The Bride Hunt

by Jane Feather

  He rose to his feet, murmuring, “Since you won’t sit down—”

  “There’s no reason to sit down. I’ve explained the situation, and that concludes our business. You will get your share when we get ours.” She folded her arms again.

  “Well, you see, I don’t think it does quite conclude our business,” he explained in the same slightly apologetic tone.

  Prudence was suddenly wary. “What do you mean?”

  “As I recall, there was another aspect to our business agreement,” he said. He walked to the window and looked down at the winter-bare garden. “A bride, wasn’t it? You—or rather, the Go-Between—were going to find me a bride in exchange for my defending you in the libel suit.”

  Prudence was now even warier. There was something palpably dangerous in the air. She reminded herself that this man was adept at the art of ambush. She’d seen him in court, and experienced it herself once or twice. Sudden moves on her part were not advisable. She said slowly, as if speaking to one a little short on mental acuity, “You were just toying with us, with the whole idea, Gideon. You remember that.”

  “Oh, no,” he said, turning around from the window. “I was not toying with you or the bargain. I did, as I recall, say that I might prefer to find my own bride, but I was certainly open to suggestions that would widen the field.”

  “Oh,” Prudence said, frowning. “Would you consider meeting Lavender Riley, then? I’m sure you would like each other.”

  Gideon crossed the room in three strides. “Never have I known you to be obtuse, Prudence. No, I would not under any circumstances consider meeting Lavender Riley.”

  “Perhaps Heather Peterson—” she began, and then said no more because it was impossible to do so when her mouth was suddenly otherwise and somewhat forcefully occupied.

  “Have I made myself clear?” he demanded when he finally raised his lips from hers, his hands still, however, holding her firmly against him.

  “I’m not sure,” Prudence said. “You haven’t really said anything yet.”

  He put his hands around her throat, lightly encircling the slender column. His eyes were dark as charcoal as he held her gaze, and she could feel his thumbs against the pulse in her throat, a pulse that was beating so fast, she could hear it in her ears.

  “The Go-Between fulfilled its side of the bargain. It introduced me to the only woman who could possibly be my bride. Prudence Duncan, will you marry me?”

  “Harriet?” It was the only word she seemed capable of uttering.

  “Her horse trainer came back for her last week.” He released her and ran his hands through his immaculately groomed hair in a gesture that expressed frustration. anxiety, and that flash of vulnerability that she found so endearing. “Sarah . . .” he said, “I need your help, Prudence. I was wrong—hell, I’m often wrong. I admit it. But I really need you.”

  “You’re not the only one who’s often wrong,” she said softly, touching his face, moving her other hand up to smooth down his hair. “I admit it freely.”

  He grasped her wrists, held her hands tightly against his face, then turned his lips to kiss the inside of her wrists. “Will you marry me, sweetheart?”

  She smiled. “I think you’re supposed to produce a ring and go down on one knee.”

  “The ring I can do,” he said, “but I’ll be damned if I’m going down on one knee, even for you, sweetheart.”

  She grinned. “I didn’t really expect you to.”

  “Do I have my answer?”

  “Well,” she said consideringly, “I suppose it would save us eight hundred pounds— No . . . no, Gideon.” She danced away from him as he came after her with a look in his eye that she wasn’t at all sure about. “I’ll call Jenkins.”

  “Call him.” He grabbed her arm, swinging her to his body. “You are a wasp and the most impossible woman I’ve ever met.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “And I dislike you intensely too.”

  “Then that seems like an equitable agreement.”

  It was an hour later when Constance and Chastity met on the steps of the house. “Well met,” Constance greeted her sister. “Did you see Mrs. Beedle?”

  “Yes, and a whole stack of letters. Did you write your article?”

  Constance smiled. “Just wait until you read it.”

  “But you didn’t hold Father up to ridicule?” Chastity asked with a worried frown.

  “Chas!”

  “No, of course you didn’t. I’m sorry. I’m just so anxious.”

  “Prue? Did she see him alone?”

