The Wedding Game (20 page)

She laughed and tapped him on the shoulder. “Ambition,
Dottore.
We all must have ambition and I can read yours in your eyes.”

A somewhat illiterate reader of character, Douglas reflected, even as he kept his fixed smile on his face. It was beginning to feel as if it was cemented in place. Perhaps he'd never lose it.

“You must leave these things to me,” she said with a significant nod. “You have your own concerns,
Dottore
. . . but I must practice calling you Douglas, mustn't I? Yes, Douglas, you have the man's work to do, you must let me take care of the woman's. Indeed you must.”

“You are too kind,” he murmured. “Let me show you to the street.” He escorted her downstairs and out into the street, then he closed the door firmly and resisted the urge to lock it only by reminding himself that a prospective patient faced with a locked door was unlikely to become anything other than prospective.

He returned upstairs wondering how five square miles of one city could contain such vastly different women as Chastity Duncan and Laura Della Luca. And for the first time he felt a niggle of doubt. Was Laura's money and the obvious willingness and ability with which she would throw herself into promoting her husband's career worth a marriage?

He dismissed the cavil with a sweeping gesture of his hand. People made such compromises all the time, and had done so since the dawn of civilization. She was exactly what he needed. And they'd spend little enough private time together. He was sure he could give her what she wanted in a marriage, and she'd give him what he needed.

But the King's physician? Dear God. That he would have to nip in the bud. She could have her chintz if necessary, but not that.

Chapter 11

W
ell, that was very satisfying,” Constance observed as the sisters walked out of St. George's, Hanover Square, on Christmas Eve, having witnessed Hester Winthrop and David Lucan tying the knot.

“Yes, our first real matchmaking job,” said Prudence.

“Not counting Amelia and Henry,” Chastity reminded them.

“We can't really count them, Chas, because we didn't charge them anything,” Prudence pointed out.

“But then, neither Hester nor David knew they'd been matchmade . . . if that's a word,” Chastity said.

“It's not,” Constance said. “But it's descriptive enough. Anyway, they paid for the service, or at least their mothers did, although they didn't know it.”

Prudence chuckled. “A generous donation to a charity for indigent spinsters. I still think that was one of your best, most devious ideas, Con.”

Her elder sister laughed. “It worked, as we saw this morning.”

“They were both radiant,” Chastity said as they stepped into the barouche where Cobham was holding the horses' heads. “We're going to the Winthrop residence, Cobham, but of course you know that.”

“Of course, Miss Chas,” he said. “Nice wedding, was it?”

“Lovely,” Prudence said. “Everyone was crying.”

“Except us,” Constance said.

“I was, just a little,” Chastity confessed. “Happiness always makes me weep.”

“Oh, darling, you're so softhearted.” Constance put her arms around her and hugged her. “You make Prue and me feel like a couple of dragon ladies with iron hearts.”

“You wouldn't say that if you saw me around Douglas Farrell,” Chastity declared. Her reputation as the softhearted sister sometimes irked her, particularly if, as she suspected, it was a euphemism for sentimental. And she really didn't think she was sentimental. “He thinks I'm the most sarcastic, provoking, inquisitive woman.” Even as she said this, she knew it wasn't the strict truth. She had said nothing to her sisters about the confusing nature of his so-called kiss of friendship, although she had confided to them the truth about his real mission. Even so, it was simpler somehow to keep up the pretence that she still disliked him as much as ever.

“Well, you do have that side to you,” Prudence conceded. “Every one of mother's daughters has it. Yours just surfaces a little less frequently.”

“We shall be watching with great interest at Christmas,” Constance said as Cobham drew up at the curb, expertly inching the carriage into a space among the throng of vehicles disgorging wedding guests. “If you need help besting him, you know where to come.”

“I just might manage without assistance,” Chastity said with a toss of her head that made them all laugh. “The only assistance I really need is to keep him interested in Laura. We'll have to find all sorts of ways to throw them together.”
And all sorts of ways to keep him at arm's length from herself. Any more of those “friendly” kisses would really jam up the works.
But this too she kept to herself. The awful thought had occurred to her that Douglas, who presumably assumed that she was rich as well as single and available, might switch his attentions from Laura to her.

“You're still prepared to condemn him to the Della Luca even though you've revised your opinion of his gold-digging motives?” Prudence asked as she stepped to the pavement.

