The Bride Hunt (9 page)

“Fortnum’s,” she said. “I’m having a second tea.”

He laughed, a soft, rich sound that she hadn’t heard before. “No wonder you scorned my crumpets. Until this evening, madam.” He waved a hand and Prudence lifted hers in involuntary response, aware that she was smiling.

Gideon, a thoughtful frown now creasing his brow, returned to his chambers. He stood just inside the door to his inner sanctum, tapping his lips with a forefinger. What on earth did he think he was doing? The case was impossible, he’d known that from the first line of the article. He had no sympathy with the editors of
The Mayfair Lady.
The article in question was a piece of malicious gossip in a publication devoted to a morass of half-baked political opinions and self-righteous declarations about the unfair treatment of women. There was absolutely no way that that dowdy brown mouse, lively green eyes and termagant’s temper notwithstanding, could persuade him to view the case in any other way. So, why in heaven’s name had he invited her to try . . . condemned himself to an evening of crushing boredom with an inevitably unpleasant conclusion when he told her, as he fully intended to do, that he had not and never had had any intention of taking the brief?

He wondered for a second if there was any way he could rescind the invitation. He could send a note to Manchester Square, say something unexpected had come up, express his regrets, and never lay eyes on her again. His eye fell on the wad of banknotes on the table. Her voice rang again in his head, filled with angry contempt. He saw again the careless flick of her hand as she’d almost thrown the money down in front of him. Unless he was much mistaken, the Honorable Miss Duncan was not entirely what she seemed. Maybe the evening wouldn’t be quite such a waste of time after all. Pursing his lips thoughtfully, he locked the banknotes in a drawer beneath the tabletop.

The cab deposited Prudence at the door of Fortnum’s and she entered the now almost-deserted tearoom. Chastity waved at her from the table by the window and Prudence hurried to join them.

“Well?” they both said in unison.

“I’ll tell you,” Prudence said. “No, thank you.” She waved the cake trolley away. “I’ll have a cup of tea, though.” She set her bag and gloves on the floor. “He gave me about fifteen minutes of his time, during which he subjected me to the most insulting, arrogant, patronizing speech I’ve ever heard. Not once did he indicate that he’d even looked at our evidence, and before I knew it I was outside in the street, staring at a closed door.”

Constance whistled silently. “You went back in.” It was a statement, not a question.

Prudence nodded. “I don’t remember ever being so angry.”

Chastity poured tea for her sister and pushed the cup across the table, reflecting that Prue rarely lost her temper, but when she did, it was a fairly spectacular tempest. “He listened to you this time?”

“Oh, yes,” Prudence said, sipping her tea. “He even took the time to read the material I’d left with his clerk two days ago.”

When she said nothing else for a moment, Constance prompted, “And is he going to take the case?”

“I don’t know.” Prudence set down her cup carefully in the saucer. “He invited me for dinner tonight.” She regarded her sisters, who were now staring at her wide-eyed. “He kindly invited me to try to persuade him over dinner.”

“What?”
Constance’s jaw dropped. “What kind of business practice is that?”

“I don’t know.” Prudence shrugged. “But I couldn’t turn down the opportunity, could I?”

“Did you remember he’s divorced?” Chastity asked. “Maybe he’s not very punctilious in his personal life?”

It was Prudence who stared now. “To tell you the truth, I forgot about that.”

“Divorced?” Constance said. It was the first she had heard of this interesting tidbit.

“Yes, we looked him up in
Who’s Who.
” Chastity said. “He’s been divorced for about six years. There’s a daughter too.”

“Well, I don’t suppose he sees much of her,” Constance said scornfully. “Legally she belongs to him, so he probably makes all the decisions concerning her life but leaves her care to her mother. It’s the usual way.”

“Probably,” Prudence agreed. She took a cucumber sandwich and then stared at it as if wondering how it had arrived in her hand.

“What?” Constance asked.

Prudence put the sandwich down. “You know, there were times when it was almost as if he was flirting with me. Every so often he’d lose that dismissive arrogance and have an almost complete personality change. It was very strange.”

“It’s not unheard of for a divorced man to flirt,” Constance observed. “Quite the opposite. Although I’d say it’s unprofessional for a barrister to flirt with a potential client.”

“Unless he has no intention of taking us on as clients. If he’s a licentious libertine he could be leading Prue on.” Chastity had abandoned her half-eaten macaroon. She opened her hazel eyes very wide and dropped her voice to a whisper. “To have his wicked way with her.”

