‘What a very melancholy sound – are things with Pemberton not going to plan?’
Kitty turned quickly, not recognising the voice.
‘Oh. Lord Selbourne, good evening.’ She gave him the tiniest curtsey she could muster. He acknowledged the slight with an unperturbed flick of the fingers.
‘Have you thought at all about my offer?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she said, truthfully. ‘But then, I’m not sure you ever actually made one.’
‘How remiss of me,’ he said, with his shark’s smile. ‘Very well, Miss Talbot. I believe we could be of great use to one another. It would be a shame for you to waste your talents on Pemberton, when there are so many finer catches to be had. I could help you, you know.’
‘And in return?’ Kitty asked, eyebrows rising; while she could make neither head nor tail of what precisely this gentleman wanted, he was, without doubt, an unscrupulous weasel.
Selbourne held out his hands in affected innocence. ‘Would you begrudge a friend a slice of the pie?’
‘But then we are not friends,’ Kitty said coldly, turning a dismissive shoulder in his direction. But before she could leave, he had caught her lightly by the arm.
‘Perhaps you would be more comfortable discussing it in private. I am in Wimbledon this weekend – I have guests on Saturday, but otherwise I am free. Let us discuss the matter further. I’m renting Hill Place, off Worple Road. You can’t miss it.’
Kitty was quite bored by this fellow now, and the Pembertons had finally left Leicester’s side. She bobbed another insignificant curtsey to him.
‘Very well, I must be going now.’
‘Happy hunting,’ he said, smiling with all his teeth.
Kitty marshalled all of her charm and mental acuity and, for the remainder of the evening, set out to impress Mrs Pemberton with every ounce in her body. The lady was inscrutable – a strange mix of virtuous, snooty and vain that meant charming her was a little like trying to catch a very prickly cat. But when she said her goodbyes that night, Pemberton pressed his hand onto hers with great meaning.
‘I have business to attend to tomorrow, but will I see you on Saturday at the Hastings ball? I have something quite important to ask of you.’
30
The last time she had felt so sure of a proposal, Kitty had been jubilant, but try as she might she could not capture that feeling of celebration now. She sat up with Aunt Dorothy that night, sharing a pot of tea despite the lateness of the hour. Kitty tried to plan what she would write to Beatrice to tell her of the good news in the morning, but could not imagine what she would say. How she could spin this into joy, when in truth she was suffering from a most severe attack of the blue devils.
‘Tonight was a success, then?’ Dorothy prodded her, after they had spent a long few minutes in silence. Kitty nodded.
‘Very well done. Though I must ask: are you sure you are prepared for what follows the engagement?’
‘In what sense?’ Kitty asked.
‘Well, I know you have reconciled yourself to being engaged to a man you do not love … But are you ready to be married to him? With all that entails?’
Kitty felt a little lost by all the connotations of the question. ‘I suppose I shall have to be,’ she said finally.
Aunt Dorothy nodded again, though a little sadly. Kitty tried, for a moment, to imagine her wedding day. Her mother had spoken of her own often, declaring it – despite its secrecy, despite all the unpleasantness that followed with Mr Talbot’s family – one of the best days of her life. We were so happy, she often said, misty-eyed and nostalgic. Kitty had always known hers would be quite different – but the prospect felt worse than it ever had before. Ever since she had … well, ever since she had gained a sense of what she would be missing.
‘What was my mother like, when you first knew her?’ Kitty asked suddenly, into the quiet.
‘Before she had met your father, do you mean?’ Aunt Dorothy asked.
‘Yes.’
Aunt Dorothy paused to consider this. ‘She was brave,’ she said after a moment. ‘She would do absolutely anything for those she cared for.’
Kitty was not sure of her expression, but something in it made her aunt raise her eyebrows.
‘You don’t agree?’ Aunt Dorothy asked.
‘I do agree,’ Kitty said, hastily. ‘It is certainly true, but I suppose I have been … a little cross, that she and Papa were always able to do what they wanted – whereas I—’ she broke off.