Chastity shrugged. “He still wants and needs a rich wife. And he still doesn't care about what kind he gets. His view of women is so Neanderthal, I think all her nonsense will just flow over him. He'll treat her with the same somewhat amused indifference that he treats his mother and sisters.
This is the way women are.
”

“And this is the way to treat them,” Constance said, inclining her head in scornful agreement. “You're right, a lost cause.”

“What time should I come back for you, Miss Con?” Cobham inquired from the box.

“Oh, around three o'clock, please. We're catching the four o'clock from Waterloo, so we'll go straight there from here.”

“Right y'are, Miss Con. I'll bring Miss Chas's bags with me then.”

“Yes, they're ready and waiting in the hall,” Chastity said, adding to her sisters, “I suppose Max and Gideon have yours?”

“Yes, they'll be leaving at about the same time,” Prudence said. “Only in separate motorcars, of course. But they should get to Romsey by seven, in time for dinner anyway.”

“I'll be back at three, then,” Cobham said.

“Your last official driving job,” Chastity said with a smile.

“Aye, Miss Chas.” He shook his head. “Not sure what I'll be doing with myself all day.”

“You'll be in your garden,” Chastity said. “You'll love it.”

He chuckled. “Getting under the wife's feet, that's for sure.”

“She'll love it too,” Constance declared. Cobham laughed and clicked his teeth at the horses, who set off again at a brisk pace.

“Right, let's go in and greet the newlyweds,” Prudence said, joining the steady stream of guests entering the Winthrop mansion.

Douglas surveyed the small pile of prettily wrapped parcels on his dining room table and wondered if he'd done the right thing. He was unsure about the etiquette for Christmas-present giving at a house party but had decided that it was better to go prepared. If it seemed that exchanging presents was not a Duncan tradition then he could leave them in his valise. He had bought gifts for his hosts, deciding to assume that all three Duncan sisters as well as their father would consider themselves hosts. Lord Duncan had been easy to buy for, a particularly fine box of cigars was always acceptable, and since he didn't really know the two elder sisters at all, Douglas had settled for perfume. But Chastity had been a different case. He wanted something more personal for her. Something more suited to a friend and confidante.

It had surprised him how much it seemed to matter that he find just the right present. Something that would suit her personality. He'd spent a long time trying to capture the essence of her character in his mind, the two extremes, from the sharp, provocative wit to the sympathetic warmth that set her eyes aglow and brought the lovely curve to her mouth.

He finally found what he'd been looking for in a small milliner's shop in a side street off Bond Street. A silk scarf, generous enough to do service as an evening shawl, in a wonderful mélange of colors—greens and honey golds, amber and russet. A perfect match for her eyes and hair. And then his eye had been caught by a strand of amber beads and he knew that they were perfect too. So he bought them as well and only now as he wrapped the beads in the scarf did it occur to him that such personal gifts would stand out among the other more prosaic and impersonal offerings for her sisters.

But he owed her an apology and gratitude too for her empathetic reception of his confidences. They had agreed to be friends and he thought it likely that Viscount Brigham, a close friend, would go to similar trouble to pick out a Christmas present for her. Douglas felt that his relationship with Chastity had moved on to a similar footing. And just to redress the balance he had also gone to some care to find a suitable gift for Laura. He had found an illuminated copy of Dante's
Divina Commedia,
bound in ivory calfskin, so perhaps the present for Chastity wouldn't stand out too dramatically.

He tied silk ribbon around the soft parcel and laid it with the others in his valise. Whistling softly to himself he finished packing. Evening dress . . . riding dress . . . morning dress . . . That seemed to cover all eventualities. He locked up his flat and hailed a hackney to Waterloo.

The station was thronged with harried Christmas travelers, children were underfoot everywhere, porters racing with baggage carts towards the platforms where trains steamed noisily. Douglas made his way to Platform 2, wondering if he was ahead of the Duncan party. Chastity hadn't specifically suggested that they share a compartment but he assumed that was the intention. He had just reached the platform when a familiar voice trilled,
“Dottore . . . Dottore.”
He turned, his face automatically assuming the fixed smile that that trill always produced.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Farrell.” The contessa greeted him with extended hand. “How nice that we can share a compartment.”

