The Bride Hunt

by Jane Feather

  “Yes, he did, finally,” Prudence answered, opening the door into their parlor, where a fire burned brightly in the grate. “But I’m beginning to think it’s a very bad idea to get mixed up with Sir Gideon Malvern, KC.”

  “Couldn’t you handle him?”

  “No,” Prudence said frankly. “I thought I could, but I can’t . . . at least not alone.”

  Constance closed the door and stood leaning against it, her gaze rather anxious as it rested on her sister. “You’re all right, Prue?”

  “Yes, just about.” She touched her lips, which still seemed to be tingling. “As well as can be expected after an assault.”

  “What?” Both sisters stared at her.

  “What do you mean, Prue?” Chastity put a hand on her arm. “Who assaulted you?”

  “Oh, that’s a bit melodramatic,” Prudence said with a sigh. “It wasn’t an assault, it was just a kiss. But it was unexpected and he didn’t ask permission and I don’t like being grabbed as if I have no say in the matter.”

  Her sisters untangled this and came to the correct picture. “He’s the masterful type, then?” Constance said with some scorn.

  “He certainly likes to think so.” She changed the subject abruptly. “Are you spending the night, Con?”

  “Yes, in my old room,” her sister replied, leaving the door to take up the goblet of cognac she had abandoned when they’d heard Prudence’s return.

  “Doesn’t Max mind? It’s a bit soon after your wedding to abandon the marital bed, isn’t it?” Prudence tossed her head scarf onto the sofa, following it with her discarded coat, aware that the teasing note she had been aiming for was somehow missing. Her voice sounded rather raw.

  Constance sipped her cognac, still keeping her eyes on her sister. It was generally better with Prue to let her tell her story at her own pace, so she answered easily, “To tell you the truth, I didn’t actually ask him if he minded. I just left him a note. But he won’t be back until close to dawn, I imagine, so I’m sure he won’t mind at all.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing you are going to be here first thing in the morning,” Prudence said, examining her disordered appearance in the mirror above the mantel. “Since we have to be at the barrister’s chambers at eight-thirty tomorrow.”

  Her sisters exchanged a quick glance. The hostility in Prue’s voice was unmistakable. “So, you said he’s agreed to take the case,” Chastity prompted, wondering which avenue would lead to more discussion about the unwanted kiss. Her sister was clearly disturbed, and the subject couldn’t simply be abandoned.

  “Yes.” Prudence sat down and kicked off her shoes. She pressed her fingertips to her temples. “I have had too much wine.”

  “Where did you go for dinner?”

  “Some supper club in Covent Garden. In the interests of privacy,” she added. “Oh, and by the way, you were wrong, Con. His daughter apparently lives with him, not her mother.”

  “Oh,” Constance said, sipping her cognac. “Well, he obviously has custody. He probably prevents the mother seeing her.”

  Prudence shook her head. “No, much as I’d like to agree with you, I don’t think you can go off on one of your antipaternalistic diatribes in this instance. I don’t know what caused the divorce, but he seems a rather enlightened parent. He sends her to North London Collegiate and allows her to read The Mayfair Lady with her governess and makes no objections to the governess’s teaching the girl about women’s suffrage.”

  Constance raised her eyebrows. “Well, that’s novel. But to get back to the case. He’s agreed to take it, so how do we pay him?”

  “His suggestion is an eighty-twenty split of any damages The Mayfair Lady might be awarded if Barclay’s case is thrown out as frivolous. Sir Gideon will ask for recompense for damage done to the broadsheet’s reputation, in addition, of course, to all our legal costs, which would include his fee. Of course, we have to win for all that to happen.”

  “Oh, that seems a very reasonable split,” Chastity said.

  “Eighty for Sir Gideon, Chas. We get the twenty.”

  Constance grimaced, but shrugged. “We don’t have any choice but to accept his terms.”

  “I suggested a different arrangement,” Prudence said, and explained.

  “That’s a brilliant idea, Prue!” Chastity exclaimed. “What kind of person would suit him?”

