The Bride Hunt

by Jane Feather

  “He has a strange way of showing it,” Prudence returned rather dourly.

  “Oh, but I think Con’s right,” Chastity said. “Even after that set down you gave him.” She shook her head in awe. “I’m amazed he was able to recover from it.”

  “The man has the skin of a rhinoceros,” her sister stated. “But if he dares put a hand on me again for any reason, I shall stick him with my hairpin.”

  “I would be a little careful I didn’t get stuck back,” Constance said with a laugh. “I wouldn’t want to push our barrister friend too far.”

  Chastity chuckled. “No, indeed,” she agreed. “There’s something a little dangerous about him.” She glanced sideways at Prudence, adding slyly, “Of course, some women might find it attractive. Some women like playing with fire.”

  Prudence felt an unusual flash of irritation at her sisters’ levity. For some reason she couldn’t find anything amusing in the situation. Ordinarily she wouldn’t mind being the object of her sisters’ teasing, but she didn’t feel like being teased about Gideon Malvern. She said nothing.

  If her sisters noticed her lack of response, they let it go. Chastity said cheerfully, “Actually, Con, he is worse than Max.”

  “Oh, they’re all the same, these successful professional men,” Constance said airily. “They’re so sure of themselves, so ready to mow down all opposition, but to tell you the truth, I’d rather have that breed of arrogance than the aristocratic kind that’s based solely on inherited wealth and doesn’t need a brain to back it up. Don’t you agree?” She glanced at Prudence for confirmation, then said quickly, “Something wrong, Prue?”

  “No, not at all.” Prudence shook her head and forced herself to join their mood. “And you’re certainly right,” she agreed. “I can hear Mother saying the same thing.”

  Chastity gave her a searching look, hearing the slight hesitation in her sister’s voice. Prudence smiled and said, “It’s nearly ten o’clock. Fortnum’s will open in half an hour. Let’s go and have coffee and cakes, and plan this campaign of investigation.”

  Chastity was not convinced that Prudence was her usual self, but now didn’t seem a suitable moment to pry. “Good idea,” she said with an easy smile. “I have a craving for a slice of Battenburg cake.”

  “And this afternoon we can sit down and draw up a list of suitable marriage prospects for Sir Gideon,” Constance said. “Or at least decide what kind of woman we think might suit him. Now that we’ve all met him, we ought to have some ideas.” She waved at a passing hackney, saying as she climbed in, “You’d better come to my house. I probably ought to stay in for bride visits this afternoon.”

  Chapter 9

  Have you had any bride visits yet, Con?” Chastity asked as she walked into her sister’s drawing room that afternoon.

  “Oh, this is such a pleasant room,” Prudence said, following on her sister’s heels. “I do like that Chinese wallpaper.”

  “Lady Bainbridge turned up her nose,” Constance said. “She was here half an hour ago. Very supercilious she was on the subject of these newfangled tastes.” She plumped up a silk cushion embroidered with peacocks. “She examined me very carefully, clearly looking for an expanding waistline.”

  “It would be too soon for that, even if you were thinking about it,” Prudence pointed out, casting a glance at her elder sister’s slender figure. “Who else has been?”

  “Letitia . . . oh, and Aunt Agnes. She was very complimentary about the Oriental theme.”

  “She would be. Agnes has never said a critical word about anyone,” Chastity said fondly of their father’s sister, their favorite aunt.

  “Let me get some tea,” Constance said, “and then we can talk about lists.” She pulled the fringed bell rope beside the fireplace. “I’ve been wracking my brains trying to think of eligible women for the barrister—” She broke off as a maid appeared in answer to the bell. “Could you bring us some tea, Brenda? Thank you.”

  “What kind of woman would suit him?” Chastity asked, settling into a corner of the sofa.

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” Prudence said, depositing herself into a deep armchair.

  “That’s not very helpful,” Constance chided. “This was your idea, remember.”

  “I remember.” Prudence sighed. “And it seemed like a good one at the time. Before I realized that I wouldn’t wish him on my worst enemy.”