He shook hands, murmuring his agreement, and bowed over Laura's hand. “Let me help you with your luggage.” He looked around and saw neither porter nor bags.

“Oh, our maids and the porter have taken our bags to the luggage compartment,” Laura said.

“Yes, I'm afraid one could never say we travel light, Doctor,” the contessa said with a slight laugh. “We have far too much to stow away in the traveling carriage.”

“Then let me find us a compartment. I haven't seen our hosts as yet.” He turned to the first-class section of the train. He was about to walk along the platform in search of an empty carriage when a piercing whistle arrested him. He looked up and saw Chastity leaning out of a carriage window a little farther along. She stuck two fingers in her mouth and produced that startling whistle again, all the while waving frantically at him as if he possibly could have missed her.

He strode over to the carriage, laughing. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“From you,” she said. “I've watched you do it to call cabs so I've been practicing myself.” She waved past him to the contessa and Laura. “We have seats here, Contessa, for you and Laura.”

“Can you squeeze me in too?” Douglas inquired.

“Yes, of course. We'll take up the whole compartment and then no one will be able to intrude upon our private party,” Chastity said, stepping away from the window so that Douglas could open the door.

The contessa stepped up into the train, Laura on her heels. Douglas tossed his valise up and then climbed in himself, slamming the door shut behind him. “Good afternoon, ladies.” He greeted the sisters with a smile and a half bow. “How was the wedding?”

“Delicious,” Chastity said. “I wept all the way through the service.”

She was looking particularly radiant, Douglas thought, not in the least tearful. Her heart-shaped face was framed in the wide brim of a wonderful turquoise hat with a rather impudent wisp of a veil and a huge lavender bow. “I like the hat,” he said.

“Why, thank you, sir.” She gave him a nodding bow from her seat in the corner of the carriage. “It's a wedding hat.”

“So I see.” He put his valise up on the rack, intending to take the seat beside her but when he turned again he saw that Constance had squeezed up beside Chastity and the only available place was next to Laura. Resigned, he took the seat just as the train blew a shrill whistle of steam and began to pull out of the station.

“We've reserved a table for tea in the dining car,” Chastity informed the new arrivals. “Apart from the fact that it's always sumptuous it helps to pass the time.”

“
Dottore,
I wanted to discuss with you the fabric for the curtains in your office,” Laura said, ignoring Chastity's remark. She had dropped her voice as if she were discussing secrets. “I had mentioned a heavy tapestry if you recall.”

“Are you helping Douglas redecorate his surgery, Laura?” Prudence asked, exchanging a quick glance with her sisters, sitting opposite.

“Yes, that is so,” Laura declared. “Decoration is a special talent . . . not one men have in general. Isn't that so,
Dottore
?”

“Possibly,” Douglas said, trying to sound repressive. Somehow he had to nip the signorina's wilder ideas in the bud. “I haven't made up my mind as yet how I wish to redecorate.”

“Oh, you mustn't worry about a thing,
Dottore.
” She patted his knee. “Just leave it to me. I guarantee you will love—absolutely adore—the results.”

“I'm sure you have impeccable taste, Laura,” Chastity said. “Judging by your house on Park Lane.” She couldn't help catching Douglas's eye and bit hard on her lip to keep from laughing aloud, he was looking so utterly at a loss. “How fortunate that you and Laura should have met at this juncture, Douglas. Her very special talents will be so helpful for you.”

Douglas knew that she was teasing him and quietly contemplated exacting revenge at a more private moment. The prospect gave him some satisfaction. He folded his arms and gave her a sardonic smile that she returned with a distinctly impish grin.

Oh, Lord,
Chastity thought.
What was she doing?
Flirting came so naturally to her, she just caught herself doing it without even thinking. And she certainly couldn't flirt with Douglas Farrell. Not after that “friendly” kiss. She opened her handbag and took out a book, opening it decisively.

“Anyway,
Dottore,
to continue,” Laura said. “I found a particular tapestry design that I am determined you shall have. And I think some oriental objets d'art. Urns and suchlike.”

“Oh, dragons, how about dragons?” Prudence asked. “Two dragons to guard the door.”

A muffled sound came from behind Chastity's book and she rummaged in her handbag for her handkerchief, making an elaborate play of catching a sneeze. Douglas regarded the sisters in fulminating silence. All three returned his look with utterly innocent expressions.