And yet, though she had to remind herself that this did not matter, he was also the most irritating. If she were to describe Pemberton favourably, she would focus upon his kindness. A kindness so potent that it manifested as intense condescension in all their conversations, as Pemberton explained all the things in the world that she – as a frail, innocent woman – must know little of. He was kind enough, even, to not require from Kitty any of her own thoughts or opinions, and would never dream of distressing her by asking after either. Indeed, any time she did make an overture towards joining his soliloquy, he simply raised his voice enough to drown her out.
Her favourite suitor, if she permitted herself one, was Mr Stanfield. Kitty had long been resigned to the fact that she should not expect to like her husband. His outstanding quality would have to be, she knew, his wealth, and she could expect little else. And yet … it might be pleasant, if she could like him. To enjoy spending time with him, even. And with Mr Stanfield, it seemed like this could very well be possible. The future looked a little brighter, with him in the role. With six thousand a year to his name he had more than enough funds to satisfy her, but indeed it was not this fact that made his company so enjoyable. Their conversation was diverting, Kitty was conscious of his presence in a room even when they were not talking and, moreover, she could admit to thinking of him when they were not together. This last was always the most potent, naturally, upon each Wednesday evening when they were separated – he to Almack’s, to flirt with other women out of her sight, and she to whatever alternative entertainment she could find.
But Kitty must put Mr Stanfield from her mind that day, for she had an appointment that afternoon to accompany Mr Pemberton to Tattersall’s, London horse auction house – and most unusually, she was quite genuinely looking forward to it. Kitty had always thought, had the Talbots been richer, that she would have been a most committed horsewoman. As it was, with her only prior access to a stable being through the Linfields, her appreciation of fine horseflesh had been in the main theoretical. Thus, when Mr Pemberton had gallantly offered to purchase and keep a mare in his stable for her, that she might ride whenever she liked, she knew she must seize upon the opportunity. It was usually a gentleman’s space, but, intrigued to see it for herself, she had induced him to invite her along too – it had taken a little persuading, but the desire to flaunt his knowledge did, in the end, prevail.
The noisy enclosure was filled to the brim with horses of all kinds – beautiful greys built for prancing ahead of a highly sprung phaeton; speckled piebalds of stunning proportions she could imagine herself riding across Hyde Park; staggeringly tall thoroughbreds with muscles coiled and gleaming. Kitty breathed in the air, relishing that specific scent of mingled straw, horsehair, and manure – a smell that should be repellent and yet was utterly wonderful – before forcing her attention back to her companion and the task at hand.
‘Gosh, I don’t know where we should begin,’ she said in the tremulous tones of the overwhelmed, laying a hand over her heart in affected dismay.
‘Do not worry yourself, Miss Talbot, I am here to help you,’ Pemberton assured her. ‘It is not nearly so confusing as it looks.’
He was clearly greatly enjoying playing the role of kind benefactor. Miss Talbot gave herself a pat on the back. This afternoon was to be something of a turning point in her capture of Mr Pemberton’s affections. Nothing pleased the man more than displaying his own wisdom, especially in contradiction to her own. However, after only several minutes, she perceived her grave mistake. Mr Pemberton’s horses being so fine, she had assumed that she could trust in his choice, but after spending a few moments in his company as he perused the horseflesh on offer with a commentary that lacked a single jot of common sense, Kitty began to suspect that Mr Pemberton’s groom did not allow the man within a mile of this establishment. Goodness, would she have to praise whatever poor creature he chose, to avoid tarnishing the man’s ego? She began to fear that they would be leaving with a most rash purchase.
‘Gracious, you know such an awful lot,’ she gushed with inner foreboding, watching Mr Pemberton handle a pretty bay’s mouth roughly.
‘Watch it,’ a stableboy muttered, disentangling the two. Mr Pemberton did not appear to hear.
‘I have spent many years cultivating a knowledge of horseflesh,’ he explained with loud importance. ‘Once you know what you are looking for, I assure you, it’s really quite simple.’