Free The Bachelor List by Jane Feather Page B

Constance felt a warmth creep over her cheeks and with an effort dragged her eyes from his. She searched for a swift comeback and for once was at a loss. A satisfied smile lingered at the corners of his mouth. He knew he had nonplussed her.
    Max broke off a small piece of cake with his fingers. Constance couldn't help but notice that he had unusually long and slender hands for a man. She said coldly, “A person with such restricted interests can hardly expect to be considered interesting to others.” She felt the snub barely began to express her true feelings but for once she was at a loss in the face of this supremely indifferent arrogance.
    He pursed his lips on a soundless whistle. “Touché, Miss Duncan.” His smile broadened. “I'm sure every one of your guests is most worthy,” he said. “I daresay my lack of interest reflects poorly upon my own social skills.” He gave an offhand shrug.
    “I would have to agree with you,” she retorted.
    “I tell you, my dear Lady Bainbridge, I am seriously considering giving the woman her notice.” Letitia's voice rose suddenly above the generalized buzz.
    “I most strongly advise you to do so, Lady Graham. Waste not a moment.” Lady Bainbridge snapped her fan against her hand. “One cannot entrust one's precious children to such women. They will corrupt those young and unformed minds. I wouldn't permit Martha or Mary to listen to such sacrilege.”
    “What sacrilege is this, Letitia?” Constance inquired, grateful for the opportunity to withdraw from battle and regroup.
    “Oh, my dear, you won't believe it. But I was going through Miss Westcott's bedroom this morning—Miss Westcott is Pammy's governess, you know. One must keep an eye on things. I consider it my maternal duty to inspect her room periodically.” Letitia nodded her head virtuously. “But what should I find?” She paused for dramatic effect and now had the attention of all within earshot.
    “I can't guess,” Prudence said.
    “One of those pamphlets from that organization, the Women's Union, or something.”
    “The Women's Social and Political Union,” Constance said without expression.
    “Whatever it's called. She'd hidden it away in a drawer. Of course she knows perfectly well that I won't have such scandalous nonsense in my house. I mean, what is the world coming to when you can't trust your own daughter's governess.”
    “What indeed?” Constance murmured. “Your vigilance does you credit, Letitia. I'm sure that the right to privacy is well sacrificed on its altar.” She glanced at Max Ensor, and the light in her eye would have given a sensible man pause. “Are you of your sister's opinion, Mr. Ensor?”
    It hadn't taken her long to renew the attack, he thought. But since he was extremely interested in what she might be persuaded or provoked to reveal about her own views of the WSPU he chose to disregard the warning flash in her eyes. “I haven't given it much thought,” he said, then added deliberately, “There's some logic, of course, in saying that women who pay taxes should have a vote.” He thought he detected a flicker of surprise cross her countenance. Watching her carefully, he continued with a dismissive gesture, “But it's such a small share of the female population that it hardly matters.”
    He had hoped to provoke a response but he was disappointed. Constance turned aside to pick up the teapot, offering it to Martha.
    “Men can vote perfectly well for us,” Letitia said. “I'm sure dear Bertie knows exactly the right things to vote for. But I don't know what to do about Miss Westcott . . . Pammy is so fond of her, and we've had so many difficulties with governesses. They so often don't suit Pammy.”
    “I doubt Miss Westcott's political opinions could mean much to a six-year-old, Letitia,” Prudence pointed out.
    “Oh, you'd be surprised, Prudence. The tricks these females use to corrupt the young,” Lady Bainbridge said with a direful nod.
    “No, well, I'm