  Chastity nodded. “I imagine he’s gone by now. But you know how she tries to hide how she feels . . . if she’s hurt, I mean. I really thought that . . .”

  Constance put an arm around her. “So did I. But they aren’t compatible, Chas. Prue knows that.”

  Chastity nodded as she put her key in the door. The hall was deserted when they went in, and they looked at each other in puzzlement. It was unheard of for Jenkins not to respond to the turn of a key, wherever he was in the house.

  “I expect she’s in the parlor,” Chastity said, heading for the stairs. She stopped halfway across the hall as the stealthy figure of Jenkins suddenly appeared in the shadows of the stairs. He put a finger to his lips and beckoned with the other hand. Fascinated, the sisters followed him into the kitchen.

  “Miss Prue is in the drawing room with Sir Gideon,” Jenkins informed them.

  “Still?” Chastity exclaimed. “He was supposed to come two hours ago.”

  “Yes, Miss Chas. But Miss Prue hasn’t rung for anything.”

  “And you’re certain Sir Gideon didn’t leave . . . when you weren’t looking maybe? Oh, of course he didn’t,” Constance corrected herself when she saw his outraged expression. “How could he have slipped past you?”

  Jenkins nodded, appeased. “I thought it best not to inquire if they needed anything,” he stated.

  “Yes,” Chastity said. “I would have done the same thing.” She looked at her sister. “What do you think, Con? Shall we go in?”

  “And risk in flagrante delicto?”

  “Oh, don’t be absurd, Con. It’s the drawing room.”

  “Well, I think we’d better make a great deal of noise,” Constance said. “Kettle drums. We need kettle drums.”

  “We don’t have any,” Chastity said through her reluctant laughter. “But we could try banging a couple of Mrs. Hudson’s pans together.”

  “Oh, give over, Miss Chas, do,” Mrs. Hudson said, although she, like Jenkins, was trying to stifle a smile.

  “I suggest you knock upon the door, Miss Con,” Jenkins said, once more his stately self. “And maybe wait a few minutes before you open it.”

  “Of course, Jenkins, the perfect solution,” Constance said. She winked at him and he turned discreetly to one side, not quite managing to hide his smile.

  The sisters returned to the hall. They walked around heavily for a few minutes, opened and shut the front door several times, and then approached the drawing room. Constance raised her hand to knock, but the door opened before she could do so.

  “I could hear you from ten miles away,” Prudence said. “Come in. We need your advice.”

  “Oh.” That was unexpected, Constance reflected. “Good morning, Gideon. Are you still finishing up business?”

  “No, I believe we’re only beginning,” Gideon said, coming forward with outstretched hand. “Good morning, Constance . . . Chastity.”

  They shook his hand and then turned as one to their sister. “Prue?”

  “It seems,” she said, “that Gideon has decided to take up the alternative to our bargain.”

  “Oh,” Chastity said with a smile. “And did we find him a bride?”

  “It would seem so,” Prudence said. She moved her hand into the light. A circlet of emeralds threw green fire against the ray of sun piercing the window.

  “The stones seemed appropriate . . . matched your sister’s eyes,” Gideon said, waving his hands in a sl
ightly uncertain manner. He hadn’t realized that he would think he needed the sisters’ approval of his choice of gems. But he realized he needn’t have worried. They were not in the least interested in the ring. They brushed their sister’s hand aside as they embraced her in a hug so fierce, so all-encompassing, he couldn’t help the slightest prick of jealousy.

  And then they broke apart, and he found himself embraced by Constance and Chastity, and the prick of jealousy disappeared. He thought that perhaps it would be a good idea to talk to his soon-to-be brother-in-law about what he should expect of a life married to one of the Duncan sisters.

  “You said you wanted our advice,” Constance reminded them when the hugging was over.

  “Oh, yes. I was thinking we should elope,” Prudence said.

  “The anvil at Gretna Green is not my idea of a wedding,” Gideon said.

  “But just think, we could take the overnight train to Edinburgh, it’s wonderfully romantic, and then—” Prudence stopped. “You really hate the idea.”

