Free The Wedding Game by Jane Feather Page A

Her sisters followed her.
    Lord Duncan was standing at the window looking out at the wintry garden. He turned as his daughters came in. “Well, you're a sight for sore eyes, m'dears,” he said with a clear attempt at joviality. “If you've come to bully me about the At Home this afternoon, there's no need. I told your sister I'd be there, and I will be.”
    “We don't only come to bully you, Father,” Prudence said reproachfully. “We came to see how you are.”
    “Well enough,” he said. “How's Gideon?”
    “Busy defending a cad,” Prudence told him with a chuckle.
    “And Max is writing a White Paper on the need for more tar macadam on the main roads out of London so that motor vehicles can travel more easily,” Constance said. “He wants to know if you'd like to drive down to Romsey with him on Christmas Eve. We're going to take the train.”
    “I'll think about it,” Lord Duncan said. “Unreliable things, motorcars.” Ever since his own disastrous attempt at owning one some months before, he'd developed a considerable aversion to motorized transport.
    “Max's Darracq isn't unreliable.”
    “Neither is Gideon's Rover,” Prudence chimed in. “But he'll have Sarah and Mary, as well as all our luggage and presents.” She laughed. “Sarah's presents and belongings actually take up enough space for a railway carriage.”
    “Well, I'll think about it,” Lord Duncan repeated. “Let's go in to luncheon.”
    The sisters managed to keep their father entertained throughout the meal. He spent so much of his time immured in the house that reminding him of the existence of the outside world had become one of their main endeavors. They all hoped that sooner rather than later these frequent reminders would act to bring him out into the world again.
    At the end of luncheon, he rose from the table with a benign smile and a rather rosy countenance. “I think I'll take a glass of port in the library,” he said. “Leave you girls to your own chatter.”
    “Don't forget the At Home,” Prudence reminded him. “Jenkins will come and tell you when the Contessa Della Luca arrives and you can make your appearance then.”
    “Oh, very well,” he said, sounding resigned. “I trust the woman is capable of holding a sensible conversation.”
    “You'll find her very easy to talk to,” Chastity assured him. “She's very cultivated.”
    Lord Duncan shook his head and went off to his port in the library.
    “Are you changing, Chas?” Prudence asked, running an eye over her younger sister's simple navy-blue linen blouse and gray skirt.
    “Yes, I suppose so,” Chastity said. “Since you two have come dressed to the nines.”
    “I wouldn't say that,” Constance said. “Elegant, yes. But dressed to the nines, no. That's so vulgar, Chas.” She smoothed down the skirts of her blue-and-white-striped silk afternoon dress with a mock pained air.
    Chastity laughed. “Well, you both look very elegant, then, so I had better go and do something about my own costume.” She went upstairs, leaving them to arrange the carnations on the hall table. Jenkins would be responsible for giving every lady visitor a flower before he announced them, ensuring that the one white bloom went to the signorina.
    In her own bedroom, Chastity opened the armoire and gazed at its contents. She caught herself wondering how Douglas Farrell was preparing himself for this afternoon. He had struck her as a man not overly interested in his appearance, and since it was to be assumed he had very little money, it was also to be assumed that his wardrobe would be rather limited. But he would surely have a best suit. He couldn't expect to charm a rich wife into his hand without the correct clothes and accessories. Unless he was intending to announce up front to a prospective bride that he was only after her money, he must be prepared to appear to be something that he was not.
    Chastity took out a cream crepe de chine blouse with a shirred bodice and a high,