line of the article. He had no sympathy with the editors of
The Mayfair Lady.
The article in question was a piece of malicious gossip in a publication devoted to a morass of half-baked political opinions and self-righteous declarations about the unfair treatment of women. There was absolutely no way that that dowdy brown mouse, lively green eyes and termagant’s temper notwithstanding, could persuade him to view the case in any other way. So, why in heaven’s name had he invited her to try . . . condemned himself to an evening of crushing boredom with an inevitably unpleasant conclusion when he told her, as he fully intended to do, that he had not and never had had any intention of taking the brief?
He wondered for a second if there was any way he could rescind the invitation. He could send a note to Manchester Square, say something unexpected had come up, express his regrets, and never lay eyes on her again. His eye fell on the wad of banknotes on the table. Her voice rang again in his head, filled with angry contempt. He saw again the careless flick of her hand as she’d almost thrown the money down in front of him. Unless he was much mistaken, the Honorable Miss Duncan was not entirely what she seemed. Maybe the evening wouldn’t be quite such a waste of time after all. Pursing his lips thoughtfully, he locked the banknotes in a drawer beneath the tabletop.
The cab deposited Prudence at the door of Fortnum’s and she entered the now almost-deserted tearoom. Chastity waved at her from the table by the window and Prudence hurried to join them.
“Well?” they both said in unison.
“I’ll tell you,” Prudence said. “No, thank you.” She waved the cake trolley away. “I’ll have a cup of tea, though.” She set her bag and gloves on the floor. “He gave me about fifteen minutes of his time, during which he subjected me to the most insulting, arrogant, patronizing speech I’ve ever heard. Not once did he indicate that he’d even looked at our evidence, and before I knew it I was outside in the street, staring at a closed door.”
Constance whistled silently. “You went back in.” It was a statement, not a question.
Prudence nodded. “I don’t remember ever being so angry.”
Chastity poured tea for her sister and pushed the cup across the table, reflecting that Prue rarely lost her temper, but when she did, it was a fairly spectacular tempest. “He listened to you this time?”
“Oh, yes,” Prudence said, sipping her tea. “He even took the time to read the material I’d left with his clerk two days ago.”
When she said nothing else for a moment, Constance prompted, “And is he going to take the case?”
“I don’t know.” Prudence set down her cup carefully in the saucer. “He invited me for dinner tonight.” She regarded her sisters, who were now staring at her wide-eyed. “He kindly invited me to try to persuade him over dinner.”
“What?”
Constance’s jaw dropped. “What kind of business practice is that?”
“I don’t know.” Prudence shrugged. “But I couldn’t turn down the opportunity, could I?”
“Did you remember he’s divorced?” Chastity asked. “Maybe he’s not very punctilious in his personal life?”
It was Prudence who stared now. “To tell you the truth, I forgot about that.”
“Divorced?” Constance said. It was the first she had heard of this interesting tidbit.
“Yes, we looked him up in
Who’s Who.
” Chastity said. “He’s been divorced for about six years. There’s a daughter too.”
“Well, I don’t suppose he sees much of her,” Constance said scornfully. “Legally she belongs to him, so he probably makes all the decisions concerning her life but leaves her care to her mother. It’s the usual way.”
“Probably,” Prudence agreed. She took a cucumber sandwich and then stared at it as if wondering how it had arrived in her hand.
“What?” Constance asked.
Prudence put the sandwich down. “You
The Mayfair Lady.
The article in question was a piece of malicious gossip in a publication devoted to a morass of half-baked political opinions and self-righteous declarations about the unfair treatment of women. There was absolutely no way that that dowdy brown mouse, lively green eyes and termagant’s temper notwithstanding, could persuade him to view the case in any other way. So, why in heaven’s name had he invited her to try . . . condemned himself to an evening of crushing boredom with an inevitably unpleasant conclusion when he told her, as he fully intended to do, that he had not and never had had any intention of taking the brief?
He wondered for a second if there was any way he could rescind the invitation. He could send a note to Manchester Square, say something unexpected had come up, express his regrets, and never lay eyes on her again. His eye fell on the wad of banknotes on the table. Her voice rang again in his head, filled with angry contempt. He saw again the careless flick of her hand as she’d almost thrown the money down in front of him. Unless he was much mistaken, the Honorable Miss Duncan was not entirely what she seemed. Maybe the evening wouldn’t be quite such a waste of time after all. Pursing his lips thoughtfully, he locked the banknotes in a drawer beneath the tabletop.
The cab deposited Prudence at the door of Fortnum’s and she entered the now almost-deserted tearoom. Chastity waved at her from the table by the window and Prudence hurried to join them.
“Well?” they both said in unison.
“I’ll tell you,” Prudence said. “No, thank you.” She waved the cake trolley away. “I’ll have a cup of tea, though.” She set her bag and gloves on the floor. “He gave me about fifteen minutes of his time, during which he subjected me to the most insulting, arrogant, patronizing speech I’ve ever heard. Not once did he indicate that he’d even looked at our evidence, and before I knew it I was outside in the street, staring at a closed door.”
Constance whistled silently. “You went back in.” It was a statement, not a question.
Prudence nodded. “I don’t remember ever being so angry.”
Chastity poured tea for her sister and pushed the cup across the table, reflecting that Prue rarely lost her temper, but when she did, it was a fairly spectacular tempest. “He listened to you this time?”
“Oh, yes,” Prudence said, sipping her tea. “He even took the time to read the material I’d left with his clerk two days ago.”
When she said nothing else for a moment, Constance prompted, “And is he going to take the case?”
“I don’t know.” Prudence set down her cup carefully in the saucer. “He invited me for dinner tonight.” She regarded her sisters, who were now staring at her wide-eyed. “He kindly invited me to try to persuade him over dinner.”
“What?”
Constance’s jaw dropped. “What kind of business practice is that?”
“I don’t know.” Prudence shrugged. “But I couldn’t turn down the opportunity, could I?”
“Did you remember he’s divorced?” Chastity asked. “Maybe he’s not very punctilious in his personal life?”
It was Prudence who stared now. “To tell you the truth, I forgot about that.”
“Divorced?” Constance said. It was the first she had heard of this interesting tidbit.
“Yes, we looked him up in
Who’s Who.
” Chastity said. “He’s been divorced for about six years. There’s a daughter too.”
“Well, I don’t suppose he sees much of her,” Constance said scornfully. “Legally she belongs to him, so he probably makes all the decisions concerning her life but leaves her care to her mother. It’s the usual way.”
“Probably,” Prudence agreed. She took a cucumber sandwich and then stared at it as if wondering how it had arrived in her hand.
“What?” Constance asked.
Prudence put the sandwich down. “You
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