Free The Bride Hunt by Jane Feather Page A

eyes.
    “Stunning,” Prudence said. “So different from that little mink thing you were wearing this morning. I love those orange plumes against the black velvet.”
    “I must say, I’m enjoying my new wardrobe,” Constance confessed almost guiltily, drawing off her gloves. “Max is the driving force. He has the most avant-garde taste. Quite surprising, really, for someone who’s always seemed so conventional.”
    “He married you, didn’t he?” Prudence remarked. “Not the mark of a conventional man.”
    “Perhaps not.” Constance was as unaware of the little smile playing over her lips as she was of the glow on her cheeks, and the luminous sparkle in her eyes.
    “Nice afternoon?” Chastity inquired blandly as she poured tea for her sister.
    Constance gave her a sharp look and then laughed a little self-consciously. “Is it that obvious?”
    “It’s fairly obvious you didn’t spend the entire afternoon with Letitia.”
    Constance changed the subject. She glanced up at the waitress who was hovering at the table. “Anchovy toast,” she said. “I would like two pieces, please. What?” She looked at her sisters, who were regarding her with amusement.
    “You don’t usually eat tea,” Chastity observed.
    “I seem to be hungry this afternoon,” Constance declared repressively. “And you’re a fine one to talk. Look at that decadent concoction on your plate.”
    “Oh, it’s delicious, you should try one.” Chastity dipped her finger into the raspberry cream and licked it slowly. “Heavenly. Raspberry and chocolate. I can never decide whether chocolate and orange is a better combination. It all depends on which one I’m eating at the time.”
    “I’d like a marron glacé,” Prudence said, looking the cake trolley over somewhat absently. “Thank you.” She smiled at the waitress who poured her tea.
    “What’s the matter, Prue?” Constance inquired after a few seconds. “You’ve been looking at that marron glacé as if you’ve never seen anything like it before.”
    “I had a revelation on the way here,” Prudence said.
    “About the case?” Chastity leaned forward eagerly.
    Prudence nodded. “Just a thought about this fraud business.”
    “Go on,” Constance invited, sniffing hungrily at the fragrant plate of anchovy toast that had been placed in front of her.
    “All right.” Prudence took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose with a finger. “When Father threw his fortune behind that lunatic scheme to run a railway across the Sahara—”
    “And lost every penny he possessed,” Chastity stated.
    “Precisely. Well, he didn’t consult us, did he? And if he’d consulted Mother she would have put a stop to it with one soft word, but, of course, she wasn’t there.”
    “True,” Constance said, watching her sister closely.
    “But who was there?” Prudence replaced her glasses. “The one person whose voice Father listened to, whose influence he bowed to.”
    “Barclay,” her sisters said in unison.
    “Yes, Barclay. The man who never left his side, who comforted him and stood his friend throughout his grief. But what if . . .” Prudence lowered her voice, leaning across the table, and her sisters automatically brought their heads closer to hers. “What if Barclay was preying on a man unbalanced by grief? What if he put Father up to that scheme for his own ends?”
    “Father said only that it was some investment company that was behind the project,” Chastity said, frowning.
    “Yes,” Prudence agreed. “And he said he expected the shares to quadruple in price in the first year.”
    “But the company went bankrupt,” Constance said slowly.
    “If there ever
was
a company.” Prudence sat back and surveyed her sisters. “It’s not difficult to counterfeit documents. Barclay could have invented the company out of whole cloth and convinced Father of its credentials. I’ll bet there’s some documentation somewhere among Father’s papers. If we can link