The Wedding Game (12 page)

She was standing in the hall, checking the set of her hat in the mirror, when Lord Duncan came downstairs, impeccably clad in a gray tweed frock coat and matching trousers, and carrying a gray top hat. He also carried a large bouquet of chrysanthemums and autumn daisies and a parcel wrapped in brown paper tucked under one arm.

“Good morning,” Chastity greeted him with a smile. “I didn't realize you'd come back. What lovely flowers, such wonderful autumn colors. Who are they for?”

Her father looked just the slightest bit self-conscious. “I promised the Contessa Della Luca that I would lend her that book of engravings that your mother bought when we were in Italy. Unfortunately, I couldn't lay hands on it yesterday afternoon, but I found it last night, so I thought I would call upon her this morning.”

And the flowers?
mused Chastity to herself. Her father looked like a man who was going courting, she thought. It would be a good idea to assess the situation for herself, see how he was received by the lady. “If you'd like some company, I'll come with you,” she suggested casually. “I was going to pay a reciprocal call on Laura and her mother one morning soon. Today is as good as any other.”

She couldn't tell whether her father really liked the idea or not, but he was too polite to refuse her company. “Well, that would be very pleasant,” he said. “By all means, join me, my dear. But didn't you have other plans?” He glanced pointedly at her outdoor garments.

“None that were fixed in stone,” she said cheerfully. “Did you send for Cobham or will we take a hackney?”

“A hackney, I believe. We have to become accustomed to managing without our own transport now that Cobham is retiring,” Lord Duncan said. “I understand Prudence has everything in hand.”

“Yes,” Chastity agreed. “Cobham mentioned to her that he was ready to leave London and retire to the country, so she found him a cottage on the estate.”

“Your sister has her own household affairs to attend to now,” Lord Duncan declared, gesturing that his daughter should precede him through the front door. “I must learn not to rely on her as much as I have been doing. Or you, Chastity, my dear. You'll be setting up house for yourself soon enough.”

“I am not looking to do so, Father,” she said. “It doesn't strike me as a matter of urgency.”

“Well, maybe not, maybe not. But it's the way of things, my dear. I used to think I'd have all of you on my hands forever, and now look. Both your sisters married in less than a year.” He shook his head, but he didn't sound displeased.

“Respectably too,” Chastity said with a mischievous smile, linking her arm in his. “That's what
I
find surprising.”

“It is rather surprising,” Lord Duncan agreed, waving his cane at an approaching cab. “Considering that they are not in the least respectable themselves. Any more than you are. Although, to look at you, butter wouldn't melt, as they say. But then, your mother was the same.” He opened the door for Chastity, offering his hand as she stepped in.

A perfectly ordinary, gentlemanly courtesy, Chastity reflected. Dr. Douglas Farrell could use the example.

They chatted idly as the hackney took them to Park Lane and drew up outside a substantial residence overlooking Hyde Park. The contessa was clearly a very wealthy woman, Chastity thought as she stepped onto the pavement, waiting while her father paid the cab. The contessa had said she had bought the house, not hired it. A mansion of this size and in this location would be worth a king's ransom. Now she was thinking like Douglas Farrell, she realized crossly. Assessing the woman's wealth with all the crudity of a fishwife.

However, the sensible little voice persisted, her father could do with a helping hand when it came to his bank balance, and the Signorina Della Luca would surely have sufficient inheritance to fulfill all the doctor's dreams.

A liveried footman opened the door to them. It was the most extraordinary livery, reminding Chastity of a costume at the opera, all gold braid complete with a cocked hat. The massive entrance hall was filled with Italian statuary and vast paintings in gilded frames. The ceiling moldings had been painted a Renaissance blue and etched in gold leaf. It was all quite dazzling, but what would be perfectly in keeping with a Florentine villa was startlingly out of place in a Georgian mansion on Park Lane.

Chastity glanced at her father and saw that he was looking utterly bemused. “I think our hackney was a magic carpet,” she murmured in his ear as they followed the braided footman towards a set of double doors to the right of the hall. “We seem to be in Renaissance Italy.”

Lord Duncan gave her a look that combined disapproval with amusement. The footman threw open the doors and announced with a thick Italian accent, “Lord Duncan . . . the Honorable Miss Chastity Duncan.”