  “Don’t exaggerate,” Constance said, bending to clear a marquetry table to receive the tea tray brought in by the maid.

  Prudence grinned reluctantly and leaned over to take a cucumber sandwich from the plate. The maid poured tea and left.

  “Well, who’s going to start the ball rolling?” Constance sat down on the end of the sofa opposite Chastity.

  Chastity frowned and instead of answering that question posed one of her own. “Did it occur to you that it might be very difficult to find a woman willing to marry a divorced man?”

  “He’s rich and successful,” Prudence pointed out. “He’s well connected. There’s nothing particularly unfavourable in his appearance.”

  “Talk about damning with faint praise,” Constance said with a crow of laughter. “I think he’s rather distinguished-looking.”

  “He has good eyes,” Prudence conceded. “And a good head of hair.”

  Chastity chuckled and spread honey on a buttered crumpet. “Nice voice too.”

  Constance declared with a touch of acid, “Divorce isn’t the same handicap for men as it is for women.”

  “No,” Chastity agreed.

  “But we don’t know who was the injured party,” Prudence pointed out.

  “Even if it was his wife, I’m sure he did the decent thing,” Chastity said. “It would be unthinkable otherwise.”

  “Allowing her to divorce him?” Prudence frowned. “With most men I would agree with you, but in my experience, Gideon doesn’t play by all the rules.”

  “He only kissed you, Prue,” Chastity said.

  “Without my permission!” her sister fired back. “How would you like it, Chas?”

  Chastity shrugged. “It often happens to me. I just pat their cheeks and explain that I’m not interested.”

  Prudence surveyed her with slight exasperation. “But I’m not you, Chas. I don’t flirt, and I don’t shrug these things off. I expect men to leave me alone unless I invite them closer.”

  “This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Constance said. “Let’s look at what qualities we think Gideon would insist upon in a second wife.”

  “Faithfulness,” Prudence said with a short laugh.

  “That goes without saying.”

  “A submissive type, probably,” Prudence added. “One who doesn’t mind being grabbed at will.”

  “Prue, you are not helping,” Constance rebuked.

  Prudence nodded. “All right,” she said. “Since he believes in women’s education, I’m sure he’d prefer a woman with an educated mind.” She drank her tea.

  “And of course someone who could hold her own in the kinds of social gatherings he frequents.” Chastity rummaged in her bag for a notebook and pencil. “Let’s make a list of what we see as necessary qualities and then you can show it to him, Prue. See if he has any others to add.”

  “We have to consider the daughter’s feelings too,” Constance said. “I wonder how much it would matter to him that the child should like a potential candidate.”

  “I think it would have to be someone who liked children, who got along well with them,” Prudence said definitely. “In all conscience, we couldn’t possibly promote a marriage in this case where we knew the potential bride had an antipathy for children.”

  “Prue’s absolutely right,” Chastity said, and Constance nodded her agreement.

  “I would think a potential candidate’s level of education would be important too,” Constance put in. “If he’s sending his daughter to North London Collegiate, he must be intending her for Girton, wouldn’t you think? He’d want anoth
er woman in the house to be able to keep up with the girl’s education.”

  Prudence considered. Girton, the women’s college at Cambridge University, now allowed women to sit public examinations. They still weren’t allowed to take a degree, but the cachet was enormous. “Then he’d be expecting her to pursue some kind of career,” she mused. “Teaching, I suppose.”

  “Who do we know who’s qualified to teach? Not a governess, of course, but at undergraduate level, or at least in one of the good girls’ schools. That would cover the necessity for getting along with children too.”

  “Astrid Bellamy,” Chastity suggested. “She’s passionate about women’s education. She went to Lady Margaret Hall at Oxford.”

  “She’s too old,” Prudence stated instantly. “She must be nearly forty.”

  “But we don’t know that age would matter to him,” Cosntance pointed out. “Unless he wants more children, of course.”

  “He’d have been looking more actively for himself if that was the case,” Prudence pointed out. “He must be forty himself.”

