by Jane Feather
Prudence hesitated. For a minute she almost laughed, because the effort he was making to subdue his customary imperiousness was so obvious. She was tempted to question it but then decided to honor the attempt. She turned back to the stairs.
The sisters had inherited a silver fox coat, hood, and muff from their mother, as well as three strands of matchless pearls. They shared both jewelry and furs according to whose need was greatest. Prudence took them out of the cedar chest in the linen room, where they had resided throughout the summer, and held up the coat. It smelled faintly of cedar, but unlike the dress she’d worn the other evening, not of mothballs.
She tossed aside the dust coat and slipped the fur on. Immediately she felt invested with an aura of luxury and elegance. It was a wonderfully extravagant garment with a high collar that caressed her neck. The hood fitted closely over her head, hugging her ears, but revealing the carefully arranged russet curls on her forehead. She buried her gloved hands in the muff and decided with a grin that even if she was roasting it was well worth it for the effect. She didn’t need a mirror to tell her she looked stunning. She took a second to transfer the contents of the dust coat’s pockets into the muff and went back downstairs.
Chastity was still in the hall, but there was no sign of Gideon. “You look fabulous, Prue.”
“I know,” Prudence said. “This coat always has that effect, whoever wears it. Where is he?”
“He’d left the motor running and he didn’t want to leave it unattended.”
“Did he say where we were going?”
Chastity shook her head. “I tried to ask but he just said you might be late this evening and we weren’t to worry, you were in safe hands.”
“Ye gods, he’s impossible,” Prudence exclaimed. “Does he think women like to be pushed around like that?”
“I don’t think he can help it,” Chastity said, laughing slightly.
The blast of a horn from outside made them both jump. Prudence threw up her hands and Jenkins moved smoothly across the hall to open the door. “I believe Sir Gideon is waiting, Miss Prue.”
“I wonder how you guessed,” she said. She gave Chastity a quick kiss. “I’ll see you later.”
“Good luck.”
Prudence hesitated. “Why would I need good luck, Chas?”
Chastity shrugged. “I don’t know, it just seems that you might.”
Another imperative blast of the horn sounded and Prudence raised her eyes heavenward and hurried outside.
Gideon stood beside the car, one foot on the running board, one hand resting on the horn mounted on the dashboard. His eyes widened as Prudence came running down the steps. “I should really have a horse-drawn sledge and a frozen Russian lake for you,” he observed.
“The horses would have run off by now with that blasted horn,” Prudence said with asperity. “There was no need for that.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” he said. “I do try for moderation, but I am a little short on patience, I’m afraid.” He opened the door for her, spoiling the apologetic effect with the unwise addition, “But you’ll get used to me.”
“I’m not sure that’s an overriding goal,” Prudence murmured, stepping into the motor.
“I beg your pardon?” He stood holding the door.
“Nothing,” she said with a sweet smile. “I have a habit of talking to myself. You’ll get used to me.” She tucked her legs neatly under the dashboard.
He raised his eyebrows, closed the door on her, and went around to take his own seat. “Oh, you’d better put these on.” He reached into the back and felt around. “Here.” He handed her a pair of tinted goggles in wide metal-and-leather frames. “They should fit over your glasses.”
He put on a pair himself as Prudence examined the ones he’d given her. “Why would I need these?”
“To protect your eyes, of course. The wind can be fierce when you’re driving.” He put the motor in gear and the car moved smoothly forward.
“You must need very little sleep if you always start your day this early,” Prudence observed, still turning the goggles around in her hands. “It is a weekend, after all.”
“Forgive me if I stole your beauty sleep,” he said cheerfully. “But even driving at twenty miles an hour, it’ll take us nearly three hours to get where we’re going.”
“Three hours!” Prudence turned sideways to stare at him. “Where in the devil’s name are we going?”
“It’s a surprise,” he said. “I told you, I think, that surprise is frequently the essence of a successful campaign.”
“In the law courts,” she said.
“Oh, certainly there,” he agreed with a laugh. “But, as you so rightly say, today is Sunday, so we won’t talk about the law.”
“But I thought we were going to prepare for the trial.”
“Well, we are, in a way, but not as we have been doing. We don’t want to waste a beautiful day with too much stress and strain on the nerves. Besides, in general I like to keep my weekends free from excessive work. It ensures my mind stays fresh.”
Prudence could think of nothing to say immediately. She was sitting in this motor going God only knew where, for reasons not vouchsafed, with a man she disliked more by the minute. “So you lied,” she said finally. “Just to inveigle me into spending the day with you.”
“That’s a little harsh,” he protested, smiling slightly. “I have told you once before that getting to know you is a very important part of my preparation.”
There was really very little objection she could raise to what was a perfectly logical aim. “I would have thought you’d spend your Sundays at least with your daughter,” she said.
“Oh, Sarah has better things to do this Sunday,” he responded. “Her day is packed to the minute, she has no time to spare for her father.”
“I see.” Their speed had picked up and she was conscious now of the wind making her eyes water. Resigned, she put on the goggles and turned to look at her companion.
