Free The Bride Hunt by Jane Feather

second thought.” She frowned, wondering why that was the case. “We’ll see what Con thinks this afternoon. Maybe she’s expecting to do it.”
    “She did write the piece,” Prudence said, turning back to the parlor. But she knew from the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that the task of convincing Sir Gideon Malvern had her name on it. Once again she pictured him as she’d seen him in the dim light of the hall. She’d had the sense of a presence rather than any specific details about height or form or coloring. But his eyes had most definitely been gray. Gray with a certain piercing quality to them . . . a light that had fixed upon her like a torch beam. And his voice . . . now, she had liked his voice.
             
    She was feeling in a rather more positive frame of mind that afternoon as she walked along Piccadilly to meet her sisters. Chastity had written her letter to the melodramatic miss from Wimbledon and had left early to stop at the post office to send it on its way, so Prudence was enjoying a solitary walk. It was a lovely crisp autumn afternoon, when London showed itself at its best. The trees were turning deep red and burnt orange and there was the faint scent of roasting chestnuts on the air. She passed a vendor at his brazier and hesitated, tempted by the aroma, but she was within a few yards of Fortnum’s and she couldn’t really walk into the tearoom with a newspaper cone of chestnuts.
    How difficult could it be to persuade a barrister of the legitimacy of a case that shrieked legitimacy? So, maybe they didn’t have much . . . no, any . . . evidence for the fraud accusations, but maybe, just maybe there was an obvious place to start looking. The idea so startled her that she stopped dead on the pavement. A man behind her dodged sideways to prevent a collision and passed her with a quick sidestep, staring at her.
    Prudence offered a smile of apology and began walking slowly again. Why had they not thought of it before? It seemed obvious now. But perhaps they’d been blinded by their father’s loyalty and dependence on his friend. She caught herself humming and relished a lighthearted feeling that had become a stranger just recently. She smiled at the doorman who held open the glass doors for her and entered the wide marble expanse of the tearoom. The usual string quartet was playing on the dais, and swallowtail-coated waiters, and waitresses in frilly white caps, moved between the crowded tables with trolleys laden with rich cakes and silver-domed serving platters.
    “Mrs. Ensor and the Honorable Miss Prudence Duncan are seated in the far alcove, Miss Duncan.” The maître d’hôtel bowed. “If you’d like to follow me.”
    “Thank you, Walter.” Prudence followed him, aware of the eyes on her. Every new arrival was scrutinized in this fashion, chattering tea drinkers hoping for some intimation of scandal. Constance would have been the object of every gossiping tongue in the room since it was her first public outing since her marriage. Her clothes and general appearance would have been taken apart to the last stitch. Prudence smiled and nodded at acquaintances but didn’t stop to greet anyone.
    Her sisters were seated at a round table in a relatively secluded alcove behind a pillar. They waved as she came up. “There you are, Prue. We thought it better not to sit in plain sight today. To save Con some gawping and congratulating,” Chastity explained.
    “Oh, I think I’m already the subject of conversation at most tables,” Constance said as Prudence took the chair Walter pulled out for her.
    “Your dress must be,” Prudence declared with approval. “It’s gorgeous. I love those black and white stripes and those sleeves . . . the way they puff at the top and then are tight and buttoned to your wrists. Are those mother-of-pearl buttons?”
    “Yes, aren’t they pretty? What do you think of the hat?” Constance lifted the black spotted veil that covered her