  Constance frowned. “Maybe so. But once we get him interested in this process it might become a factor.”

  “I suppose so,” Prudence said, sounding doubtful.

  “Well, we could ask him.” Constance regarded her sister with the same frown.

  “We could,” Prudence agreed.

  “You seem less than enthusiastic about this, Prue,” Constance observed.

  Prudence shook her head. “No, I’m not. Not in the least. Of course I’m not.”

  “Ah,” Constance said. “My mistake.”

  Chastity cast a quick glance between her sisters, then returned to her note-taking. “What about looks?” she asked. “Do you think those are important to him? Must it be a beautiful woman?”

  Prudence thought about this. “I would say looks were less important than brains and personality, but . . .” She shrugged. “What do I know?”

  “More than we do,” Chastity said, chewing the tip of her pencil. “You spent an evening with him.”

  “I can’t see around his domineering, overbearing personality,” Prudence stated. “What woman of strong character with a mind of her own would give him the time of day?”

  “I seem to remember some comparison with Max,” Constance murmured from the depths of her sofa. “But then, perhaps I’m not a woman of strong character with a mind of my own.”

  Prudence threw one of the fringed peacock cushions at her. “Max has redeeming features.”

  “We might find some in Gideon Malvern if we look hard enough,” Chastity said. “What do you think about Agnes Hargate? She’s fairly young, fairly attractive, well read, although she didn’t go to university.”

  “She’s a widow with a five-year-old son,” Prudence said.

  “So we know she likes children,” Constance said.

  “We don’t know he wants a ready-made family,” Prudence objected.

  “Again, we could ask him,” Chastity said. “I’m sure Agnes would be interested. I know she’s lonely.”

  “Did he say anything to you, Prue, anything at all after you proposed this bargain?” Constance asked, leaning forward slightly.

  “Yes,” Chastity said. “Did he give any hint of the kind of woman who might appeal?”

  Prudence hesitated. What had he said after he’d taken that kiss? Something about how having kissed him she would now know what kind of woman would suit him. How she would now know what kind of lover he would make. Somehow she didn’t feel like sharing that with her sisters.

  “No,” she said. “He said only that he wasn’t in the market for a wife and he was very hard to please.”

  “Well, that’s encouraging,” Constance observed aridly. “More tea?”

  Prudence passed her cup. Constance was right, of course. She wasn’t entering into the spirit of this exercise with genuine enthusiasm, but why not? It had been her idea to find the barrister a bride. It was a brilliant solution to the generally intractable problem of finances. But every woman who came to mind as possible struck her as impossible. She was just depressed, she decided. Depressed and oppressed. The more she dwelt on the libel suit, the more impossible it seemed to defeat it.

  Constance glanced at her and then looked across at Chastity, who made a comprehending face. Something was wrong with their generally imperturbable sister. Prudence was always on an even keel, the reins of business firmly in her hands. Her sisters could take off on emotional flights of fancy on occasion, but never Prudence. She was too sensible, her concentration on the subject at hand unwavering. But not this afternoon, for some reason.

  “Excuse me, madam.” The maid appeared in the doorway. “Fred just delivered this for Miss Prue.” She extended a letter. “It went to Manchester Square and Mr. Jenkins thought it might be important, so he sent it straight round.”

  “Thank you, Brenda.” Constance took the letter and glanced at the envelope. “From the chambers of Sir Gideon Malvern, KC.” She handed it to Prudence. “He didn’t waste any time, did he?”

  Prudence slit the envelope and unfolded the paper. “He says that he’s received immediate acknowledgment from Barclay’s solicitors that he’s the barrister of record in the matter of Barclay v. The Mayfair Lady.” She looked up. “Gideon said he’d send them a letter this afternoon. I wonder if it’s a bad sign that they responded so quickly.” A worried frown creased her brow.

  “It’ll be a relief to get it over with,” Constance said.

  “What else does it say?” Chastity leaned forward.

  “He says they are requesting an early trial date, and he’s not going to contest that. He wants to see me this evening to start preparing for the case.” She handed the letter to Chastity. “You’d think that he would try to postpone as long as possible, wouldn’t you? We don’t have the evidence for the fraud accusations as yet.”