“Oh, Chas!” Her sisters laughed, as they were intended to, but the amusement didn’t last very long.

“Now, why would a licentious libertine have any interest in me in my present guise?” Prudence demanded. “I look like a prim, dowdy, spinster governess.”

“I imagine that image slipped somewhat when you got angry,” Constance said with a dry smile. “Did you take your glasses off?”

“I don’t know, I . . . Oh, for heaven’s sake, Con. What if I did?”

Her sisters said nothing, merely regarded her with quizzically raised eyebrows. “Oh, give me strength.” Prudence took the sandwich again and devoured it with two vigorous bites.

“So, you accepted this invitation,” Chastity said.

“Yes, I told you,” Prudence said. “I couldn’t turn down the opportunity to try again to get him to take the case.”

“Is he attractive?”

Prudence considered this. “Not to me,” she said definitely. “But I can see how some women might find him so. I just don’t fall for the superior male type.”

Her sisters nodded.

“Of course, he does have a rather nice voice,” Prudence said with scrupulous fairness. “And when his smile’s genuine some women might think it’s attractive.”

“But you were never taken in by the display of charm,” Constance said, taking up her teacup.

“No,” her sister stated. “Not for one minute.”

“Well, it’ll be interesting to see what the evening brings,” Chastity said neutrally.

Prudence took another cucumber sandwich.

Chapter 6

G
oing out, my dear?” Lord Duncan paused in the hall as his middle daughter came down the stairs that evening, her coat over her arm.

“Yes, a dinner party,” Prudence said as she took the last step. She was aware of her father’s rather surprised look as he took in her appearance. His daughter did not ordinarily attend dinner parties dressed for a funeral. There was something distinctly unmodish about her untrimmed gown of brown tabby. In fact, he couldn’t remember ever having seen it before.

Prudence had no intention of inviting a comment on her dress and said swiftly, “Good evening, Lord Barclay.” A thin layer of ice coated the polite greeting, but neither the earl nor his host heard it.

“Evenin’, Prudence,” the earl declared. He gave her a facetious smile. “Some eligible young man, is it?” He reached out to pat her cheek but she drew back in the nick of time.

The earl chuckled. “No need to be coy with me, Miss Prudence.” He tapped the side of his nose. “A word to the wise, miss. It’s all right for a debutante to be coy, but it don’t sit pretty on a woman past her first few seasons.”

Prudence glanced at her father and saw that he was looking with marked disfavor at his friend. It surprised her, since Lord Duncan was in general blindly loyal, but it also gave her heart. Perhaps he wasn’t completely convinced of the earl’s innocence, although he was loud in his denunciation of his friend’s accusers. Either way, there was something acutely distasteful in the earl’s veiled references to Prudence’s age and unmarried situation, and Lord Duncan was both fastidious in his manners and a most loving father.

Prudence offered a chilly smile and said, “How is your libel suit progressing, my lord?”

The question had the desired effect. His lordship’s complexion turned a rather unattractive shade of purple. “Damned cowards haven’t responded yet . . . not a peep out of ’em, my solicitors say. Slippery as eels, they are. But if they think they can play mum and get away with it, they can think again.”

“They’re hardly going to hide forever, Barclay,” Lord Duncan pointed out.

“Oh, no, we’ll get ’em, and when we do I’ll string ’em up, every one of ’em,” he declared savagely. “I’ll flay ’em alive and take ’em for every penny they’ve got.”

“Somehow I doubt even the full penalty of the law will allow you to do all three,” Prudence observed mildly. “How many defendants do you think there are, sir? You seem confident it’s more than one.”

“Of course there’s more than one . . . a whole team of sissies, backstabbing men masquerading as women, up to all sorts of perversions, you mark my words.” He glared at Prudence and wagged a finger very close to her nose. “You mark my words, miss, we’ll have every copy of that filthy rag confiscated and burned in the streets. I’ll ruin ’em and see ’em rot in jail, every damn one of ’em.”

“You don’t think it’s possible that these writers are
actually
women, Lord Barclay?”

He stared at her as if she’d grown two heads. “Nonsense . . . nonsense. Women, indeed!” He laughed uproariously, clapping Lord Duncan on the shoulder. “
Women.
Women writing that kind of filth, digging up those lies, going into those places . . . what d’you think of that idea, eh, Duncan?”

Lord Duncan frowned. He was thinking of his late wife. “Unlikely,” he agreed. “But not impossible.”

