Then, inspired perhaps by the same spirit of evil that had caused Radcliffe to be a thorn in her side all evening, she continued innocently. ‘Though I know he has returned to London to find a wife, I am sure he has far loftier ambitions than I.’
Lady Kingsbury clucked sympathetically, but it was clear her mind was elsewhere – Kitty could almost hear her mind churning with this delicious little tidbit, and when she bade her farewell, Lady Kingsbury was very quick to turn to her compatriots. Yes, that news would be common knowledge by the end of the evening, and Radcliffe would soon be quite too busy to bother her any longer.
‘Miss Talbot, I believe I have this dance?’ She turned to see a visibly sweating Mr Pemberton standing in front of her. Pushing aside the echo of Radcliffe’s voice – rich but awful – she accepted with a smile. Kitty’s feelings toward Pemberton were mixed. Tall, large-moustached and intensely patronising, Kitty would have found the man a vicious bore if this opinion were a luxury she could afford. As it was, with eight thousand pounds a year to his name, he had to be considered as a very fine candidate. They spun into an energetic country dance and Kitty was thankful that the steps did not allow for a great deal of conversation, Mr Pemberton apparently being of the belief that she would like an education on the topic of Regent Street’s western expansion.
‘What few people know—’ he began to explain, before they were parted again by the movement of the dance ‘—the brick is— terribly uneducated— wouldn’t believe—’
He made no effort to pause his lecture when she was not near to him and so she was unable to follow the tirade; from the looks on the women’s faces around her, it was clear that each was receiving out of context pieces of the address as they swapped partners. Thankfully, he did not need much from her except her attention, which she made sure to give in smiling spades. The dance finished, and Mr Pemberton eagerly approached, thrilled with his success, and committed to continuing their conversation.
‘Excuse me, Pemberton, but I believe the next dance is mine,’ came a deep voice at her side. She turned to see Mr Stanfield at her elbow, a wicked smile upon his face. He offered his hand to Kitty and whisked her away towards the next set – Mr Pemberton left disgruntled in her wake.
‘How terribly remiss of me, sir, but I do not believe I have your name in my dance card,’ Kitty said, as they took their places.
He grinned at her. ‘Would you permit me my rudeness if I admitted it arose from motives of chivalry?’ he asked impishly. ‘I could no longer consider myself a gentleman were I to leave a lady in the presence of such a dragon.’
She laughed, and then was swept away by the cotillion. Conversation was just as difficult in this dance as it had been with Mr Pemberton, but Mr Stanfield did not attempt it – simply laughing along with her as they managed the quick series of figures and changes. His feet were as quick as his tongue, and together they did not miss a step. The dance ended, too soon, and they drew to a laughing stop, panting and grinning at each other.
‘I shall be out of town for a few days,’ he told her, bowing. ‘But I shall return most eagerly for another dance such as that, Miss Talbot.’
‘I can’t promise to save you one,’ she warned him archly.
‘And I should not ask it of you,’ he said, grinning. ‘For the fear of being called out by one of my thousand rivals.’
Mr Gray – who she had originally promised this dance to – had arrived at her shoulder, looking mightily put out. Mr Stanfield relinquished her laughingly to him and she watched as he wandered across the room to approach another young lady. Kitty eyed her critically. She was fair, with very pale skin and hair and, Kitty could admit, that air of pleasing fragility that men so seemed to like in this city.
‘Mr Gray,’ she asked, not taking her eyes off the pair – he was asking her to dance now – ‘who is that young lady over there – the one that looks like a glass of milk?’
Mr Gray coughed, a little uncomfortably. ‘Ah, that is Miss Fleming, I believe, Miss Talbot.’
‘I do not know the name,’ Kitty said, frowning. She had learnt as much as she could about all the young ladies in her competitive set, but Miss Fleming had not been spoken of by anyone she knew.
‘The family is new to town,’ Mr Gray said. ‘Miss Fleming made her debut at Almack’s this week, where I believe she and Mr Stanfield became acquainted.’
Kitty’s frown deepened. Almack’s appellation of ‘marriage mart’ was clearly no exaggeration, for Mr Stanfield and Miss Fleming looked to be closely acquainted indeed. Kitty felt a pang of unease. She had felt so smug after the first ball, so confident that she would be able to wrap things up very easily – she had even written home to tell her sisters as much. False hope, she could see now, with a sting of regret at her hubris – if she were not vigilant enough, there was still a great chance that she might fail them. Clearly, whatever lead she might win at the private balls would be negated every Wednesday, when she was left on the fringes, and young ladies of better quality could mount unchallenged attacks on the finest catches of the Season. It could not be borne. Kitty would be extracting Almack’s vouchers from one of its patronesses if her life depended upon it.