Authors: Jane Feather
Chastity welcomed the diversion. She rummaged through her handbag and produced a sheet of paper. “I thought it best just to drop a few hints in the letter.” She handed the paper across the table. “I’ve suggested that she attend the At Home at Ten Manchester Square next Wednesday afternoon, when she should ask for an introduction to Lord Alfred Roberts, whom she might find an eligible party.”
“How are we going to get Lord Alfred there?” Constance inquired. “He’s a club man like Father. I can’t see him holding a teacup and conducting small talk with the likes of Lady Winthrop or Mary and Martha Bainbridge.”
“Father will bring him,” Chastity declared with satisfied finality. “I’ve already asked him. I said we needed some more interesting society on Wednesday afternoons and that since Lord Alfred was a particular friend of Mother’s and we think he’s rather lonely, we’d like to include him.”
Constance laughed. “What did Father say?”
“He hummed and hawed a little, but then said that now he thought about it, Alfred was a little less than chipper these days, and maybe he did need to be taken out of himself a little. So he’s promised to bring him. As long as we have more than tea to offer them,” she added, spooning sugar into her own cup.
“That’s easily done. So, now we need a tactful hint about Dottie’s necklines and the amount of face powder she uses.”
“Oh, I’ve covered that. In the last paragraph.” Chastity mumbled inelegantly through a mouthful of macaroon. She waved a finger at the paper her sister held.
Constance read the relevant passage and broke into a peal of laughter. “Oh, you’re so good at this, Chas. It’s priceless. ‘The gentleman in question is rather old-fashioned, of a somewhat shy disposition, and a little alarmed by the ladies so
The Mayfair Lady
would recommend only the most decorous afternoon dress for the first introduction. The editorial staff at
The Mayfair Lady
are convinced that Lord Alfred Roberts will, with the right kind of gentle understanding and encouragement, soon lose his reticence and show himself to be a wonderful companion who enjoys all that life and Society have to offer.’ ”
“I thought it was quite good,” Chastity said complacently. “And the more I think about it, the more I think it would be a perfect match. They can fill each other’s gaps, if you see what I mean. Oh, do stop laughing, Con.” She dissolved into laughter herself, choking on a cake crumb.
Constance leaned sideways and patted her on the back. “Prue will love this letter.” As one, they turned to look out of the window again, hoping to see a hackney cab disgorging their sister at the curb.
Gideon almost jumped to his feet, so startled was he at the precipitate return of his visitor. But this was not the same woman who had been ushered firmly from his chambers a mere three or four minutes previously. The appearance was essentially the same but the aura was quite different. This woman crackled like a newly kindled fire. He still couldn’t see her eyes behind the thick lenses but he could almost feel their heat.
“I do not understand what makes you think you have the right to treat me, or indeed any client, with such contempt and condescension,” Prudence declared, setting her capacious handbag down on the barrister’s table. “Since you had already prejudged the issue, I cannot understand why you would have agreed to a consultation. Unless, of course, you wished merely to amuse yourself. Women are perhaps playthings for you?”
She drew off her gloves finger by finger, each movement punctuating her words. “You did not do me the courtesy of even the pretence at a proper hearing. Did you imagine that I would come to a business meeting unprepared to discuss the evidence I left with your clerk?” She tapped the papers on the table. “We have more than enough evidence to prove our accusations against Lord Barclay. As I understand the law, if there is proof there can be no libel. I am perhaps mistaken?” She raised her eyebrows in ironic inquiry.
Gideon found a moment to catch his breath. He cleared his throat, and his visitor removed her glasses for long enough to polish them on her handkerchief. Her eyes were a revelation. A clear, lustrous light green, lively with anger and intelligence. And they were fixed upon him even as she rubbed smudges from the lenses with a derision that the lauded barrister of the King’s Council had dished out often enough but never before received.
“Am I mistaken, Sir Gideon?” she repeated, setting her glasses back on her nose, resituating them with a vigorous forefinger.
“Ordinarily, no, Miss Duncan.” He stood up as he found his voice. “But the anonymous nature of the accusations makes them appear less than credible and I doubt that a jury will look with sympathy on what seems . . .” He cleared his throat again. “On what could seem a cowardly stab in the back.” He gestured to the chair. “Won’t you be seated?”