The contessa, with a warm smile of greeting, rose from a gold and white sofa with gilded scrolled arms. She was dressed in a silk saque gown of dark green with a pale yellow trim, her hair concealed beneath an elegant but old-fashioned turban. She came forward, hand extended. “My dear Lord Duncan, Miss Duncan, how good of you to call so soon.”

Chastity's gaze was riveted to the couple standing beside one of the tall windows looking out onto Park Lane. Laura Della Luca and Dr. Douglas Farrell. They had seemed to be in animated conversation, but now both turned towards the visitors.

“I'm tempted to say, ‘We can't go on meeting this way,' Miss Duncan,” Douglas remarked with a cool smile as he gave her his hand.

Last night they had been on a first-name basis, she remembered. Was he trying to erase the easy familiarity of the evening by returning to social formality? Perhaps he didn't want Laura to think that he'd been on such friendly terms with another woman. If so, that was quite promising and she would follow his lead. “We do seem to keep running into each other, Dr. Farrell,” she agreed, shaking his hand quickly before turning to Laura. “How are you, Miss Della Luca?”

“Very well, thank you, Miss Duncan,” Laura responded with the same formality. “It's so kind of you to call. I was just saying to the
dottore
that the door knocker hasn't been still this morning. That charming dinner party at Lady Malvern's the other evening has brought us many visitors.”

“Yes, people have been very welcoming,” the contessa said. “Oh, how delightful,” she said as Lord Duncan, with a little bow, presented his flowers. “Laura, my dear, ring for Giuseppe to bring a vase and coffee. Do sit down, Lord Duncan, Miss Duncan.”

“No coffee for me, dear lady,” Lord Duncan said with a wave of his hand. “Never touch the stuff after breakfast.” He sat down on the sofa beside his hostess and laid his parcel on the sofa table. “I found the book of engravings I was telling you about yesterday.”

“Oh, how lovely,” she exclaimed with clear, unfeigned pleasure as she unwrapped the book. “What will you have instead of coffee? Sherry, perhaps?”

Lord Duncan's preferred tipple was whisky but he consented to sherry. Laura pulled an ornately fringed bell rope by the fireplace. “Yes,” she said, “apart from the
dottore,
we have received calls from Lady Bainbridge, Lady Armitage, and Lady Winthrop.”

“Such charming people,” her mother murmured absently as she turned the pages of engravings.

“You rang, signora.” The braided liveried footman bowed in the doorway. Laura handed him the flowers and gave him instructions.

Douglas said quietly to Chastity, “No ill effects from the jellied eels, I trust.”

She shook her head. “No, none. How about you?”

“Only bad dreams,” he said with a chuckle.

“Oh, do you sleep badly,
Dottore
?” Laura rejoined them, her question sounding rather eager.

“Only when I eat jellied eels,” he responded.

“Jellied eels?” She stared at him in blank incomprehension. “What are they?”

“A Cockney delicacy,” Chastity told her. “And you'd be well advised to stay clear of them. They are quite revolting.”

Lord Duncan looked up from his book. “What's this about jellied eels?”

“Dr. Farrell and I ate them in Covent Garden last night,” Chastity explained.

“Good God, whatever for?”

“A very good question, sir,” Douglas said. “Your daughter challenged me to eat them.”

“Doesn't sound like Chastity's kind of thing at all,” his lordship stated firmly. “You must be mistaken.”

“No, sir, believe me, I am not.”

“No, Father, he's not,” Chastity said. “I did challenge him and he challenged me back, so we both ate them.”

“What a very strange and indelicate thing to do,” Laura said, looking down her long nose. “Jellied eels, how vulgar.” She gave a fastidious little shudder.

“As in food pertaining to the common man,” Chastity pointed out. “As I'm sure your Latin will tell you, Miss Della Luca. You must be very familiar with the ancient language of Rome after a lifetime spent in Italy.”

Laura looked momentarily put out, almost as if she had detected the snub, but the opportunity to pontificate was not to be missed. “But of course,” she said with a decisive nod. “
Vulgar . . . vulgaris.
You must be familiar with the language of the ancients,
Dottore.
It is the language of medicine, is it not?”

“Some of the old textbooks, certainly,” he agreed. “But I prefer to use modern texts.”