  “We haven’t had a chance to search Father’s papers,” Chastity said, laying a soothing hand over her sister’s that was twitching on the arm of the chair. “We’ll do it at the first opportunity.”

  Prudence nodded. “I know. It’s just happening too fast.”

  “Well, we must have at least a month to put it all together,” Constance said bracingly. “Cases don’t come to trial overnight.”

  “No, true enough.” Prudence managed a smile. “So, I suppose I’d better send a message back to say I’ll be there . . . which is where?” She took back the letter and read it again. “Oh, Pall Mall Place. Number Seven.” She looked up with a shrug. “I’d have expected his chambers.”

  “Perhaps he has another office,” Chastity suggested.

  Prudence shrugged. “I’ll find out at seven o’clock.”

  “He doesn’t say anything about dinner,” Constance observed.

  “Which, I trust, means that this is a purely business meeting,” Prudence declared crisply. “He’s not sending his chauffeur for me either.”

  “So, with any luck you won’t have to be fending off unwelcome advances,” Chastity murmured.

  Her sister ignored this. She said coolly, “If Father’s not using the carriage this evening, I’ll get Cobham to drive me in the barouche. And I’ll tell him to come back for me at eight o’clock so I’ll be home in time for dinner. An hour should be sufficient for the barrister. It’ll certainly be enough for me,” she added.

  “Are you going to take this list?” Chastity indicated her notebook. “Or at least ask him whether he has any particular preferences?”

  “I won’t take the list, but I will ask him about preferences,” her sister said, rising to her feet. “We should go home, Chas. It’s nearly five o’clock. Are you dining in tonight, Con?”

  “No, at Number Ten,” her elder sister said, referring to the Prime Minister’s official residence with an exaggerated sigh.

  “Oh, that’s an honor,” Prudence said, regarding her sister with narrowed eyes. “Something in the wind?”

  Constance smiled. “I don’t know, Max won’t
say anything. But I have a feeling . . . just a feeling.”

  “A Cabinet post?” Prudence asked quickly.

  “As I said, Max is mum.”

  “Well, he deserves it,” Chastity said, hugging her sister.

  “Let’s hope it’s one that doesn’t clash too much with a vocal suffragist wife,” Prudence said, voicing an awkward truth in customary practical fashion.

  Constance grimaced slightly. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  “Yes, of course you will.” Prudence kissed her. “We’ll talk tomorrow . . . exchange accounts of our evenings.”

  Constance laughed and showed them out. Max was just drawing up to the curb outside the house as they said their farewells on the top step. He ran up the stairs. “Are you two leaving?”

  “We just came for tea,” Prudence said.

  “Well, hold on a minute and I’ll get Frank to drive you home before he puts the motor away.” He kissed his wife and hurried into the house, calling for his manservant.

  Just before seven o’clock Prudence stepped up into the barouche, greeting the elderly driver with a warm smile. “How are the horses, Cobham?”

  “Oh, well enough, Miss Prue,” he said. “Getting ready to be put out to pasture. Just like me.” He cracked his whip and the two glossy chestnuts picked up their hooves and started off at a smart trot around the square.

  “They don’t seem ready to be put to grass,” Prudence observed. “Any more than you do. You’re looking very sprightly, Cobham.”

  “Well, that’s right kind of you, Miss Prue. But I’ll be seventy next birthday. Time for a nice little cottage in the country.”

  Prudence realized that she was being given a serious message. If Cobham was ready to retire, then he had every right to do so. And every right to the pension that would enable him to live as he chose in the little cottage in the country. But there was no provision for pensions in the budget. Her mind worked fast, adding and subtracting expenses. Adding and subtracting necessities. She scraped for Cobham’s wages every week, even though in this day of motorized omnibuses and frequent hackney cabs they really could manage without a coachman, let alone the horses that cost a fortune to feed and house in London. But it wasn’t remotely conceivable to turn the old man off.