Free The Wedding Game by Jane Feather

And she's a nice woman, but a little uncertain about London. If you would just put her at her ease . . .”
    “Make sure Jenkins puts the whisky decanter out.” Lord Duncan returned once more to the paper.
    “Of course,” Chastity said, rising from the table. “Have you finished? Shall I tell Madge to clear away?”
    “Is that the name of the new parlor maid?” her father asked. “Thought she looked unfamiliar.”
    “She's one of Mrs. Hudson's nieces. A nice girl. She'll be coming down to Romsey with us at Christmas.” Chastity went to the door.
    “Oh, yes, Christmas. I suppose it'll be a small party?”
    “Not particularly,” Chastity said. “Just family at present. But we might pick up some strays between now and then.”
    “An expensive business, house parties at Christmas,” her father said.
    “I thought we'd pawn the Stubbs,” Chastity responded, referring to the George Stubbs that hung over the wall safe in the library. She whisked herself from the room before her father could react to the joke.
    Jenkins was crossing the hall from the front door with a handful of letters. “Has the postman been, Jenkins? Anything interesting?” she inquired.
    Jenkins looked suitably shocked. “I wouldn't know, Miss Chas. I haven't looked at them.”
    Chastity took the letters from him. “You know perfectly well, Jenkins, that nothing of significance passes you by, just as you know there are no secrets from you in this house.”
    “I don't go about prying, Miss Chas,” he protested.
    “No, of course you don't,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek that brought a dull flush in its wake. “I have to go to the florist's to buy some carnations this morning. We need to arrange them in the usual way before the At Home.”
    “Very well, Miss Chas. Another client for the Go-Between, I assume?”
    “Yes, exactly. The gentleman, a Dr. Farrell, will ask for Lord Buckingham, as usual. The white carnation goes to a lady who likes to be called Signorina Della Luca.”
    “An Italian lady, I take it.”
    “No, not a bit of it,” Chastity said, wrinkling her nose. “She just likes to affect Italian airs.”
    “I see,” the butler said.
    “Oh, and Lord Duncan has promised to put in an appearance, but he won't drink tea.”
    “I'll make sure the whisky decanter is on the sideboard, Miss Chas.” Jenkins nodded and went on his way.
    Chastity glanced through the letters as she went upstairs. Household bills mostly. Nothing of any great significance, and nothing to trouble her father with. She put them on the secretaire where Prue, the family mathematician, who still largely managed the household finances, would go through them when she came round later that afternoon. Then she went to fetch her coat and hat for her trip to the florist's.
    She returned with her arms full of red and pink carnations, a single white bloom buried in the colorful depths, and ran into her sisters just alighting from a hackney at the bottom of the steps. “We thought we'd come for luncheon,” Prudence said. “In case Father needed some more persuasion. Did you have any luck?”
    “He agreed to show his face for ten minutes,” Chastity said, unlocking the front door. “But very reluctantly, so if you could add your voices to the pot it might keep him up to the mark.”
    “Is he in the library?” Constance asked, taking off her hat.
    “Unless by some miracle he's gone to his club,” her youngest sister said. “Jenkins, is Lord Duncan in?”
    The butler relieved her of her armful of flowers, saying, “He did go out for a stroll for half an hour, but he came back a few minutes ago. Good morning, Miss Con, Miss Prue. You'll be here for luncheon?”
    “If it's not too much trouble for Mrs. Hudson,” Constance said.
    “No, it's always a pleasure to see you both. I'll put these in water for the time being.” He carried the flowers towards the kitchen.
    “Let's go and see Father.” Constance was already halfway to the library door.