For some reason he was smiling, and even though she couldn’t see his eyes behind the goggles, she knew the skin around them would be crinkling and there would be little dancing lights in their gray depths. His mouth had not become less sensual since she’d last seen him and the cleft in his chin seemed even more pronounced. She dragged her gaze away and stared out at the road ahead, tucking her hands deeper into her muff. “So, where are we going, Gideon?”
“Oxford,” he said. “We should be there just in time for luncheon at the Randolph. Then, if it’s not too cold, I thought we could take a punt along the river. But you’re so well wrapped that it wouldn’t matter much if it was snowing.”
“We’re driving fifty miles there and fifty miles back in one day?”
“I love to drive,” he said with a complacent smile. “And I love this motor. It’ll do twenty miles an hour without a problem. It’s a beautiful day, if a bit nippy. Do you have any objections?”
“It didn’t occur to you that I might have plans for this afternoon?” she said tightly.
“It did, but I assumed you would have sent me a message if my invitation wasn’t convenient.” He glanced sideways at her and his smile deepened. “I did try very hard to make it sound like an invitation and not a summons. I hope I succeeded.”
Prudence was obliged to concede this point. “It was a rather more politely couched summons than your usual,” she said.
“Oh, that is so ungenerous,” he exclaimed. “I’m trying to reform my manner and you won’t give me the least credit.”
“I have no interest in your manner of conducting yourself,” she stated. “I am interested only in how you conduct yourself in court. And, on that subject, I have some information that might interest you.”
Miss Duncan was as tough a nut to crack as he’d expected, he reflected ruefully. Women usually responded when he took the trouble to turn on his charm. He took one hand off the wheel and held it up. “Let me enjoy my Sunday a little first, Prudence. Get the cobwebs out of my head.
There’ll be time enough for work later.”
And there really wasn’t anything she could say to that. The man was entitled to a little rest and relaxation now and again. Her fingers closed over the notebook in her muff. Ah, now, there was a topic to be explored.
“Well, maybe we could work on something else, then,” she said, taking out the notebook. “Since we’re going to be sitting side by side for the next three hours, we might as well do something productive.” She opened the notebook and sucked thoughtfully on the end of the pencil.
Gideon looked a little alarmed. “What are you talking about?”
“Have you forgotten that we’re charged with finding a suitable candidate for you to marry?” Prudence inquired in mock surprise.
He sighed. “Not that again. I’m not in the mood, Prudence.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But you agreed to consider our suggestions. If we can find you a bride it will make the difference between twenty percent and a hundred percent of our damages. And that’s deadly serious business to us.”
He shook his head. “You really are a terrier. All right, if you want to play this game, then let’s play it.”
“It’s not a game,” Prudence said. “And I insist that you treat it seriously. We’ve drawn up a list of qualities that we think will be important to you. If you would just assign a number, on a scale of one to five, to each one as I go through them, that would be a great help.”
“Fire away,” he invited, assembling his features into a suitably earnest expression.
Prudence shot him a suspicious look. She couldn’t see his eyes behind his goggles but there was a telltale twitch to the corner of his mouth. “First, age,” she said. “Do you have a preference?”
He pursed his mouth. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh, you must have some idea,” Prudence exclaimed. “Does the idea of a young woman in her first season appeal, or would you rather meet someone of more mature years?”
He seemed to give the matter some thought as he swung the motorcar around a stolidly plodding horse and cart. The driver cursed and waved his whip at them as the horse shied, and the motor sped ahead in a cloud of dust.
“One of these days people are not going to turn a hair when they see a motor,” Gideon observed. “They’ll be the only way to get around.”
“Something will have to be done about the roads, in that case,” Prudence said as the vehicle bumped violently into a muddy rut. “They’re not designed for something traveling at this speed.”
“The Royal Automobile Club is lobbying Parliament for better roads. Are you getting dreadfully bounced around?”
“I’m not wonderfully comfortable,” she said. “But please don’t let the prospect of my discomfort for the next three hours affect your plans in any way.”
“It’s not that bad,” he said. “And we’ll stop for coffee in Henley. I’ll need to refill the fuel tank then anyway, and you can stretch your legs.”
“How nice to have something to look forward to.” She returned to her notebook. “You haven’t answered my question. What age would you like your wife to be? Within about five years.”
“Extreme youth is very tedious for a man my age. Inexperience is equally so. I have no interest in educating a virgin in the ways of the bedroom.”
This, Prudence reflected, was rather more information than her question had sought. However, the more information they had, the better able they would be to find a suitable match, so she merely nodded in a matter-of-fact way. “So, a mature woman would suit you.”
“Mature . . . now, I’m not so sure about that,” he responded. “It’s a word that conjures up images of desperate spinsters or languishing widows. I don’t think either category would suit me. Of course,” he added, “you have taken into account the difficulties inherent in matching a forty-year-old divorced father of a ten-year-old daughter with an eligible woman.”
“We decided that those difficulties were more relevant for a woman than a man,” Prudence said. “You have much to recommend you.”
“How kind. I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be. I merely meant that your profession and your financial situation will probably compensate for your disadvantages with all but the most rigid adherents to the social code.”
