The Wedding Game (21 page)

“I don't think dragons would be at all suitable,” Laura declared earnestly. “I don't think they would give quite the right impression. But perhaps a Buddha,” she mused.

“A . . . a reclining one,” Chastity suggested from behind her book, a suspicious tremor in her voice. “Or do you think a sitting one would be best, Laura?”

“What are you reading, Chastity?” Douglas demanded severely.

“
Pride and Prejudice,
” she said. “It's so wickedly funny.”

“But it doesn't seem to hold your attention,” he observed aridly. “Not very flattering for Miss Austen.”

“Oh, I've read it so many times, I almost know it by heart,” Chastity said, closing the book over her finger. She began, “‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man—'”

“‘In possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife,'” her sisters chimed in unison. They all three laughed as if at an old and familiar joke and Douglas was not to know the relevance of the quote to their lives. But he found their amusement infectious despite his exasperation at Chastity's teasing.

“Do you agree, Douglas?” Chastity asked, seeing his reluctant smile.

He shook his head. “I have no opinion on the subject.”

“Oh,” Chastity said, disappointed. “What about you, Laura? Do you agree with the universally acknowledged truth?”

Laura frowned. The sisters' amusement had completely escaped her and she considered the question with all due gravity. “I believe,” she pronounced finally, “that wealthy men
and
women have an obligation to marry. It is a social duty.”

“And what about poor men and women?” Prudence asked. “Do they have the same social duty?”

“Indeed not.” Laura shook her head vigorously. “Poverty breeds poverty. The social duty of the poor is to avoid propagating their species.”

“Species?”
Chastity queried, unable to conceal her shock. “They're the same
species
as we are.”

“No, there you are quite mistaken, Chastity,” Laura said firmly. “They lack something essential in their makeup. It's not their fault, poor souls, but it is unfortunately true.”

Chastity looked at Douglas and saw the curled lip, the contemptuous flicker in the charcoal eyes. But his lips were set in a thin line and he looked totally disinclined to enter the conversation. Which didn't surprise her, knowing what she did about his prejudice concerning women's preconceptions. It was dismaying, though, if Laura, by justifying his prejudice, had put him off.

“Ah, you must have read ‘A Modest Proposal,'” Chastity said swiftly, hoping to make light of Laura's opinion. “How does it go?” She frowned. “Something about a child well nursed is a most delicious and wholesome food.” She turned to her sisters, clicking her fingers. “Help me out here.”

“A Modest Proposal for Preventing the Children of Ireland from Being a Burden to Their Parents or Country,” Constance supplied. “It was one of mother's favorite Swift essays.”

“I don't know it,” Laura said with a slight sniff of her long nose.

“‘Stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled,'” Prudence said. “I think that's how it goes.”

“Something about serving equally well in a fricassee, or a ragout,” Chastity said. The three of them laughed, but they were the only ones who seemed to find Jonathan Swift amusing.

“Tea,” Chastity announced into the suddenly awkward silence. She set her book aside. “Let us go for tea. I'm ravenous.” She jumped up, shaking out the full skirts of her lavender gown.

“I don't take tea, my dear,” the contessa said.

“No, it's a strange habit, this English afternoon tea,” Laura announced. “Such an uncivilized time of day to eat, don't you agree,
Dottore
. . . Douglas?” She smiled.

Douglas decided he'd had enough conversation with Laura for the moment. The carriage was beginning to feel somewhat stifling. “On the contrary,” he said. “I am an avid eater and drinker of tea. May I join you ladies?”

“Yes, please do,” Constance said. She and Prudence had stood up with Chastity. “We should warn you, though, that Chastity will eat all the cakes if you give her half a chance.”

“That is such a calumny,” Chastity complained, pulling back the sliding door that opened onto the corridor. “Take no notice of them, Douglas.”

“I'll try not to.” He followed her out. The train took a corner and the corridor swayed violently. Chastity grabbed at the wall as she nearly lost her footing, but she had no need to do so. Douglas had anticipated the movement and had an arm around her almost before the train took the bend. He held her against him until the track straightened, and she could feel the rigid strength, like an iron bar, of the arm supporting her weight, holding her against the broad expanse of his chest. A little jolt of pure and unmistakable physical desire shot through her lower belly.

