The Wedding Game (3 page)

Now she frowned to herself as she examined the contents of her wardrobe, contemplating the upcoming discussion with her sisters about her encounter with Douglas Farrell. Part of her cherished the secret wish that they would be as repulsed by the doctor's mercenary attitude as she herself was and would agree to decline his request for the Go-Between's service. She might wish it, but she also knew it was a fond hope. They would not turn down a paying client. But where were they going to find a suitably wealthy, suitably compliant, suitably socially positioned candidate for the doctor?

She chose an emerald-green silk gown with a low-cut neck and a small train that fell in graceful folds at the back from the high waist set just beneath her bosom. It was one of Doucet's creations, bought for Chastity by Constance in Paris on her honeymoon. She draped the gown over the back of a chair and selected the accessories, packing them in a small valise with her nightdress, toothbrush, and hairbrush. When all was assembled she gathered the gown over her arm, picked up her valise, and hastened downstairs just as the clock struck six.

Jenkins took her burdens and carried them out to the waiting carriage while she went to say good night to her father. Lord Duncan seemed a little more genial now. The lights burned cheerfully and the fire blazed. His whisky decanter was recharged and the good smell of roasting pheasant drifted from the kitchen. “Give your sisters my love, my dear,” he instructed. “Tell them to come and see me once in a while.”

“Father, really,” Chastity protested. “They were here only yesterday. You know they come almost every day.”

“Yes, but not to see me so much as to get on with the business of putting out that disgraceful rag you're all so proud of,” Lord Duncan declared. “What your mother can have been thinking of when she started that publication, I can't imagine.”

“Women's suffrage, as you know very well,” Chastity told him, refusing to be drawn into this conversation. “And we're simply carrying the banner for her.”

Lord Duncan harrumphed and waved her away. “Off you go, you don't want to be late.”

“I'll be back in the morning,” she said, kissing the top of his head. “Enjoy your dinner. Mrs. Hudson's cooked all your favorites, so be sure to thank her.”

Shaking her head, she left him to his whisky. Cobham was waiting beside the carriage when she ran lightly down the steps, drawing her coat closer about her against the cold. The electric streetlights were lit and bright white pools glittered on the cobbles. It was a much less friendly light than the golden glow of gas, Chastity reflected, as she greeted the coachman and climbed into the carriage.

“My sister tells me you're retiring in the new year, Cobham,” she said, settling the lap rug over her knees.

“Aye, Miss Chas. 'Tis time enough to go out to pasture,” he said, whistling up the horses. “It's a nice snug little cottage Miss Prue . . . Lady Malvern . . . offered me an' the wife. Pleased as Punch is the wife. Nice little vegetable garden there. Happy as clams we'll be, I reckon.”

“I'm sure you will,” Chastity agreed, and huddled closer under the lap rug until they drew up outside the Malvern residence on Pall Mall Place.

Chapter 2

H
ello, Aunt Chas.”

“Hello, Sarah.” Chastity greeted her sister's eleven-year-old stepdaughter with a kiss. “How's school?”

“Boring,” the girl said with an exaggerated, world-weary sigh. “Utterly tedious.”

Chastity laughed. “I don't believe you, Sarah.”

Sarah laughed back. “Well, I suppose there are
some
things I like, but you have to say it's all boring or people think there's something the matter with you.”

Chastity correctly assumed that the people in question were Sarah's fellow schoolgirls. “I can understand that,” she said sympathetically. “But it must be hard to pretend you're not enjoying yourself when you are.”

“Oh, I'm quite a good actress,” Sarah said blithely. “Is that the gown you're going to wear this evening? Let me take your valise.”

“Yes, it is, and thank you.” Chastity relinquished her burdens to the eager child. “Is Prue upstairs?”

“Oh, yes, and Daddy's still in his chambers. They had words at breakfast, so I think he's going to come home at the very last possible minute,” the girl confided with total lack of concern over a not infrequent event in the Malvern household.

“What did they have words about?” Chastity followed Sarah across the narrow hallway to the stairs.

“Something to do with a case that Daddy's taking and Prue thinks he shouldn't. I didn't understand all of it, something about a man refusing to support a child.” Sarah danced ahead of Chastity up the stairs.

Chastity nodded to herself. If Prudence disapproved of something, she could be counted upon to say so. And Gideon could be counted upon to tell her to mind her own business. They were a somewhat flammable pair.

“Shall I put your things in the guest room? Prue's in her sitting room.” Sarah paused outside a closed door on the landing above.

“Yes, thank you, Sarah. I'll just go and say hello to Prue.” She smiled and hastened down the corridor to a pair of double doors at the far end. The door opened at her light knock and Prudence greeted her with a hug.

“Oh, I'm so glad you're here,” she said, drawing her sister into a pretty, square sitting room that adjoined the large marital bedroom. “I am quite out of sorts with Gideon.”

