‘If you are done amusing yourself,’ she said, not quite able to take the laugh out of her own voice. ‘I shall take my leave – I have much still to do, you know.’
He offered a gloved hand.
‘May I escort you to your aunt, then?’ he suggested gallantly. And this time, she accepted – the faintest of blushes staining her cheeks.
27
‘It is most worrisome, James, no matter what you say,’ Lady Radcliffe insisted. ‘And try as I might, I cannot get him to speak to me about it!
‘I can’t imagine why,’ Radcliffe muttered. Lady Radcliffe eyed him a little frostily. Radcliffe avoided her gaze, turning his head out of the barouche to stare onto The Strand in the hope it might discourage her from pursuing the conversation. Had he known, when his mother had requested his escort to the opening of the Royal Academy’s annual art exhibition, that she would use it as an opportunity to lecture him on Archie’s behaviour, he would have avoided the whole thing entirely. Though he should perhaps have suspected an ulterior motive earlier – when had his mother ever expressed an interest in art before?
‘It is all very well being so cavalier,’ the Dowager said crossly, ignoring all of Radcliffe’s attempts to shut the conversation down, ‘but I do believe Archie to be getting a real taste for cards!’
‘Just like last year he developed a real taste for boxing,’ Radcliffe said, ‘and the year before a real taste for horse racing.’
‘They are not at all the same thing,’ Lady Radcliffe dismissed. ‘More and more frequently I hear of boys being quite ruined by gambling. You know Lady Cowper’s younger brother fled to Paris for just that reason – they hushed it up of course, but it is widely known. And I have never met a young man less interested in cards before this year!’
‘Even Archie couldn’t become that bad at gambling,’ Radcliffe said under his breath. He wondered if this was the sort of conversation his parents had shared about him, once, before his father had decided to pack him off to the Continent.
‘I thought you might have a proper talk to him,’ Lady Radcliffe said, ignoring this. ‘Set him straight, you know, put a little fear into him.’
The carriage turned into the courtyard of Somerset House, not a moment too soon for Radcliffe.
‘I’m not going to do that, Mother,’ he said shortly, not looking at his mother. ‘Archie is fine as he is.’
They did not speak to one another as they dismounted and crossed the threshold. Taking a copy of the exhibition catalogue without enthusiasm, Radcliffe’s mood was lowered further when he realised the rooms were already thick with members of the ton, all of whom were more interested in being seen admiring the paintings on opening day, than the actual admiration itself. What insipid fools they were; Radcliffe had almost been in danger of forgetting it, these past few weeks. Miss Talbot – with her schemes, her favours, and early morning visits to his home – had kept him busy enough that he’d not had time to think of much else. Realising he was absent-mindedly searching the crowd for her figure, he jerked his head away and began instead to flick through the exhibition catalogue.
‘What would you like to see, first, Mama?’ Radcliffe asked. ‘Mr Ward’s Portrait of Mrs Gulliver, in her 104th year? Or do you think Mr Hodgson’s Interior of a church might be livelier?’
From the chilly silence that greeted his question, it was clear that Lady Radcliffe was not pleased with him at all – and most likely, doubly irritated to have to endure such a boring afternoon now that her primary objective in acquiring Radcliffe’s company had failed. It was a relief, then, to have their names hailed in only the second room. They turned to see Mrs Kendall waving a welcoming arm in her direction, from where she was gathered with Miss Talbot, Lady Montagu and Mr Fletcher – all of whom, save Miss Cecily he assumed, had given up on the paintings entirely.
‘I cannot believe the heat, for only May!’ Lady Montagu said in greeting, fanning herself vigorously. ‘I should not have come if I had known it was to be so stuffy in here. Though of course,’ she added hastily, ‘one simply must see Turner’s Dordrecht.’
Pemberton appeared, just then, clutching glasses in his hand which he presented to Miss Talbot and her aunt with pride. Though, when he spotted that Radcliffe had joined their company, his pleasure lessened. Radcliffe recollected that he was almost certainly still in Pemberton’s bad books, after their conversation at Tattersall’s. It felt so long ago to him, though it obviously did not to Pemberton from the mutinous look upon his face – dear Lord, was Miss Talbot really going to marry such a buffoon?