“For modern ailments,” said Chastity. “Do you think in our modern society we're developing new illnesses, Dr. Farrell?”

It was an interesting question and Douglas had opened his mouth to respond, when Laura cut off his opening words, stepping in front of Chastity so that she was excluded from the conversation. “I am a martyr to insomnia,
Dottore
. A martyr to it. Is there anything you would recommend? I have tried valerian and belladonna, to no avail. I hesitate to take laudanum, of course—the juice of the poppy, so addictive.”

“I would normally recommend valerian,” Douglas said, suppressing a sigh. In Edinburgh Society he had grown accustomed to being accosted for a medical consultation at social gatherings, and in general acceded with grace, while gently encouraging his questioner to visit his surgery. He assumed it would be the same in London and it was certainly one way to go about acquiring patients. It remained to be seen whether it was a way to go about acquiring a wife.

“Perhaps I should make an appointment to see you in your consulting room,” she said, feeding directly into his thoughts.

“I should, of course, be happy to do what I can for you,” he responded. “My consulting rooms are still not completely furnished, and the decor leaves something to be desired.” He gave a self-deprecating smile. “I have so little time to see to such details.”

“Oh, but
Dottore,
you must let me help you,” Laura said, one hand theatrically upon her heart. “I have, if I may say so with all due modesty, excellent taste in decoration and furnishings. It is an innate talent, I believe. Is it not so, Mama?” She turned to appeal to her mother.

The contessa looked up from her book. “Yes, my dear,” she said with a patient smile. “I leave all such details to you.”

Chastity cast an involuntary glance around the extraordinarily ornate drawing room and thought of the Renaissance hall beyond. Her eyes widened and then she met Douglas Farrell's gaze and laughter welled unbidden and unwelcome to her lips. He was looking confounded, obviously trying to imagine the calm and comforting serenity of his consulting rooms given the Renaissance touch.

Chastity coughed, found her handkerchief in her handbag, and buried her face in its lavender-fragrant lace. Douglas leaned over and patted her back with some vigor. “Choking on something?” he inquired solicitously.

“Only on absurdity,” she murmured, stepping away from the vigorous hand on her back.

“Indeed,
Dottore,
I will come to visit your consulting rooms and we will discuss the decor,” Laura stated with all the assertion of one who had made up her mind.

“No, please, you mustn't trouble—”

She swept his words aside. “No trouble,
Dottore.
No trouble at all. It will be my pleasure. A woman's pleasure . . . and a woman's touch.” She nodded firmly. “You have far too much to do with the noble practice of medicine to concern yourself with things that are a woman's natural domain. I shall come around this afternoon.”

Definitely a bully, Chastity thought. She glanced covertly at Douglas. He was looking mesmerized but then he said with a bow, “You are most kind, signorina.”

“Oh, please, let us dispense with formality,” she said with a coy trill of laughter. “Douglas, you must call me Laura.”

He bowed again. “I should welcome your assistance, Laura.”

Liar,
thought Chastity. He was lying through his teeth. There was nothing he wanted less. But maybe he
had
seen the material advantages in pursuing Laura Della Luca. If she could ride roughshod over him, she could certainly round up patients for him.

“Chastity, my dear . . . ?”

She turned at Lord Duncan's voice. “Yes, Father?”

“I was suggesting to the contessa that perhaps she and her daughter would like to join us at Romsey Manor for Christmas. London will be deserted and very tedious. We're having a house party, I believe?”

“Yes,” said Chastity after the barest instant of surprise. “Yes, indeed we are. What a splendid idea. I do hope you will accept, Contessa.”

“Well, that's very kind of you, Miss Duncan.” The lady showed well-bred hesitation. “We should be delighted to come if it wouldn't put out your numbers.”

“Oh, no, not in the least,” Chastity said with an airy wave of her hand. “The house has plenty of room. The more, the merrier.”

Without giving herself time to think too much about it, she turned back to Douglas Farrell. “Dr. Farrell, you said you couldn't spare the time to go home to Edinburgh for the festivities; could we perhaps persuade you to join our little party for a few days? My father is right, London will be very dull.”

A Christmas house party would be the ideal opportunity for wooing both potential wives and patients. Douglas said readily, “I should be delighted, Miss Duncan. How kind of you to invite me.”