“Oh, your brain’s addled, my friend,” the earl declared. “No respectable woman would have anything to do with it.”

“Respectable women seem to read it, though,” Prudence pointed out. “My own mother, as I recall, used to find the broadsheet’s articles stimulating.”

This comment effectively silenced Lord Barclay, since he could hardly pour scorn on his friend’s dead wife.

Prudence gave him a minute to find a suitable response, and when it seemed he would be grasping for words for rather a long time said, “Are you dining in, Father?”

Lord Duncan was visibly relieved at the change of subject. “Yes, I thought we would. Jenkins and Mrs. Hudson could rustle something up for us.”

Prudence reflected that the butler and housekeeper would have appreciated some notice, particularly since the household income didn’t allow for a pantry stocked with delicacies just on the off chance that their employer would decide to dine in and invite a few friends. But she and her sisters had long given up expecting their father to acknowledge the household’s straitened finances.

She glanced at the grandfather clock. It was nearly eight. Chastity was dining with Constance and Max this evening, so there was no one but herself to steer Mrs. Hudson through her initial dismay when it was made clear to her she would have to produce a passable dinner in the next hour.

“I’ll go and talk to Mrs. Hudson,” she said. “There’s a fire in the library. I’ll send Jenkins with whisky.” She draped her coat over the newel post and hurried into the kitchen, the skirts of her gown rustling stiffly around her.

“Is that his lordship, Miss Prue?” Mrs. Hudson had been sitting in her rocking chair beside the range in anticipation of a quiet evening with no dinner to prepare, but she got to her feet as Prudence entered the kitchen.

“Yes, I’m sorry, Mrs. Hudson. His lordship and Lord Barclay would like dinner. Do we have anything in the pantry?” Prudence opened the pantry door even as she asked the question.

“Oh, dearie me!” the cook muttered. “And I gave young Ellen the evenin’ off. Mr. Jenkins will have to help me.”

“I’d help you myself, but a motor is coming for me at eight.” The chime of the front door rang from the row of bells above the kitchen door. “Oh, that must be it now. There are some venison chops in here, could you roast them?”

“I was a bit doubtful about those,” Mrs. Hudson said, pushing past Prudence into the pantry. “I had my doubts about whether the venison had hung long enough.” She picked up the chops and sniffed them critically. “Have to do, I suppose. With a few potatoes, and I’ve some brussels sprouts here somewhere . . .” Her voice faded as she moved farther into the pantry, poking along the shelves. “A drop o’ red currant jelly and a glass of Madeira in the gravy, maybe . . .”

“And a Queen of Puddings for after,” Prudence suggested.

“Oh, aye, that I can do. And there’s some of that Stilton left that his lordship’s so fond of.” Mrs. Hudson backed out, dangling two thick venison chops from her fingers. “I’ll just throw these in the roasting pan. Don’t know what to do for a first course, though.”

“The motor is here for you, Miss Prue,” Jenkins announced from the door. “I understand his lordship and Lord Barclay will be dining in tonight.”

“Yes, and Mrs. Hudson has come up trumps as usual,” Prudence said. “And Father would like you to take whisky to the library. I’m sorry I can’t stay to help but—”

“Just you run along and enjoy yourself, Miss Prue,” Mrs. Hudson said. “Mr. Jenkins and me, we’ll manage. They can have sardines on toast to start. A few springs of parsley and a little chopped egg’ll dress it up nicely.”

Prudence smiled. “You’re a wonder. Don’t wait up for me, Jenkins. I have my key.”

“The chauffeur said he’d been sent by a Sir Gideon Malvern,” Jenkins mentioned casually as he preceded her into the hall. He took her coat from the newel post and held it out for her. “An elderly gentleman, is he, Miss Prue?” The puzzled glance he cast over her dowdy dress was covert and yet its meaning was quite clear to Prudence. Jenkins was not accustomed to seeing any of the ladies of the house venturing outside in anything but the most stylish and elegant of dress. And Miss Prue was exceptionally meticulous in all matters sartorial.

“I wouldn’t have said so,” she replied, buttoning her coat.

“I heard there was a barrister of that name, Miss Prue. Quite a famous one.”

“Yes, Jenkins,” she agreed as he opened the door for her. “And we need him rather desperately, so wish me luck. I need to be especially persuasive tonight. I’m hoping I look very serious and businesslike, ready for an evening of grave discussion, not idle pleasure.” She raised an eyebrow, inviting his opinion.

