The Bachelor List by Jane Feather

said promptly. “No, don't laugh,” she protested. “It's a very fine name denoting stability and wisdom and all the coziness of a favorite aunt. You couldn't imagine ever being led astray by an Aunt Mabel.”
    “Aunt Mabel, it is,” Chastity said. “I'll read the letter to you. ‘Dear Aunt Mabel—' ” She broke off at a knock on the door. Lord Duncan called, “Are you still up, girls?”
    Constance swept the papers off the table and stuffed them behind a cushion. “Yes, we're still up,” she called. “Come in, Father.”
    Lord Duncan came into the parlor. He carried his black silk hat in his hand and his tie was crooked. His gaze was benign but bleary. “I saw the light under the door as I was passing,” he said. He leaned against the door, his eyes wandering around the parlor. “Your mother loved this room.” He frowned. “It seems very shabby. Why don't you replace the curtains, and surely some new cushion covers would improve the look of it.”
    “We like to keep it as Mother had it,” Constance said, her tone soothing and reasonable.
    He nodded and coughed into his hand. “Oh, yes, I see. Of course . . . of course. A nice sentiment. Did you enjoy your evening?”
    “Yes, it was delightful. The singer was magnificent,” Prudence said. “We were just chatting about it over our hot chocolate before going up to bed.”
    “Good God! You don't want to be maudling your insides with that pap,” he declared. His eye fell on the cognac glass that Constance still held. He said with a nod of approbation, “At least one of you has an appreciation for the finer things of life.”
    “I consider chocolate to be among the finest things in life,” Chastity said, smiling at him.
    He shook his head. “I suppose such solecisms are only to be expected with a house full of females.” His gaze fell suddenly on a sheet of newsprint that had fallen to the floor. “Good God! What's that disgraceful rag doing in here?” He stepped forward and bent to pick up the fallen copy of
The Mayfair Lady.
“There was a copy of this in the club this evening. No one could imagine how it got through the door.” He held it by finger and thumb as if it might be infected.
    “I wouldn't expect to find it in an all-male establishment,” Constance observed serenely. “But it's a more substantial newspaper than it used to be.”
    “Your mother used to read it,” Lord Duncan said with a grimace. “I tried to
forbid it . . . all that nonsense about women's rights.” He shrugged. “Forbidding your mother anything she'd set her heart on was a futile operation at best. I don't imagine it would do much good with you three either. Oh, well . . .” He shrugged again as if the recognition didn't much disturb him. “I'll bid you good night. Don't stay up too late: you need your beauty sleep if you're to—” The door closed on the silent end to the sentence.
    “Catch husbands,” the three chimed in unison.
    “You'd think he'd get tired of singing that song,” Constance observed. “Well, beauty sleep or not, I'm ready for bed.” She retrieved the papers from behind the cushion. “Thank heavens he knocked. I didn't hear him come up the stairs.”
    Prudence yawned. “I think we've done enough for one evening. I'm for bed too.” She took the sheets from her sister and locked them in the secretaire. “I confess to being intrigued as to how people are going to receive this edition. I think it might well bump up our circulation considerably.”
    “Just as a matter of interest, how did a copy get into Brooks?” Chastity inquired, taking the dirty cups to the tray. “Any guesses?”
    “Oh, I think it's possible that your Lord Lucan accidentally discovered a copy in his overcoat pocket,” Constance said airily. “He was on his way to Brooks yesterday morning when I bumped into him inside Hatchards. We chatted for a while. His coat was just hanging over his shoulders and he was very animated, flinging his arms around, and the