  “I see no reason why we should hide in corners. Haven’t you been doing enough of that?”

  Prudence knew this was no ambush. He was facing her with such a question when she had her sisters around her. She could only commend his courage. “Yes,” she said. “But something feels wrong about a grand spectacle at this moment. Constance’s wedding was magnificent, but that wouldn’t feel right now. We’re all too raw.” She looked at her sister for confirmation.

  Constance said, “This is your wedding, love. Whatever you want to do, Chas and I will be here to support you. We’ll leave you to talk it through.” She nodded at Chastity, who nodded back and followed her to the door.

  With her hand on the knob, Chastity turned back. “I do think Gretna Green is a really terrible idea, Prue.” Then they left.

  “If we could wait a year,” Prudence began. “No, I don’t want to either. How small . . . ?”

  “As small as you like. Your family, Sarah, you and me.”

  “You don’t have any family?”

  “My parents are dead and I was an only child. If you wanted a big wedding, then I could produce a reasonable showing on my side, but only Sarah really needs to be there.”

  “And Mary Winston?”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “Mary needs to be there.”

  “Then we’re agreed.”

  He took her in his arms again. “Sweetheart, we are going to agree some of the time, and disagree much of the time.”

  “Yes,” she said against his mouth. “It won’t be too difficult to remind myself that I dislike you intensely.”

  He moved his mouth from hers, brushed his lips along the line of her jaw, and then raised his head. “I’ll get a special license. We can be married within the week.”

  “Yes,” Prudence said. “Best to do it before I change my mind.” Her smile gave the lie to her words.

  “Wasp,” he accused again, pinching the end of her nose. “I had better talk to your father now.”

  Prudence grimaced. “He’s in the library. But bear in mind he’s had more than his fair share of shocks in the last two days. He might not be exactly . . .” She shrugged.

  “I can manage your father, if you can manage Sarah,” he said.

  Prudence nodded, all gravity now. “I’ll do my best, Gideon.”

  “She’s a little uncertain about things at the moment . . . after Harriet, you understand.”

  “I understand.”

  He nodded, ran his hands through his hair again, then kissed her quickly and left.

  Epilogue

  Chas, are you ready?” Constance stuck her head around the door of her youngest sister’s bedroom. “Prue and Father are leaving in five minutes.”

  “Yes, I’m quite ready.” Chastity put down the letter she was reading. “I was only running through the last batch of mail for the Go-Between.”

  “Oh?” Constance gave her a rather quizzical look. “Strange thing to be doing on Prue’s wedding morning.”

  “No, it’s not.” Chastity got up from the dresser chair. “You know how Mother used to say that a minute wasted was a minute lost forever. I’m ready, and I had a minute.”

  “Yes, of course,” Constance said agreeably. “You look lovely.”

  “As do you,” Chastity returned. “And Prue looks sensational. Let’s give her the finishing touches.” Constance nodded and left. Chastity hesitated for a minute before following. She picked up the letter she’d discarded on her dresser and looked again at the signature.

  Dr. Douglas Farrell.

  It seemed that the good doctor was in search of a wife. A helpmeet. A woman who would want to be involved in his work. Was it the same Dr. Farrell she’d seen at Mrs. Beedle’s?

  A question for another day. She grabbed her handbag, took a quick look in the mirror to make sure her hat was straight, and hurried to Prudence’s bedroom.

  “I don’t know if I want this veil,” Prudence was saying as Chastity came in. “It seems too bridal. I’m not walking down the aisle to the wedding march.”

  “Then wear it up,” Constance suggested. “Lift it and put it back. Like so . . . then it frames your face.”

  “And you are a bride,” Chastity chimed in. “It may not be the most conventional wedding, but it still has a bride and groom.”

  “I know. But I wish we’d gone to Gretna Green,” Prudence said. She turned in front of the mirror. She could find no fault with her oyster-colored silk dress that had been refashioned from one of their mother’s afternoon gowns. Something old. No fault with the mink pillow that Constance had lent her as a hat. Something borrowed. No fault with the diamond bracelet that Gideon had given her. Something new. And no fault with the turquoise earrings that her father had given her that morning. Something blue.