  Her sister gave a short laugh. “More to the point, what kind of woman would put up with him? You won’t like him, I’ll tell you that much. He’s arrogant, conceited, imperious, rude.” She shrugged. “You name it, he’s it.”

  “And he has a habit of grabbing women and kissing them against their will,” Constance prodded.

  “He didn’t hurt you, though, Prue, did he?” Chastity asked anxiously.

  Her sister shook her head and tried for a reassuring smile. “Only my pride. I don’t like being manhandled. I wish I’d slapped him, only he took me so much by surprise I could only gape at him like a gaffed fish.”

  “Is he really all bad?” Chastity pressed. “Is he attractive, at least? Or even interesting in some way?”

  Prudence frowned. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Con, but he reminds me of the way Max was at the beginning. You thought he was the most arrogant, supercilious bastard ever to walk the streets of London.”

  “I still do think that sometimes,” her sister responded. “But the good qualities far and away outweigh the bad. Besides,” she added with brutal candor, “I’m no angel myself. I can be every bit as obnoxious in the right circumstances. It makes us rather a good match.” She laughed slightly. “Surely this Sir Gideon must have some good qualities.”

  “So far I haven’t seen any,” Prudence declared. “I find him detestable. But I believe he’s a brilliant lawyer, and that’s all that concerns us. I’ll just have to try to keep my antipathy from being too obvious.”

  Chastity cast her sister a shrewdly speculative glance. Was there a hint of overprotest in Prue’s voice? She asked, “Does he think we have a chance in court?”

  “At first he said absolutely not. Because we won’t take the stand.”

  A short silence fell as they contemplated the ramifications of this. “It is difficult, I can see that,” Constance said after a minute. “Is there a way around it?”

  “He must have some ideas or he wouldn’t bother with us,” Chastity pointed out.

  Constance regarded Prudence with raised eyebrows. “You said at first. Something made him change his mind? Do you know what it was?”

  “Not really,” her sister said. “Perhaps persistence paid off. Perhaps I wore him down.” She shrugged. “Whatever the reason, he agreed. We got what we wanted.” She wondered why he had not been in the least perturbed by her angry response to his kiss. Quite the opposite, he had actually laughed at her indignant rejection. Odious creature.

  She leaned her head against the back of the sofa and yawned. “I’m exhausted and we have to have our wits about us first thing in the morning.” She stood up with a groan. “And I warn you, we’ll need all the wits we possess. Our barrister doesn’t miss a trick, and he’s already warned me that he’s going to be asking some very personal questions.”

  “I don’t suppose you warned him that we have a tendency to bite if someone crosses our boundaries,” Constance said, rising to her feet with her sister.

  “I thought we’d let him find that out for himself,” Prudence returned, managing a smile. “Breakfast at seven? I’ll leave a note for Jenkins.” She went to the overburdened secretaire and scribbled a few words, setting the paper beneath her sister’s empty cognac goblet, where the butler would find it first thing in the morning.

  “Into the breach once more.” Constance linked arms with her sisters until they separated at their own doors.

  Chapter 8

  Constance awoke a very few hours later in the gray light of dawn. She wasn’t sure what had woken her until she heard the door click shut. She peered blearily into the dimness and smiled, brushing
hair out of her eyes as she struggled up against the pillows.

  “Good morning, Max. I assume it is morning. Why aren’t you fast asleep in your own bed?”

  “That was rather the question I was going to ask you,” her husband said somewhat aridly as he set a tea tray on the dresser. “I get home to find a cold and empty bed and a scribbled note from my wife telling me she’s returned to the bosom of her family.”

  “Only for tonight . . . I mean last night,” Constance protested. “I didn’t think you’d mind, as you’d be working most of the night.”

  “Well, as it happens, I think I do mind,” he declared, pouring tea. He brought two cups over to the bed and sat on the edge, handing her one.

  “Oh, come on,” she said. “You know you don’t really.” She sipped gratefully of the steaming brew. “Did you make this yourself, or is Mrs. Hudson up and about already?”

  “Jenkins made it. He said you’d left a note saying you wanted breakfast at the crack of dawn, so I thought I’d wake you myself.”