“Yes, Sarah said something.” Chastity unbuttoned her coat. Ever the peacemaker, she prepared to listen to her sister's side. “Something about a man refusing to support a child.”

“Sometimes I think Sarah hears far more than she should,” Prudence said with a rueful frown, adjusting her spectacles on the bridge of her nose. “I wonder if we speak too freely in front of her.”

“She's far too bright to get the wrong end of the stick,” Chastity reassured. “And she's not afraid to ask if something puzzles her.”

Prudence smiled. “No, you're right as usual. Gideon's always been very open with her, it would be a bad thing to change that just because I appeared on the scene.”

“Exactly,” her sister agreed, draping her coat over the back of a tapestry-covered chair. “So, tell me what happened.”

Prudence filled two glasses from a sherry decanter that stood on a console table between two long windows, their rich amber velvet curtains drawn to shut out the winter night. She brought the glasses over to the sofa. Chastity took one and sat down, crossing her ankles, regarding her sister expectantly. She was accustomed to the role of sympathetic listener with both her sisters.

Prudence took a sip of sherry and began. “Gideon's going to defend a man who's refusing to support a child born out of wedlock to his former mistress. It means that Gideon's going to be attacking the woman . . . her morals, her motives. Greed, he says, is what motivated her. She deliberately got pregnant in order to tie the man to her and is now trying to ruin his marriage and his career.”

Chastity grimaced. She could sympathize absolutely with her sister. Any other viewpoint would be completely antithetical to any of the Duncan women. “Does Gideon really believe that?”

“No, I'm sure he doesn't. He says he takes any case that interests and challenges him regardless of guilt or innocence.” Prudence shook her head disgustedly. “He said if he only took cases that fitted my moral framework, we'd all be out on the streets.”

Chastity couldn't help laughing. “I'm sorry,” she said. “But you must admit he's probably right. If we vetted every case offered to him according to our views of right and wrong, he'd have no practice.”

Prudence smiled reluctantly. “It's not that I'm not practical about such things myself, but this just caught me on the raw.”

“Yes, I can see why it would.” Chastity sipped her sherry. “Is Con coming early this evening?”

Prudence glanced up at the clock on the mantel. “She should be here soon. She said by seven at the latest, so that we can have time to discuss business before the guests arrive.”

“I'll go and dress for dinner before she gets here, then.” Chastity stood up. “Could I borrow your topaz shawl? It goes so well with the green dress.”

“Of course. And you'll need the matching ribbon for your hair. I'll look them out while I'm dressing. Do you want a bath? I'll send Becky to help you.”

“No, I bathed this morning and I can manage to dress myself,” Chastity said. “Somehow I don't think I could get used to a lady's maid.”

“Oh, you'd be surprised how quickly one can,” Prudence said. “Just wait until you're living in the lap of luxury.”

Chastity just shook her head with a smile and made her way to the guest room where Sarah had hung up her gown. A jug of hot water steamed on the washstand beside a pile of thick towels. She unpacked her valise, reflecting that both her sisters had adapted with remarkable ease to the luxuries of life supplied by wealthy husbands. She could hardly blame them after all the time they had spent on the verge of bankruptcy, gradually giving up all the little luxuries they had known when their mother was alive, before Lord Duncan lost his shirt to the earl of Barclay. For herself, though, she thought she would find the attentions of a lady's maid too intrusive. She was perfectly capable of dressing herself, after all.

She returned to her sister's sitting room within twenty minutes, fastening the wrist buttons of the tight sleeves of her gown as she went. Prudence, dressed now in an evening gown of black and gray silk, her cinnamon-colored hair piled in a pompadour, emerged from the bedroom as Chastity closed the sitting room door behind her.

“I do love that dress,” Prudence said admiringly. “That shade of green is just magnificent with your hair. Here, let me fasten the ribbon.” Deftly, she threaded the topaz ribbon into Chastity's artfully arranged red curls and then draped the matching shawl over her shoulders. “There, you look lovely, as always.” A slight frown crossed her light green eyes. “You look thinner,
Chas.”

“Yes, I thought this gown was a bit looser.” Chastity smoothed the folds down over her frame with a pleased air. She was the shortest of the three sisters and more inclined to roundness than either the much taller Constance or the much more angular Prudence. “I'm probably not eating so much cake,” she said, cheerfully dismissing the subject.

“Who did you invite for me this evening?” She stood on tiptoe to examine her completed coiffure in the overmantel mirror. She licked a finger and smoothed her arched eyebrows over her hazel eyes.

“Roddie Brigham. That's all right, isn't it?” Prudence asked a little anxiously.

“Yes, of course it is. He's easy to talk to and we always enjoy each other's company,” Chastity responded.

“You don't sound overwhelmed with enthusiasm,” her sister observed.

