The Wedding Game (5 page)

“Oh, that's a generalization, Max,” Chastity put in, hoping to divert the conversation from the competitive advantages of Italy over England. “Not all women have nothing to do but lie around reading magazines and gossiping all day. Apart from anything else, they make up the majority of the domestic workforce.”

“My point exactly.” He was deliberately goading now. “Domesticity is a woman's natural inclination, and the preparation of food is but one example. Wouldn't you agree, Judge?”

“Just so, just so,” the judge agreed, nodding vaguely as he dipped his spoon with rhythmic concentration. “Excellent soup, Lady Malvern. I congratulate your cook.”

“Perhaps you can explain why so many of the best chefs are male,” Chastity said, seeing Laura Della Luca open her mouth. “In France, in particular. Are you well acquainted with France, signorina?”

“Oh,
mais oui.
Paris is my second home.”

“I thought that was the Uffizi,” Prudence remarked into her plate, but too softly for the signorina to hear, since she was expatiating at great length on the glories of the Louvre, in which she seemed to take a personal pride.

It continued in this fashion throughout dinner. Laura Della Luca dominated the conversation, dragging it remorselessly back to her own opinions whenever someone managed to create a diversion. Even Chastity gave up.

It was with relief that Prudence caught Gideon's eye at the end of the meal and rose from the table. “Ladies, shall we withdraw?”

The gentlemen all rose to help the ladies to their feet and waited until the female half of the dinner party had left the dining room.

Prudence led the way back to the drawing room, where coffee was laid ready for them. “I understand, Contessa, that you have bought a house in Mayfair,” she said, pouring coffee and handing the cup to the footman to deliver.

“Yes, in Park Lane,” the contessa said. “A very gracious house.”

“Not as large or commodious as our villa outside
Firenze,
” put in her daughter.

“It is quite large enough for our purposes,” her mother said, taking the coffee from the footman. “With a very pleasant garden.”

“And, of course, you have Hyde Park opposite,” Constance said. She glanced at Chastity, who seemed to be sunk in reverie. “We always used to enjoy riding there. Do you remember, when we were children, Chas?”

Chastity looked up from her contemplation of her coffee cup. “I beg your pardon . . .”

“Riding in Hyde Park,” Constance said. “We used to enjoy it.”

“Yes, oh, yes.” Chastity seemed visibly to pull herself back into the room. “I still do, but we don't often get the chance. Our horses are in the country, and I don't really like the job horses the stables have for hire.”

“Oh, I would never hire a riding horse,” declared the signorina with a wave of her thin hand. “Their mouths are so hard.”

“My stepdaughter rides there quite often,” Prudence said, sweeping past the interruption.

“Only the best in horseflesh will do for me,” the lady continued, ignoring her hostess. “I had the most beautiful filly at home, did I not, Mama?”

Her mother consented and the signorina continued to expatiate on the delights and concerns of owning an Arabian mare, while somehow managing to convey to her companions that of course no one else could possibly have experienced either the delight or the concern.

The woman was impossible, Prudence thought disgustedly. She wasn't worth the time or effort to snub.

Chastity asked suddenly, “Signorina Della Luca, do you intend to be presented at Court? You will find it necessary if you intend to participate in the London Season.”

“Oh, most certainly, I do,” the lady declared. “Why else would we come to London? After Christmas, Mama will present me. She was herself presented to Queen Victoria, of course.”

“Of course.” Chastity's smile was a little vague and she seemed to return to her reverie. If Laura Della Luca was intending to participate fully in the Season in the new year, then she must be on the lookout for a husband. She was, by even the kindest assessment, approaching the shelf. How anxious was she to get herself to the altar? Chastity mused.

Chapter 3

W
hat a pill,” Prudence declared when the door had closed on the last of their guests. “Not even you, Chas, could find any redeeming features in
Signorina Della Luca.
” She imitated the woman's affected accents.

“Oh, I don't know,” Chastity said. “There might be some external redeeming features if one looked for them.”

Constance looked at her sharply. “You've been very absorbed all evening, Chas,” she observed. “You hardly said anything after we left the dining room.”

Chastity only smiled and helped herself to a chocolate from the silver bonbon dish on the low marquetry table in front of the sofa where she sat.

“Cognac, Constance?” Gideon asked, well aware of his sister-in-law's tastes.

“Thank you.” She accepted a goblet.

“Liqueur, Prudence?”

“Grand Marnier, please.”

“And the same for you, Chastity?”

“No, Benedictine, I think,” Chastity responded. “It goes better with chocolate.”

Gideon smiled. Chastity's sweet tooth was something of a family joke.

Prudence took the tiny glass filled with the sweetish orange liqueur and remarked, “Did you say earlier that you wanted to talk to Max about something, Gideon? Something about Christmas, wasn't it?”

“Ah-ha,” Max said. “I get the impression we're being dismissed, Gideon.”

“'Tis ever thus,” Gideon said with a mock sigh as he rose from a deep armchair beside the fire. “Thrown out of my own drawing room, cast into the cold.”