“I don’t think so,” Prudence said. “Thank you. I can see that anonymity could pose difficulties, but we really have no choice in the matter. We couldn’t produce the broadsheet if our identities were known, as you would have realized if you’d given it a moment’s intelligent thought. You will have to find a defense that takes that into account.”
He opened his mouth but she swept past his first syllables. “I assume you took the trouble to read my sister’s notes taken during her interviews with the women in question. Perhaps you’d like to look at them again and refresh your memory. Of course . . .” She removed her glasses again and directed a challenging look in his direction. It was a look to make the bravest man wilt.
“Of course, if you continue to prejudge this issue then I will pay you your consultation fee, fifty guineas, I believe, although I would hesitate to call this little interview a consultation, and leave you to your prejudices.” She took a wad of banknotes from the depths of the bag and laid them on the table with a careless flick of her hand. Her companion would never guess what the gesture cost her.
Gideon ignored the banknotes. “Do sit down, Miss Duncan, this could take a few minutes. Would you like tea?” He laid a hand on a silver handbell on his table.
“No, I thank you.” Prudence did, however, sit down. High dudgeon had carried her this far, but its aftermath had left her a little shakier than she was prepared to admit.
“Oh, but I insist,” he said, and rang the bell. Thadeus appeared instantly in a sliver of doorway. “Bring us some tea, Thadeus, and toast a couple of crumpets, if you would.”
The man silently withdrew and Prudence declared, “I am not in the least hungry, Sir Gideon. This is not a social call.”
“No, but it is teatime,” he pointed out mildly. “And I’m certainly ready for mine.” He selected a file from the pile in front of him, opened it, and began to read.
Prudence said nothing, merely watched him closely. She recognized the copies of her sister’s notes and felt a fresh surge of annoyance at the implication that he really hadn’t bothered to read them earlier. Thadeus arrived with a tea tray, and the enticing fragrance of the crumpets swimming in butter made Prudence regret her lofty refusal.
“Shall I pour, sir?” Thadeus intoned.
“Unless Miss Duncan would do the honors.” Sir Gideon looked up and gave her a smile that made her feel she was in the presence of a quite different man. The smile crinkled the skin around his eyes in a most attractive fashion, and gave to the clear gray gaze an appealing gleam.
She shook her head in brief negative and the clerk poured tea into two delicate cups that Prudence would have sworn were Sèvres china. She took the one handed to her because to refuse now would be simply churlish, but she shook her head again when she was offered a crumpet. Dealing with all that melted butter while perched on a chair in her coat and hat would detract from the dignified air of hauteur she was trying to maintain. Sir Gideon seemed to have no such reticence and ate both crumpets with relish even while he continued to read, pausing now and again to make a notation on the pad at his elbow.
At last he looked up, after dabbing the last morsel of crumpet into the remaining butter on his plate and conveying the whole to his mouth without a single drip or smear of grease.
“Very well, I admit that I saw no point in reading the background material once I had read the article. Maybe I acted in haste, but that said, I see nothing here to substantiate the accusation of financial misconduct.” His voice now was as cool as it had been earlier, the smile gone from his expression, his eyes sharp and assessing.
“There is a certain lack, we all agree,” Prudence said calmly. “However, we’re convinced of the truth of the charge.”
“Your being convinced is hardly the same as a jury’s conviction,” he pointed out, the tinge of acid once more in his voice.
“We have a fairly good idea where to look for evidence to substantiate the accusation,” Prudence told him, setting her empty cup on the table.
He regarded her rather quizzically. “Would you care to explain, Miss Duncan?”
“Not at present,” she said, thinking it might be wise to keep a few cards up her sleeve until he’d committed himself to the cause. If she told him about her father’s dealings with Barclay and he still refused to represent them, then she would have exposed her father unnecessarily. It didn’t matter that it would be confidential, she just didn’t like the idea of this supercilious bastard looking down on her father . . . not unless the revelation would serve a purpose. “But I can assure you we know exactly how to go about it.”