  “That was very thoughtful of you,” Constance said. “But I’d have liked a good-morning kiss before the tea.”

  He took the cup from her and set it, with his, on the bedside table, then leaned over and kissed her, murmuring against her mouth, “Not that you deserve it, deserting me like that.”

  “Good morning, Con—oh, Max, are you here too?” Chastity spoke even as she opened the door and came in, followed by Prudence, carrying a tea tray.

  “Since the mountain wouldn’t come to Mohammed, Mohammed had no choice but to come to the mountain,” Max observed, straightening slowly, turning to look at his sisters-in-law.

  “I told Con you wouldn’t like it,” Prudence said. “We brought tea, but I see you have some already.”

  She poured for herself and Chastity and the two of them sat companionably in their night robes on the bed beside Max, who seemed as unconcerned as they about their dishabille.

  “Actually, it’s very convenient that Con’s here,” Prudence said, “because we have an appointment with Gideon Malvern in his chambers at half past eight.”

  “Did he agree to take the case?” Max took up his teacup again.

  “Prue persuaded him,” Chastity said. “I think he fancies her, but Prue’s not saying.”

  “Chas,” Prudence protested.

  “It’s only Max, and he’s family,” her sister said. “And I didn’t say anything about your fancying the barrister.”

  “I told you perfectly clearly what I thought of him,” her sister stated.

  “And what’s that?” inquired Max.

  “Eminently dislikable,” Prudence said crisply.

  “Just the reaction Con had to—” Chastity stopped, coughing violently, the cup rattling in her saucer.

  “You are so indiscreet, Chas,” Prudence accused.

  Max raised his eyebrows. He was far too used to the sisters to be in the least surprised or put out by anything they could say or do. He glanced at his wife for enlightenment.

  “Don’t give it another thought, Max,” Constance instructed. “We were just being silly, as is our wont.”

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen any of you being in the least silly,” he commented. “So I’ll take that as a roundabout way of telling me to mind my own business.” He stood up. “I’ll leave you to get dressed and keep your appointment.” He put his cup on the dresser. “You will be back for luncheon, Constance.” It was statement rather than question.

  “Yes, of course.” She gave him a placatory smile. “We’ll probably have coffee at Fortnum’s to fortify ourselves after our ordeal in chambers, but I’ll come straight home afterwards.”

  He nodded, kissed her again, kissed her sisters on the cheek, and left the bedroom.

  “Sorry, Con,” Chastity said. “It’s too early in the morning for me to think clearly.”

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter in the least,” her sister reassured. “Max knows perfectly well what I thought of him when I first met him. I still throw it in his face when we fight.”

  “I remember when you threw a vase of daisies in his face,” Chastity said with a laugh.

  Constance shook her head. “I do rather regret that,” she said ruefully.

  “Well, that’s water under the bridge,” Prudence stated, sliding off the bed. Ordinarily she would have been happy to reminisce with her sisters, but she was filled with a restless impatience this morning. “We need to turn our attention to Gideon Malvern. Did you bring a day dress, Con? Or do you want to borrow something?”

  “No, I packed a skirt and jacket.” Constance threw aside the covers. “It’s not quite as smart as I would have brought if I’d known I wouldn’t be going straight home this morning, but it’ll do. I don’t have a hat, though. Should I borrow one? Is he a great stickler for the niceties?”

  Prudence gave a short laugh. “Not when it comes to taking liberties.”

  Constance pursed her lips. “He’s not going to be doing that when we’re all together.”

  “He’s not going to be doing it ever again,” Prudence declared, going to the door. “I’m going to keep a hat pin up my sleeve. Come on, Chas. We’ll see you in the breakfast room in half an hour, Con.”

  In her own bedroom Prudence reviewed the contents of her wardrobe. It was time to abandon the ill-fated attempt at old-maid dowdiness. But she must still avoid all hint of frivolity. She wanted something that said . . . said what? She chewed her lip, riffling through the silks, tweeds, wools, velvets. Cotton or muslin would be too thin for a crispish autumn morning. What image did she want to project to Gideon this morning?