“That’s certainly the impression I have, Miss Prue,” he said tactfully, escorting her down the steps to where a liveried chauffeur stood beside the open door of a black Rover. “I’m sure your business will prosper.”

“You have more faith in my powers than I do, Jenkins.” Prudence stepped into the back seat of the car with a smile at the chauffeur and a wave for Jenkins. The chauffeur began to close the door. “Where are we going?” she inquired.

“Long Acre, madam.” He closed the door and went around to the driver’s side.

Prudence sat back. The car had a top but the sides were open and she was glad the rain had stopped and it was a mild and windless evening. Nevertheless, she tied the scarf she wore to protect her hair more tightly beneath her chin and turned up the collar of her coat. Covent Garden was a strange choice of venue in the circumstances, she thought a little uneasily. The restaurants around the Opera House and the theaters of Drury Lane would be very public, and there were bound to be people she knew. If she was seen with Sir Gideon, there would inevitably be talk, and maybe later, when the trial started, someone would remember seeing them together and start to wonder. It was a little too risky for comfort. It seemed stupid now that she hadn’t asked where he was taking her, and yet at the time the question hadn’t occurred to her. When a man asked you for dinner you either accepted or didn’t. You didn’t base your response on the kind of entertainment he was offering.

The chauffeur drove slowly and considerately through the puddle-strewn streets. The ripe stench of horse manure was thick in the air, stirred up by the afternoon’s rain, but the rain had also settled the dust. When they turned into the thronged narrow streets around Covent Garden, Prudence drew farther back into the vehicle’s interior and wished she’d thought to bring a veil.

The car drew up outside a discreet-looking house with shuttered windows and a door that opened directly onto the street. The chauffeur helped Prudence to the street and escorted her to the door. She glanced up at the house. It bore none of the telltale signs of a restaurant. In fact, she thought, it had the air of a private home.

The door opened a minute after the chauffeur had rung the bell. A gentleman in austere evening dress bowed a greeting. “Madam, Sir Gideon is awaiting you in the red room.”

Red room?
Prudence glanced at the chauffeur as if for enlightenment but he had already stepped back to the street. She found herself in an elegant hall with a black and white marble floor and elaborately molded ceilings. A flight of stairs with gilded banisters rose from the rear.

“This way, madam.” The man preceded her up the stairs and along a wide corridor. Voices, both male and female, came from behind closed doors, together with the chink of china and glass. Prudence was as intrigued as she was puzzled.

Her escort stopped outside a pair of double doors in the middle of the corridor, knocked once, then with an almost theatrical flourish opened both doors wide. “Your guest, Sir Gideon.”

Prudence stepped into a large, square room, furnished as a drawing room except for a candlelit dining table set for two in a deep bow window overlooking a garden. It was immediately obvious why it was known as the red room. The curtains were red velvet, the furniture upholstered in red damask.

Gideon Malvern was standing beside the fireplace, where a small fire burned. He set down the whisky glass he held and came across the room. “Good evening, Miss Duncan. Let me take your coat.”

His evening dress was impeccable, tiny diamond studs in his white waistcoat. Prudence, as she removed her head scarf, had a flash of regret at her own carefully chosen costume. In the interests of making absolutely certain the barrister understood this meeting was not a social occasion, she had decided to preserve the image of the dowdy spinster that she’d created in his chambers that afternoon. In fact, without exaggeration, she looked a fright in a hideous brown dress she’d unearthed from a cedar closet that hadn’t been opened in ten years. She had no idea where the dress came from. It certainly wasn’t something her mother would ever have worn. She unbuttoned her coat with some reluctance and allowed him to take it from her. He handed it to the man who had ushered her upstairs. The man bowed and withdrew, closing the doors gently behind him.

Gideon surveyed his guest, one eyebrow lifting a fraction. He was trying to imagine how any woman, let alone one as relatively young as this one, could deliberately choose to dress with such abominable lack of taste. One had to assume she had
chosen
the gown she was wearing, just as she had chosen her costume that afternoon. Perhaps, he thought, she was color-blind as well as shortsighted, or whatever problem she had with her eyesight that obliged her to wear those thick horn-rimmed spectacles. She was certainly fashion-blind. His nose twitched. Could that possibly be a whiff of mothballs emanating from the folds of that dreadful evening dress?

“Sherry,” he said. “May I offer you a glass before dinner?”

“Thank you,” Prudence responded, well aware of his reaction to her appearance. It was exactly what she had intended, but it still left her chagrined. She was far more used to admiring glances than the barrister’s mingled pity and disdain.