap with this gentleman. Having spoken with Mr Stanfield at length the night before and been impressed by the deft way he handled a conversation, she was pleased to see him enter Aunt Dorothy’s parlour.