The Wedding Game

by Jane Feather

  Chastity glanced up at him, hearing something left unsaid. Lord Brigham's mother was a somewhat fearsome lady but an excellent judge of character. “And?” she asked with the ease of established friendship.

  He lowered his head so that his mouth was close to her ear. “My mother found the contessa charming, but the daughter . . .” He let the sentence trail off.

  “You can't stop there,” Chastity declared in an undertone, looking covertly at the new arrivals, who were being greeted by their host and hostess.

  “A bore,” he whispered. “A priggish bore, to be exact.”

  Chastity told herself it was uncharitable to be amused by gossip, but she couldn't help a stifled chuckle. She could hear the formidable Lady Brigham pronouncing the condemnation in her elegantly articulated tones, probably with her long nose lifted in disdain.

  “We had better be introduced,” she murmured, and moved away from him towards the knot of people gathered by the fireplace.

  “Contessa, may I introduce my sister, the Honorable Chastity Duncan,” Prudence said as her younger sister came up to them. “The Contessa Della Luca . . .” She waved an introductory hand between them.

  Chastity shook the hand of a woman well into her middle years, coiffed in somewhat spectacular style with ostrich plumes swaying in her graying pompadour. Her gown was of blue and gold damask, bustled and tightly corseted, with leg-of-mutton sleeves. It was slightly old-fashioned but it suited the woman's rather stately figure. The diamonds at her throat and ears were magnificent.

  “Welcome to London, Contessa,” she said, smiling warmly.

  “Why, thank you, Miss Duncan. Everyone has been so kind.” Her voice had a slight hesitancy, the barest trace of an accent, not as if she was speaking a foreign language, Chastity thought, but more as if her English was overlaid by a language she was more accustomed to speaking.

  “And this is Miss Della Luca,” Prudence said. “Miss Della Luca, my sister Chastity.”

  Laura Della Luca looked down upon Chastity. She was very tall and thin, dressed in a high-collared, very decorous gown of dove gray that hung from her narrow shoulders as if from a clothes hanger. Her hair was severely parted in the center and drawn back over her ears in two neat, braided circles. Her gaze was supercilious. Her narrow mouth moved in the semblance of a smile. “Delighted,” she said in a voice that quite failed to express delight. “I am so unaccustomed to being called miss.” she said. “I am so much more comfortable with signorina.”

  “We must try to remember that,” Prudence said with a smile that came nowhere near her eyes. “Foreign ways are so new to us.”

  Chastity caught Gideon's eye. He seemed to be well aware that this particular guest was sailing a little close to the sharp edge of his wife's tongue. Not that anyone but Prudence's immediate family would be aware of it. Signorina Della Luca would be entirely oblivious of the darts of mockery that would puncture with unerring accuracy any attempts at pretension.

  “Yes, I find the English are so poorly traveled,” the lady said. “Travel is so broadening for the mind.”

  “Indeed,” Constance said with a smile very similar to her sister's. “How strange, then, that it should so often breed contempt for the natives of these backward lands.”

  Max and Gideon exchanged looks that mingled reluctant amusement with a degree of desperation. Once their wives were up and running in this fashion, very little could stop them.

  Chastity, however, came to the rescue. “Oh, you must tell me all about Italy,” she said. “My sisters and I spent some time in Florence with our mother, but it was a long time ago. Or it seems so,” she added. “You know Florence intimately, I'm sure.”

  “Oh, Firenze, of course,” said the lady with a trill. “We have a villa just outside. I sometimes think that the Uffizi is my second home.”

  “How fortunate for you,” Chastity said. “We were only able to spend a month there ourselves.”

  “A month is long enough to get to know the gallery very well, Miss Duncan,” said the contessa with a pleasant smile.

  “With due study, of course,” her daughter put in. “But I hardly think, Mama, that a tourist visit to Firenze, even for a month, can be any substitute for living there.”

  “Dinner is served, Lady Malvern.” The sonorous tones of the butler brought a timely conclusion to the conversation and Gideon breathed again.

  He offered his arm to the contessa. Max, at a nod from his sister-in-law, performed the same service for the signorina, and the party fell into couples, the procession moving in stately fashion across the hall and into the dining room.

  Prudence had seated the contessa in the place of honor on Gideon's right. The signorina she had placed between a judge colleague of Gideon's, who sat on her own right, and Max. She was thus in close proximity to her guest. Fortunately, Chastity and Roddie Brigham sat opposite at the same end of the table, so there was some conversational relief. Constance, up at Gideon's end, would be unable to participate in any conversation at the far end of the table.

  “Did Gideon do any of the cooking this evening, Prue?” Chastity asked her sister as she sat down.

  “No, but he did choose the menu,” Prudence responded. She turned to the signorina. “My husband, Miss Della Luca, is a considerable chef.”

  “Oh, really . . . how unusual.” Laura looked askance. “You would never find an Italian man in the kitchen. Most unmasculine.”

  “Ah, yes,” Prudence said. “But the Italian character is perhaps a little different from the English. Englishmen are perhaps less concerned about their masculinity. It is perhaps more innate, would you not say, gentlemen?” She smiled at the men on either side of her.

  “I think it's probably more to do with the type of cuisine,” Max suggested swiftly. “Pasta, as I understand it, is very time-consuming to create. Women, by the very nature of things, have more time at their disposal.”

  “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

  What 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,” Chas
tity 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.