  Definitely businesslike. Nothing too dressy that would look as if she had made a particular effort . . . but nothing too understated either. Something suitable for an everyday business appointment, but with a little extra flair to it. Much as she hated to admit it, her pride had suffered sorely under her previous disguise.

  Prudence, her sisters would agree, had an infallible dress sense. She always knew what would suit a particular occasion and her sisters happily bowed to her judgment. She pulled out a rather smart black woolen suit that had belonged to her mother and had gone through several reincarnations to reach its present form. Lady Duncan, her daughter remembered, had worn it when she was in a confrontational mood. And Prudence was in a confrontational frame of mind.

  She laid it on the bed and tried pairing it with a severe white silk shirt, high-buttoned at the neck, and stood back to examine the effect. No, she decided instantly. Much too funereal. She turned back to the wardrobe, and found what she sought.

  The dark red silk blouse with a floppy cravatlike tie at the neck was exactly right. It lightened and softened the black suit but it was also very elegant and the color was almost indistinguishable from her hair. So, no hat; definitely no hat.

  When she came downstairs to the breakfast room as the grandfather clock in the hall struck seven, her sisters were already there. “Oh, bravo, Prue,” Chastity applauded.

  “Yes, exactly right,” Constance agreed, buttering a piece of toast. “No hat, though.”

  Prudence laughed and shook her head. “The pompadour is good enough, I think.” She touched her hair that was piled and pinned on top of her head over pads, forming an elaborate coiffure.

  “Perfect,” Constance said, reaching for the coffeepot to fill her sister’s cup. “Chas and I are dressed to fade into the background so that you can take center stage.”

  Prudence merely grinned. Constance was wearing a gray-and-white-striped skirt, tightly belted at her narrow waist, with a dark gray fitted jacket and neat buttoned boots. Chastity wore a dark green dress with a bolero jacket and full sleeves that buttoned tightly at her wrists. There was no possibility of either of them fading into the background when it came to fashion, even though both outfits, like Prudence’s, had been through several makeovers.

  “I would have thought you’d have abandoned your pre-Max wardrobe by now,” Prudence remarked, cracking the top of a boiled
egg.

  “Somehow it goes against the grain to throw away perfectly good clothes,” Constance said seriously.

  “You could give them to charity,” Chastity suggested, dipping a finger of toast into her own boiled egg.

  “I haven’t had a chance to go through them yet,” Constance pointed out. “Anyway, this was one of Mother’s favorites. Now, Prue, prepare us a little for this morning. We need to come up with a concerted attack . . . or defense. I don’t know which we’re talking about.”

  “Probably both,” her sister said.

  Gideon had reached his chambers soon after six o’clock that morning. The janitor had lit the fires in both chambers but the coals were still showing little life. His clerk had not yet arrived, so he lit the spirit stove, set water to boil for the strong coffee that would compensate for too little sleep, and hauled selected tomes off the bookshelves. Once settled at his desk, still wearing muffler and gloves because the night’s chill took a while to disperse through the ancient stone walls despite the fires, he looked for precedents on a libel suit when the defendants were anonymous. By the time Thadeus had arrived an hour later, the barrister had found none.

  Thadeus flourished his toasting fork and offered toast and marmalade.

  “Yes, thank you,” his employer grunted in response to the offer, heaving open another volume.

  “Trouble, Sir Gideon?” Thadeus hovered in the doorway.

  “Anonymous clients, Thadeus.” Gideon looked up, two fingers pressed to his eyes.

  “There was a libel case, sir, in 1762 I believe, when the defendants were shielded from the court by a curtain.” Thadeus disappeared into the outer chamber, returning almost immediately with a plate of hot buttered toast. “More coffee, Sir Gideon?”

  “Yes . . . and the precedent.” Gideon bit into the toast.

  “Right away, Sir Gideon.” And it was right away. Within a minute, Thadeus set down the relevant volume, opened at the correct page. A nicotine-stained finger underlined the passage in question.

  “You are without price, Thadeus,” Gideon said without looking up.