  “You forgot the sixpence,” Chastity said, dropping the shiny coin onto the dresser.

  “Oh, yes.” Prudence laughed, and much of her tension dissipated. She sat down, slipped off her ivory silk slipper, and slid the coin into the toe.

  “Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and a sixpence in your shoe,” Chastity recited. “And now you’re ready to get married.”

  “Oh, but am I?” Prudence asked, standing up, curling her toes around the sixpence. “Am I?”

  “As ready as you’ll ever be,” Constance declared. “Gideon is the only man you could ever marry, Prue. If you don’t know that by now, then nothing Chas and I can say will persuade you.”

  “Of course I know it.” She smiled a little dreamily. “I love him, but sometimes I could pour boiling oil on him.”

  “That’s normal,” Constance said from the benefit of experience. “I don’t see any way that Duncan women can marry men strong enough for them without accepting boiling oil and cannon fire as part of the bargain.”

  “I’m ready,” Prudence declared. “Let’s get married.” She paused in the doorway and said with a slightly tremulous smile, “At least Gideon has Max to stand up with him. I’m sure he’s as scared as I am.”

  Chastity looked at her anxiously. “No regrets, Prue?”

  Prudence took a deep breath. “No . . . none. Let’s go.”

  Gideon and Max stood at the altar in the side chapel of the small church in Westminster. Sarah and Mary Winston sat in the front pew. Constance and Chastity sat on the opposite side. Lord Duncan had insisted that he walk his daughter down the aisle.

  The organist began to play. Gideon looked towards the door. Prudence, his bride, the woman who once upon a time he could never have dreamed of as a life’s companion, was now the only woman he could imagine sharing his life. And she was walking towards him, her step as strong and decisive as always. And yet he could see the slight tremor of her lips, the hesitancy in her eye, and he knew she was as terrified and yet as certain of the rightness of this as he was.

  He stepped forward as she reached him. Max touched his shoulder in brief masculine reassurance and then went to sit beside his wife. Lord Duncan k
issed the bride’s cheek and stepped back also to take his seat. Gideon took Prudence’s hand and her fingers twined with his. The words were said. He put the gold band on her finger. He kissed her. And it was done. They went into the small registry to sign the book, and when they went back to the church, they were alone.

  “Never,” Gideon whispered, bending towards her ear, “will I let you go. Never. You understand that?”

  “And that goes double for me,” she returned in the same whisper. “Whatever happens, we belong together. Through boiling oil and cannon fire.”

  “I’m not going to ask where that came from. But yes, through boiling oil and cannon fire. We belong together.” He kissed her again, and there was nothing formal about this kiss. It was an affirmation that ignored their surroundings, the incense-scented gloom, lit only by the altar candles.

  Prudence looked around at the deserted church and Gideon said softly, “You wanted Gretna Green. I agreed with your sisters on a compromise. We’ll have a family celebration tomorrow, but for now, there are only the two of us.”

  She smiled up at him. “Where are we going?”

  “A bride is not supposed to know her honeymoon destination,” he said. “You have to trust me.”

  “I do,” she said. “Now and for always.”

  “Boiling oil and cannon fire notwithstanding?” he teased.

  “Trust can withstand the occasional spark,” she returned.

  About the Author

  Jane Feather is the New York Times best-selling, award-winning author of The Bachelor List, Kissed by Shadows, To Kiss a Spy, The Widow’s Kiss, The Least Likely Bride, The Accidental Bride, The Hostage Bride, A Valentine Wedding, The Emerald Swan, and many other historical romances. She was born in Cairo, Egypt, and grew up in the New Forest, in the south of England. She began her writing career after she and her family moved to Washington, D.C., in 1981. She now has more than ten million copies of her books in print.

  Also by Jane Feather

  VICE

  VANITY

  VIOLET