“Oh, I see. I am suitably put in my place.”
Prudence was aware of a most inconvenient urge to laugh. She suppressed it sternly and said, “So, we’re looking for someone in her early thirties perhaps? Not over thirty-five. I know you didn’t like the sound of Agnes Hargate with her son, but are you averse to widows in general?”
“No. So long as she be not languishing in her maturity. Neither would I object to a spinster, as long as she be not desperate in hers.” He glanced sideways at her. “But I think thirty-five is a little too old for what I had in mind. Maybe you could look for someone in her late twenties.” He nodded. “Yes, the more I think about it, the more I realize that late twenties would be the perfect age.”
“All right,” Prudence said, making a note in her book. “That gives us somewhere to start.” She knew perfectly well what he was doing and she was not going to allow him to do it. He would not discompose her. She took a breath and asked casually, “Now, must she be beautiful?”
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
“Don’t be glib. Do a woman’s looks matter to you?”
“Let’s leave that question. I don’t know the answer,” he said, sounding serious for the first time.
Prudence shrugged. “Education, then? How important is that on a scale of one to five?”
“Well, until a week or so ago I would have said about two and a half. Now it’s definitely a five.”
Prudence wrote it down. He looked at her again. “Aren’t you going to ask what changed my mind?”
“No,” she said firmly. “It’s not relevant. What kind of personality do you like?”
“Oh, meek and mild,” he said definitely. “A woman who knows her place, who knows when to hold her tongue, who knows that I know best.”
That was too much. Prudence snapped the notebook shut and thrust it back into her muff. “All right, if you won’t take this seriously—”
“But I answered your question,” he protested. “Wouldn’t you assume that someone as arrogant and combative and self-opinionated as myself would want a helpmeet who would revel in those qualities—”
“Qualities,” Prudence interrupted. “They’re not qualities, they’re vices.”
“Ah. I stand corrected.” He turned the motor into a narrow lane at a signpost that said HENLEY, 2 MILES.
Prudence fell silent, watching the passing autumnal countryside through her tinted goggles as the wind whipped past her fur-encased ears. The fields were brown stubble, the hedgerows rich with luscious blackberries and crimson holly berries.
“And they’re vices you agree I have?” Gideon’s question in his quiet voice startled her out of a moment’s unquiet reverie.
“I told you earlier, I’m not interested in anything about you except what relates to your ability to win this case,” she stated.
“Then let’s talk about you,” he said. “Has marriage ever tempted you, Prudence?”
“How is that question related to our suit?”
He seemed to consider this before saying, “I would prefer it in court that you didn’t come across as an ill-tempered, man-hating, embittered spinster.”
Prudence inhaled sharply, but he was continuing calmly, “As I’ve said before, you can be certain that Barclay’s barrister will do everything he can to put you in an unfavorable light. I would like to give them a warmhearted, crusading female who is out to protect the most vulnerable of her own sex from hurt and exploitation. A woman gentle of tongue but resolute. A woman who has only the softest feelings towards the male of the species, except those who are patently not deserving of softness.”
Prudence shifted slightly in her seat, suddenly feeling unsure of herself. “Do I really com
e across in an unfavorable light?”
Again he considered before saying mildly, “On occasion. When your hackles are raised. I’d like you to be able to control that response.”
“Because they will try to provoke it in court.”
“I think you should be prepared for it.”
Prudence was silent. He had every right to point that out, and she couldn’t help but recognize its truth. But it was a wretchedly uncomfortable recognition nevertheless.
Chapter 12
They were driving down the high street in Henley-on-Thames now. The pavements were crowded with Sunday-morning strollers, the green lawns edging the river dotted with pedestrians enjoying the sunshine. A few rowboats were on the river and Prudence realized that the air was a lot warmer now. But that, of course, could have something to do with the fact that their speed had slowed to a crawl and in her fur casing she was beginning to feel like a hibernating bear.
Gideon spun the wheel and turned under an archway into the cobbled back court of an Elizabethan timbered inn. He turned off the engine and jumped down. Prudence was too eager to make her own descent to await his help and stepped down, resisting the inelegant urge to rub her backside that seemed rather numb after the jolting drive.
“Go in and order coffee,” he said. “I’ll join you in about five minutes when I’ve put more fuel in the engine.” He hauled out a can labeled PRATTS MOTOR SPIRIT from the enclosed compartment at the rear of the motor.
Prudence stretched and rolled her shoulders, then took off her hood and the fur coat. “It’s far too hot for these.” She laid them on the passenger seat of the car. “I’ll see you inside.”
The Dog and Partridge had a comfortable parlor just off the saloon bar. A cheerful maid promised coffee and currant buns and directed Prudence to the ladies’ lounge. When she emerged, refreshed, her hair tidied, she found Gideon already sitting in the bow window, pouring coffee. “I’d suggest we take a walk along the river but I want to be in Oxford for luncheon,” he said as she sat down.
“Why do we have to go all that way? Why don’t we stop here?” Prudence selected a sugar-sprinkled currant bun from the plate.