She pushed herself away from him, her hands on his chest. “Thank you,” she said hastily, stepping back from him. “You're very gallant.”

“Not gallant enough to catch all three of you, I fear,” he said. “Let me lead the way and then I can open the door for you.” He moved ahead of them down the corridor, opening the door between their carriage and the dining car. They walked through in single file and were shown to a table by a frock-coated waiter.

Chastity sat by the window and Douglas took the seat beside her, leaving the other two to sit side by side opposite them. The space was small and Chastity's skirt brushed against his leg. Their proximity was such that he could smell the light fragrance of her hair and a lingering scent of some flowery perfume on her skin. His reactions to that moment when he'd held her against him in the corridor shocked and surprised him. He had an almost insurmountable urge to hold that small rounded body against him again, to feel the press of her breasts that swelled so charmingly against the bodice of her dress, to span the neat indentation of her waist between his hands. Her presence filled his senses like a luscious sun-drenched fruit, all tactile warmth and sweet perfume.

The waiter took their order for tea, providing him with a welcome distraction from a sensual reverie that was beginning to have some embarrassing side effects. Constance poured tea for them all and the waiter set a toast rack and a plate of cucumber sandwiches on the table.

Douglas took a piece of hot buttered toast and spread Gentlemen's Relish lavishly. Determined to inject a slightly contentious note that would give him some much-needed distance from the natural intimacy of this tea party, he said conversationally, “So, the Duncan sisters find Miss Della Luca amusing?”

“
Signorina
Della Luca,” Constance corrected with a sly smile.

“That's rather what I mean,” Douglas said with a raised eyebrow.

“No, of course we don't find her amusing,” Chastity jumped in quickly. “She's so very knowledgeable about art—Italian art in particular—and Italy, and she's so well traveled. She's very interesting. And I think it's wonderful that she's going to redecorate your office with Buddhas and Chinese urns and . . .” Her voice trailed off as she struggled to keep a straight face. “And things,” she finished lamely.

“Yes, indeed, Douglas, you must find her very interesting company,” Prudence said. “And she's obviously so talented at interior decorating. Of course, Con and I haven't seen the Park Lane house, but Chastity has described it to us in great detail.”

“I'm sure she has,” he said. He looked at the sisters, at their innocently smiling faces. “You are very wicked women,” he declared.

“Oh, no, of course we're not,” Chastity protested, spreading clotted cream on a scone. “We're very good-hearted, all three of us.”

“I don't believe a word of it.” He bit into his toast, chewed reflectively, then said, “Where is Lord Duncan?”

“Oh, he traveled down yesterday with Jenkins and Mrs. Hudson,” Chastity said, glad that the conversation had moved from dangerous turf. They wanted to encourage his pursuit of Laura Della Luca, not discourage it. “He wanted to supervise the arrangements.”

“Those pertaining to the cellar, at least,” Prudence added.

“And your husbands?” he inquired.

“Motoring down with bags and baggage and Gideon's daughter and governess and a positive treasure trove of presents,” Constance informed him. “There was no room for wives.”

“Anyway, we like to travel together,” Chastity said. “How's your toast?”

“It's toast.” He was relieved to discover that the effects of his sensual reverie were now completely dissipated.

“But there's good toast and bad toast,” Chastity insisted. “Soggy toast and crisp toast, or even burnt toast.”

He turned his head towards her with a look of mild incredulity.

“I was only making conversation,” she said.

“Is that so? Well, permit me to tell you that I have had more stimulating conversations.”

Chastity sucked in her cheeks. “Small talk tends to be a little banal.”

“Then perhaps we could avoid it.”

“Laura has no time for small talk,” Prudence said. “I'm sure you'll find her discourse very stimulating.”

“So long as it has nothing to do with toast, I'm sure I shall.” They were playing some game but he didn't know the rules—in fact, he didn't even know its object. Whether it was pure slightly malicious mischief or purposeful mischief. He guessed the latter from what he'd seen of the sisters. They seemed to play off one another, relishing the steps in a familiar private dance, but he doubted that they ever did anything just for the sake of it.