“I'm sorry.” Chastity turned back from the mirror and smiled at her. “I like Roddie and I like not having to stand on ceremony with him.” She regarded Prudence with a slightly quizzical air. “But even though he's asked me to marry him at least three times, I am not looking for a husband, Prue, so don't get your hopes up.”

“In my experience, you don't have to look for one, they just turn up,” Prudence replied.

“What just turn up?”

They both spun to the door at the new voice. Their eldest sister, Constance, came into the room, preceded by a waft of exotic fragrance.

“Husbands,” Prudence said.

“Oh, yes.” Constance nodded. “How true. They tend to appear where least expected.” She kissed her sisters. “You haven't found one, have you, Chas?”

“Not since yesterday,” her sister informed her with a laugh. “But, as I just said, I'm not looking. At least,” she added, “not for myself.”

“Ah, did we acquire a new client this afternoon?” Prudence asked, remembering that Chastity was keeping an appointment as the Go-Between.

Chastity's small nose wrinkled. “I'd much rather tell him to go and fish in some other pool,” she said. “He's really obnoxious.”

Constance poured sherry for them all. “But that's not really the point, Chas,” she said slowly. “We don't have to like our clients.”

“I know.” Chastity took the offered glass and arranged herself on the sofa again.

“What was his name? Doctor something . . .” Prudence sat down on the opposite sofa.

“Farrell. Douglas Farrell.” She sipped her sherry. “He wants a rich wife, first and foremost. An essential
quality,
if that's the word.” She couldn't disguise her distaste.

“Well, at least he's honest,” Constance pointed out.

“Oh, yes, he's that all right. Not only must this wife be rich, she must also be willing and socially positioned to entice rich patients for him.”

“Where does he practice?”

“Harley Street. He's just beginning to build a practice, hence the need for a procuress.”

Her sisters grimaced. “Must you put it like that, Chas?” asked Prudence.

“I did to him and he said it was exactly right. He liked to call a spade a spade.”

“You really didn't like him,” Constance stated.

“No, I did not.” Chastity sighed. “He's so cold and calculating. And he was so scornful of the Harley Street patients that he wants to enroll, basically said they were hypochondriacal malingerers. I can't imagine what his bedside manner must be like.”

Her sisters regarded her in silence for a minute. It was so unlike Chastity to take such a determined stance against someone. Of the three of them she was the most charitably inclined, the least willing to criticize.

“It's not like you to be so dead-set against someone, Chas,” Constance said.

Chastity shrugged. “He put my back up, I suppose.” For some reason that she did not understand, she had not confided to her sisters her first unwitting sight of Dr. Farrell at Mrs. Beedle's. And for the same inexplicable reason she couldn't bring herself to tell them how her dislike of the man was rooted in disappointment. It seemed so illogical to have formed expectations of someone based on a clandestine observation behind a shop curtain.

“But you didn't tell him we wouldn't take him on as a client?” Prudence sounded a little anxious. Chastity could sometimes forget the financial priorities of their business, although that usually meant she pressed her sisters to take on clients just because she felt sorry for them, regardless of their ability to pay for the Go-Between's services.

“I wouldn't tell him that without consulting you two,” Chastity said. “But that's what I would like to do. I can't imagine condemning any woman to such a cold and sterile relationship.”

“Not every woman would see it your way,” Prudence reminded her. “Successful Harley Street physicians are highly desirable on the marriage mart.”

“Maybe so, but is it right to take advantage of a woman so desperate for a husband that she would basically sell herself? Because that's what it comes down to.”

“Now, why am I not surprised to find the cabal gathered?” Sir Gideon Malvern's melodic voice interrupted the tête-à-tête. He entered the sitting room still in his street clothes. “Good evening, Constance, Chastity.” He bent to kiss Prudence, who hadn't moved from the sofa. “And how are you, madam wife? In a better frame of mind, I trust.”

“You could ask yourself that question,” Prudence returned with asperity.

“Oh, I have,” he said cheerfully. “And the answer is definitely in the affirmative.”

Prudence felt the wind had been taken from her sails. Her husband had a way of disarming her that never failed. “Hadn't you better dress?” she said, a smile flickering at the corners of her mouth. “Guests are expected at eight-fifteen.”

He nodded and moved towards the bedroom, asking over his shoulder, “Is Max coming this evening, Constance?”

“He certainly expects to,” she said. “Parliament is in recess.”

“Oh, good. I want to discuss something with him.”

“Your case?” Prudence inquired.

“No, Christmas, as it happens,” he replied, pulling his tie loose. “I'll be in my dressing room if anyone wants me.” He disappeared into the bedroom.

“A quarrel?” Constance inquired of her sister with a knowingly raised eyebrow.

“Just a case he's taking that I don't agree with.” Prudence put her in the picture and was gratified to see that Constance was at least as outraged as she by the defense Gideon intended to mount.

“Well, there's not much that can be done about it now,” Chastity said. “Maybe you can work on him behind the bed curtains.”