He merely raised his eyebrows and said, “You said your sister wrote the article in question, as I recall.”
“Yes, Constance.”
He nodded. “Is she responsible for the lion’s share of the writing?”
“When it comes to political issues, particularly those relating to women’s suffrage, yes.”
He acknowledged this with another slight nod. “And what is your role in the production of this . . .” He gestured to the paper on the table. “This publication?”
Prudence detected the trace of derision again in his tone and her anger rose anew. She got to her feet as she spoke. “I take care of the business end, Sir Gideon. The finances and matters of that nature. Now, if you will excuse me, it’s clear that we have nothing further to discuss, so I’ll not take up any more of your valuable time. Thank you for the tea.” She swooped onto the pages that contained Constance’s notes and swept them into her bag in one movement, conspicuously leaving the banknotes where they were.
Gideon stood up abruptly. “It’s not at all clear to me that we have nothing further to discuss.”
Prudence paused as she was putting on her gloves. “You have made no attempt to disguise your contempt for
The Mayfair Lady.
I’m sure it strikes you as the work of rank amateurs. What you perhaps don’t understand—”
“Don’t put words into my mouth, Miss Duncan,” he interrupted. “Or thoughts in my head.”
“Do you deny it?” she demanded.
“I won’t deny that I’m doubtful about the merits of this case,” he said. “But I’m willing to keep an open mind while you attempt to prove to me that I might find it an interesting exercise.” He smiled again and Prudence steeled herself against the charm. It was, she was convinced, entirely artificial, turned on as and when it suited the barrister.
“Have dinner with me tonight,” he said, the smile deepening. “And do your worst.” He spread his arms wide. “I swear I will come undefended, unprejudiced, open to all and any argument. What could be fairer than that?”
Prudence was so taken aback, she was momentarily without words. He had moved the interview from a business footing to a social one, and more than that, there was something undeniably seductive in his manner. He knew the power of his smile, the deeper resonance of his voice. But why bother to turn it on her? Did he want something from her?
There was only one way to find out.
“I won’t turn down the opportunity to persuade you, Sir Gideon,” she said, hoping she sounded cool and collected rather than astonished and disturbed.
“Then you accept my invitation?” He looked a little peeved, she thought, at her halfhearted response, and it gave her more confidence.
“Certainly. Although I fail to grasp what a conversation at the dinner table could achieve that couldn’t be achieved in your chambers.”
“Then you’ll have to wait and see,” he responded, immediately putting her back up again. “I might surprise you. If you’ll give me the address, I’ll send a motor for you at eight o’clock.”
It would have been more courteous of him to have offered to come for her himself, Prudence thought. She was annoyed, very much so, but common sense dictated that she swallow her annoyance in the interests of another chance to win his support. Also, he intrigued her, reluctant though she was to admit it. He was on the one hand ungracious to the point of rudeness, arrogant, high-handed, and contemptuous, yet on the other he was charming, smiled readily, judging by the crow’s feet around his eyes, and was undeniably attractive when he chose. He must also have a formidable mind, a rare quality that she had always found irresistible in a man. But why was he bothering to charm a woman who had gone out of her way to present herself as a spinsterly dowd?
“Ten Manchester Square.” She walked to the door, making no attempt to soften the curtness of her response with a smile of farewell, but he slid out from behind the table and reached the door ahead of her.
He took her hand and bowed over it. “I look forward to the evening, Miss Duncan. I’ll show you out.” He picked up a large umbrella from the stand by the door and escorted her down to the street. The rain was coming down hard and he said, “Wait here. I’ll fetch a cab.” Before she could protest, he had left the shelter of the doorway and was dodging puddles under the protection of the umbrella.
Prudence was yet more puzzled. From what she’d seen of his manners so far, she would have expected him to send his clerk on the errand, if he hadn’t simply left her to go off on her own in the rain. A man of curious paradoxes, and he had warned her not to rush to judgment. On such slight acquaintance it was probably a warning best heeded.
A hackney cab swung around the street corner and drew up at the doorway. Sir Gideon jumped down and held the umbrella over Prudence until she was safely ensconced. “Where shall I tell the cabbie?”