“There's nothing cold about the library,” Prudence pointed out, removing her glasses from her nose and holding them up to the light to see if she could detect a smudge. “Take the cognac decanter with you and go and smoke a cigar.”

“As you command.” Gideon, shaking his head, picked up the cut-glass decanter. “Come, Max, my fellow exile.” The two men went out, leaving the laughing sisters in sole possession of the drawing room.

“Now,” said Prudence, replacing her glasses and coming to sit beside Chastity. “What have you been concocting, Chas?”

Chastity took another chocolate and followed it with a tiny but delicious sip of Benedictine. “Those monks certainly knew what they were doing,” she said, holding up her glass to the light.

“Come on, Chas.” Constance leaned forward and moved the bonbon bowl out of her baby sister's reach.

“Oh, unfair,” Chastity said, but she set down her liqueur glass.

“External redeeming features,” Prudence reminded her.

“Yes, well, I had a thought . . . two, actually. I do seem to be having rather a number of them just recently.” Chastity sounded a little smug. “Our friend Laura is indeed a pill, but it's possible that for some people the ‘pillness' of her would be irrelevant, if other features could be seen as compensations.”

“Yes . . . ?” Constance said with an interrogatively raised eyebrow.

“Do you think she's in the market for a husband?” Chastity asked. “It's the only reason why anyone would go through all the palaver and expense of presentation at Court and the Season. Particularly at her age.”

Her sisters were nodding in unison. “How old do you think she is?” Prudence inquired with a frown. “Late twenties, early thirties?”

“Without being ungenerous,” Constance said, clearly unconcerned about generosity, “I would say more likely early-to-mid thirties. Did you notice the lines at the corners of her mouth, and under her eyes?”

“They could just come from a disagreeable nature,” Chastity pointed out judiciously. “People who frown a lot and pull down their mouths often get premature lines, I've noticed.”

“Let's assume that she
is
on the marriage mart and rather anxious. What are you suggesting, Chas?” Prudence came to the point.

“Well, I think she must have money. Her mother clearly does and she's an only child, at least as far as we know. Houses in Mayfair aren't cheap, and neither is bankrolling a Court presentation and a Season.”

“Not to mention Arabian mares and villas in
Firenze,
” Constance put in. “I think I know where this is going, Chas.”

Chastity smiled and sat back against the sofa cushions. “An up-and-coming Society physician who has no particular interest in a congenial wife, merely a rich one . . .”

Her sisters sat in silence, examining the prospect from every angle. “But do you think our Laura would be interested in a man who is still only up-and-coming?” Prudence asked eventually.

“I should imagine she would welcome the opportunity to help and instruct him in the right way to go about arriving at the pinnacle of his ambition,” Chastity said. “I can just see her presiding over dinner parties, lecturing all and sundry on the cultural marvels of foreign parts, boring her guests into total submission.”

She leaned forward to retrieve the bonbon bowl with the tips of her fingers and took another chocolate before adding thoughtfully, “She has something of the bully in her, I think. I'm sure she would relish rounding up patients regardless of objections and delivering them with open wallets to his surgery. It could well be a perfect match.” She popped the chocolate into her mouth and leaned back against the cushions again.

“Your Dr. Farrell is a bully?” Prudence asked, exchanging a quick, frowning glance with Constance.

Chastity shrugged. “I don't know, really, but his tone when he talked of his potential patients was so contemptuous . . .” She hesitated, then said, “Anyway, I think they might deserve each other. I certainly wouldn't feel we were condemning a defenseless woman to a marriage of convenience with an unfeeling man.”

“All right,” Constance agreed. “Let's put them together and see what happens. We can't
make
them decide to marry. If they don't suit, they'll decide that for themselves.”

“Your next At Home, Con?” Prudence suggested.

“No, I think it should be mine,” Chastity said quickly. “At Manchester Square, next Wednesday.”

“Any particular reason?” Prudence asked.

“Well, I had two ideas, if you remember.” Chastity was smiling now, the frown that seemed to accompany any discussion about Dr. Douglas Farrell no longer in evidence. “What do you think of Father and the contessa?”

“I think I like it,” Constance said. Then she frowned. “You do realize that would make Laura our stepsister. And we couldn't possibly condemn Father to having her under his roof.”

“No,” agreed Chastity. “But if we married her off beforehand, it wouldn't be that bad. We wouldn't have to spend time with her except for obligatory family occasions, and neither would Father.”

“I should think that the prospect of her mother remarrying might encourage the daughter to get herself to the altar as soon as possible,” Prudence remarked.

“Yes, precisely,” Chastity said with some satisfaction. “One hand washing the other, really.”

“So, you invite both women for next Wednesday and we twist Father's arm to be there, and we send Douglas Farrell the usual instructions,” Constance said. “That means flowers for every woman, and a white one for Laura.”

“It'll have to be carnations,” Prudence said. “They're the only buttonhole flowers easily obtained at this time of year.”

“Then that's settled.” Chastity nodded. “A good evening's work.”