“Tell us about Edinburgh, Douglas,” Constance invited. “We've never been but it's supposed to be a beautiful city.”

It was a safe enough topic and Douglas obliged, describing the city of his birth. To his relief the sisters produced only sensible responses and questions and the conversation carried them through tea and back to their compartment.

It was dark by the time they reached the small station at Romsey. Douglas jumped down to assist the ladies as an elderly porter pushed a trolley towards the baggage compartment, where a pair of rather voluble and excited women awaited him, gesticulating at the baggage conductor on the train as they identified the various pieces of luggage that belonged to their Della Luca mistresses.

“You got any bags, Miss Chas?” a voice rumbled from the shadows of the small station building.

“Just the one, Edward, thank you,” Chastity called back as an elderly man in a heavy coat came towards them. “And Dr. Farrell has one too.” She indicated the two valises that Douglas had handed down from the compartment.

“We'll need at least two carriages for everyone, Edward,” Constance said. “And a separate one for Contessa Della Luca's luggage,” she added, looking with some awe at the mountain of bags and trunks piled on the porter's trolley. “Perhaps you should come back for that.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Jenkins said to bring the farm cart,” he said cheerfully. “Joe's driving that and our Fred's driving the gig, so there's plenty of room for all. Bring it along here, Sam,” he said to the heavily breathing porter, and led the way off the platform towards the front of the station where a farm cart, a capacious barouche, and a smaller gig stood waiting.

“Douglas, why don't you go with Laura and the contessa in the barouche?” Chastity suggested quickly. “We three will squeeze together in the gig.”

For a man intending to court Laura Della Luca it was certainly the most appropriate and useful disposition, but Douglas heard himself say, “There's really only room for two and a half in the gig, and I take up enough room for one and half, so if I sit in the barouche, there'll only be room for three. Why don't your sisters accompany Laura and her mother and you and I can travel in the gig. Much more comfortable all around, I would think, wouldn't you?” And before anyone could protest he had deftly handed the Della Lucas into the barouche and was politely extending his hand to Constance.

She glanced over her shoulder at Chastity, then with an imperceptible shrug allowed herself to be handed up. Prudence could see no way to alter the arrangement without sounding as if she had no desire to travel with their guests, so she acceded without comment either.

“There are lap rugs, I see,” Douglas observed. “I should use them, it's a cold night.”

“We have every intention of doing so,” Constance said, frowning slightly. This was a gentleman too ready to take charge, but why would he rearrange matters so carefully decided by his hosts for his own benefit?

“Good,” he said cheerfully, as if quite unaware of her tart tone. “You don't want to ruin Christmas by catching cold.”

He turned away from the barouche and back to the gig where Chastity was already installed, wondering just how Douglas had managed to take the initiative so swiftly. And not just how, but
why.
He had been given the perfect opportunity to pursue his courtship of Laura. Unless it was as she had feared and he was beginning to turn his attention elsewhere.

Dear God, it was getting so complicated. There was nothing she wanted more than to share this close space with him on a frosty night. And nothing that was less conducive to a successful outcome to the Go-Between's strategy.
With an almost defensive movement she took the lap rug off the seat and wrapped it tightly around her legs as if it might insulate her from his physical presence.

Douglas sat beside her. “Could I share the rug?”

It was big enough to be shared, indeed designed to be shared. Chastity released the inside edge and he took it with a murmur of thanks, tucking it over his own lap. Now their knees touched, and at the slight brush of his leg against hers, Chastity again felt that jolt of desire. She sat rigidly upright on the narrow bench.

“How far is it to the house?” Douglas asked, seeming not to notice her stiffness. Except that he had, and he knew its cause. The current between them was almost palpable, a riptide that couldn't be fought. One could only swim with it. What it would do to his plans he didn't know, and for the moment he didn't seem to care.

“About a mile,” she replied distantly.

“A beautiful night,” he said, tipping his head to look up at the clear, star-filled sky. The air was needle-sharp and so dry, it almost crackled. “See Orion over there, and Cassiopeia.”