The Bride Hunt by Jane Feather Read Free Book Online Page A

about that dress.” She regarded her sister’s outfit with a knowing eye.
    “Well, we did go to Cairo via Paris and Rome,” Constance reminded her.
    “That would explain the unmistakable mark of a Parisian modiste.” Prudence closed the door behind them. “I saw in one of the fashion magazines that those straight skirts are becoming all the rage on the Continent. Do you have trunksful?”
    “Not quite.” Constance drew off her gloves and tossed them onto a console table. “But I do have several for you both. The trunk’s following me here in a hackney. There wasn’t room in the motor.” She examined her sisters. “I don’t think they’ll need altering, although Chas might have grown a little rounder since I last saw her.”
    “Calumny!” Chastity exclaimed, laughing. “But I can’t wait to see them. And that hat, Con! Is it a hat?”
    Constance unpinned the small pillow of mink that sat atop her head. “They call it a hat on the Rue de Rivoli, but I think it looks more like a rabbit’s scut. Max liked it, though.”
    “How
is
Max?” Prudence asked, trying not to put too much emphasis on the question as she geared herself for the revelations to come.
    Constance smiled and tossed the fur pillow to join her gloves on the table. She perched on the wide arm of the chesterfield, smoothing out the creases in the tawny silk skirt that stretched tight across her thighs, and unbuttoned her wasp-waisted black jacket to reveal a lace-trimmed blouse of ivory silk. “I believe him to be in fine health.”
    Chastity threw a cushion at her. She ducked, caught it, and threw it back. “We had a wonderful time.”
    “So, we can assume he’s in a relaxed frame of mind,” Prudence said.
    Constance swung her gaze sharply towards her sister. “What is it? I knew something was wrong the minute I walked in.”
    She paused as a knock at the door heralded Jenkins’s entrance with a tray of coffee. “How’s Mrs. Beedle, Jenkins?” she asked as she rose to clear space for the tray on the paper-littered table.
    “Very well, I thank you, Miss Con.” Jenkins poured coffee into three cups and judiciously added sugar to the one that he handed to Chastity.
    “I hope she’s received lots of letters for
The Mayfair Lady.
”
    “Prue collected the last delivery a couple of days ago.” Chastity selected an almond slice from the plate as the door closed behind the butler. They couldn’t wait forever before putting Constance in the picture.
    “Yes,” Prudence said. “Some quite interesting correspondence.”
    Constance’s expression was serious. “What is it?” she asked again.
    Prudence went to the secretaire, where a mountain of paper threatened to tumble to the carpet. “You remember the piece you wrote about the earl of Barclay?” She removed a sheet from the pile.
    Constance rose to her feet too. “Yes. How could I forget?” Her tone was hesitant. “I knew it would cause a stir . . . we all knew that it would.”
    “He’s suing us—or rather,
The Mayfair Lady
—for libel,” Chastity told her, getting to her own feet.
    “But he can’t. It was all true and well documented,” Constance said.
    “Here’s a copy of the solicitor’s letter.” Prudence handed her the document that she had painstakingly copied before leaving the original with Sir Gideon’s clerk.
    “He doesn’t have a leg to stand on,” Constance said. “I had the names of three women whom he’d seduced and abandoned.”
    “And the
Pall Mall Gazette
picked up on it as we’d hoped,” Prudence said. “But their article has only just come out. It’s going to put Barclay in the pillory.” She leaned over her sister’s shoulder and jabbed with a forefinger at the paragraph at the bottom of the letter. “I think that’s where the real trouble lies.”
    Constance read it. “Oh, God,” she murmured. “The financial stuff. I should have left that out. I didn’t have any hard evidence, and yet I know it’s true.” She steepled her