A slight alerting tap on the door brought the return of Max and Gideon. The two men had no difficulty reading the slightly self-conscious start given by all three sisters at the interruption. “Just what miserable souls' lives have you been rearranging now?” Max asked.

“You know perfectly well we only suggest helpful things,” his wife said with dignity as she stood up. “We work only in the interests of good.”

“Tell that to some of those pathetic people who've had their lives ruthlessly turned upside down without their even knowing it,” said Gideon.

“Can you give me one example of a couple we've put together who are unhappy about it?” his wife demanded.

Gideon threw up his hands in defeat. “Since I don't know half of them, what can I say?”

“Leave us to do our business just as we leave you to do yours,” Prudence said.

“You still express opinions,” he commented mildly. “Is a husband to be accorded the same right?”

“If you're ready, Constance, I believe it's time we went home,” Max said.

“And I think it's time I went to bed,” Chastity said, jumping up from the sofa.

“Now look what you've done,” Prudence accused her husband, but with a laugh in her voice. “Driven away our guests by being quarrelsome.”

“Not a bit of it,” he denied. “They were going anyway.” He moved to the door. “Constance, Max, let me see you out.”

“By the way, what were you discussing about Christmas?” Constance asked as they all walked into the hall.

“Now, that is truly none of your business,” Max said.

“Surprises?” Chastity asked, her hazel eyes glowing. “I love surprises, particularly Christmas ones.”

“Then I hope you won't be disappointed. Good night, Chastity.” Max kissed her and bade farewell to his hosts. Constance hugged her sisters and the Ensors went out into the crisp night to their motor, waiting at the curb, engine running, the chauffeur huddled into a heavy driving cape.

Chastity yawned. “I'll bid you good night, Gideon.”

“I'll come up with you and make sure you have everything you need,” Prudence said, linking arms with her. “Will you be long, Gideon?”

“No, I'll just turn out the lights and lock the door,” he said. “I sent the staff to bed an hour ago.”

Prudence examined the arrangements in the guest room with a critical eye. “I think you have everything,” she said, smoothing down the already smooth coverlet before going to the dresser. “There's milk and chocolate and the spirit stove here if you'd like hot chocolate.” It was a reference to the sisters' nightly ritual in their father's house, when they would gather together over hot chocolate in their own private sitting room to talk over the events of the evening.

Chastity shook her head, smiling. “Not after chocolates and Benedictine,” she said. “Everything is perfect, Prue, so go to bed and I'll see you in the morning.”

Prudence nodded but hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. “This Douglas Farrell,” she said, “you seem to have developed such an antipathy towards him. Do you think you'll be able to meet him face-to-face . . . do what we have to do for him as a client without betraying something?”

Chastity unthreaded the topaz ribbon from her hair before answering. Then she said, “I don't see why not. We'll only be meeting in social situations. He won't have any idea that we're the Go-Between. Even if he senses I dislike him, it's not going to matter. People dislike people all the time, but they're perfectly polite about it. Anyway, I'm sure I can hide it. There's no reason why I should ever be alone with him, and when we're in company I'll just keep the conversation on neutral subjects.”

“I suppose so,” her sister said, sounding unconvinced. “'Night, Chas.” She went out, closing the door behind her.

Chastity surveyed the closed door for a minute. She understood her sister's puzzlement. She was as puzzled herself by this violent dislike of a man she'd only met once. Maybe, she thought, as she got to know him better she'd find something in him to ameliorate that dislike. First impressions couldn't always be relied upon. But she didn't seem to be able to convince herself, however hard she tried, as she brushed her thick, vivid red curls the requisite one hundred strokes and completed her nighttime ablutions, hanging the emerald-green gown in the armoire before slipping into her nightgown.

She climbed into bed and lay propped on the pillows, watching the firelight dance on the molded ceiling. For some reason she wasn't sleepy. She reached out and turned on the bedside light again. An easy matter since Gideon, like Max, embraced all modern conveniences of daily life with a vengeance, whether it be electric lights, motorcars, or telephones.

There was a small secretaire in the guest room, with pen, ink, and a writing tablet. Chastity got out of bed and went to sit at the desk. She began to compose the Go-Between's letter to Dr. Douglas Farrell. He was to present himself at 10 Manchester Square on Wednesday next at three o'clock, when the lady of the house, the Honorable Miss Chastity Duncan, would be holding her weekly At Home. He was to give the butler his card and explain that he needed to talk with Lord Buckingham, whom he had been told he could meet there that afternoon.

Chastity leaned back in the spindly chair, tapping her teeth with the top of her pen. There was, of course, no Lord Buckingham. The fictitious character was merely the excuse the Go-Between routinely used to bring prospective clients together.

She put pen to paper again, explaining that Miss Duncan herself would have no idea who Dr. Farrell was, but since she was acquainted with Lord Buckingham would welcome the doctor without question.
Intimately acquainted with Lord Buckingham,
Chastity reflected with a grin. Since he had sprung for the first time from her imagination.

A lady whom the doctor might find of interest in his search for a bride would be wearing a white carnation. If, after observation, he wished for an introduction, his hostess would furnish it, again without question.