writers, don’t even have the courage to declare themselves honestly to stand by their lies. I don’t know what the civilized world is coming to.”
He shook his head again and made a visible effort to compose himself. “But we don’t need to spoil your homecoming, my dear. I’m sure you have much to tell your sisters, but when you’re ready to come down to the drawing room, we’ll open a bottle of the vintage Veuve Clicquot in celebration. There are a few bottles left, I believe. I shall tell Jenkins to put one on ice.” He patted his eldest daughter’s cheek, nodded benignly at her sisters, and returned to the hall.
“
Do
we have any of the vintage ‘widow’ left?” Constance inquired.
“No, but there are a couple of bottles of Taittinger that Jenkins put away. He’ll produce those instead,” Prudence said. She found their father’s refusal to believe, let alone accept, the general depletion of his wine cellars a particular source of anxiety among her many financial worries. She danced a constant ballet of the bottles with the able assistance of Jenkins, who knew the contents of the cellar down to the last label and exactly what substitutes Lord Duncan would accept.
Constance picked up her coffee cup again. “Let’s talk about something more cheerful. Give me an update on the magazine. Have we any more paying clients for the Go-Between?”
“Speaking of paying,” Chastity said, “you should have seen the way Prue squeezed fifty guineas out of
La Winthrop,
and then, would you believe, not to be outdone,
La Lucan
chipped in seventy. Prue was masterly.”
Constance laughed. “I wouldn’t have expected anything less. Have Hester and Lucan set a date yet?”
“Christmas Eve,” Prudence told her. “Have you decided on an afternoon for your At Homes?”
Constance shook her head with a grimace. “There’s no need just yet. Everyone’s going to be making bride visits. As soon as it’s known that I’m back in town, Society will be beating its curious and gossipy path to my door. You know what it’s like, they’ll be scrutinizing the furniture and the general decor of the house and asking me pointed little questions while they try to decide whether I’m content with my lot.” Her tone dripped sarcasm.
“Or in the process of giving your husband an heir,” added Prudence, regarding her sister with a lifted eyebrow.
“The only babies I’m going to be producing are in print,” Constance declared. “At least until
The Mayfair Lady
and the Go-Between are truly solvent.”
“Which won’t happen at all if we can’t beat this libel suit,” Prudence said, her expression once more grave. “I’m just praying that this Malvern isn’t going to be prejudiced against three women operating a
scandalmongering, underground rag.
” Her tone was a fair imitation of her father’s.
They were silent for a minute, then Constance said, “We’ll ask Max if he knows him. Maybe he could put in a good word for us. You look doubtful. Why?”
“Oh, I’m just wondering whether you want Max to read the piece in question,” Prudence said, with a hesitant little shrug. “You know him best, of course, but . . .”
Constance grimaced. “You have a point. But I can’t see any way of keeping it from him.”
“His wife as defendant in a libel suit isn’t going to advance his career any,” Prudence commented.
“Which is one of the major reasons why it
can’t
come out.”
Another silence fell, then Constance said with effort, “Let’s not think about it anymore, just for the moment. You still haven’t told me if we have any new Go-Between clients.”
“Two possibles.” Chastity followed her sister’s cue and went to the secretaire. She came back with two letters. “This one from a girl, at least she sounds more like a girl than a woman, who says she’s desperate for a husband as a means of escaping a tyrannical stepmother who’s determined to marry her off to someone old enough to be her
He shook his head again and made a visible effort to compose himself. “But we don’t need to spoil your homecoming, my dear. I’m sure you have much to tell your sisters, but when you’re ready to come down to the drawing room, we’ll open a bottle of the vintage Veuve Clicquot in celebration. There are a few bottles left, I believe. I shall tell Jenkins to put one on ice.” He patted his eldest daughter’s cheek, nodded benignly at her sisters, and returned to the hall.
“
Do
we have any of the vintage ‘widow’ left?” Constance inquired.
“No, but there are a couple of bottles of Taittinger that Jenkins put away. He’ll produce those instead,” Prudence said. She found their father’s refusal to believe, let alone accept, the general depletion of his wine cellars a particular source of anxiety among her many financial worries. She danced a constant ballet of the bottles with the able assistance of Jenkins, who knew the contents of the cellar down to the last label and exactly what substitutes Lord Duncan would accept.
Constance picked up her coffee cup again. “Let’s talk about something more cheerful. Give me an update on the magazine. Have we any more paying clients for the Go-Between?”
“Speaking of paying,” Chastity said, “you should have seen the way Prue squeezed fifty guineas out of
La Winthrop,
and then, would you believe, not to be outdone,
La Lucan
chipped in seventy. Prue was masterly.”
Constance laughed. “I wouldn’t have expected anything less. Have Hester and Lucan set a date yet?”
“Christmas Eve,” Prudence told her. “Have you decided on an afternoon for your At Homes?”
Constance shook her head with a grimace. “There’s no need just yet. Everyone’s going to be making bride visits. As soon as it’s known that I’m back in town, Society will be beating its curious and gossipy path to my door. You know what it’s like, they’ll be scrutinizing the furniture and the general decor of the house and asking me pointed little questions while they try to decide whether I’m content with my lot.” Her tone dripped sarcasm.
“Or in the process of giving your husband an heir,” added Prudence, regarding her sister with a lifted eyebrow.
“The only babies I’m going to be producing are in print,” Constance declared. “At least until
The Mayfair Lady
and the Go-Between are truly solvent.”
“Which won’t happen at all if we can’t beat this libel suit,” Prudence said, her expression once more grave. “I’m just praying that this Malvern isn’t going to be prejudiced against three women operating a
scandalmongering, underground rag.
” Her tone was a fair imitation of her father’s.
They were silent for a minute, then Constance said, “We’ll ask Max if he knows him. Maybe he could put in a good word for us. You look doubtful. Why?”
“Oh, I’m just wondering whether you want Max to read the piece in question,” Prudence said, with a hesitant little shrug. “You know him best, of course, but . . .”
Constance grimaced. “You have a point. But I can’t see any way of keeping it from him.”
“His wife as defendant in a libel suit isn’t going to advance his career any,” Prudence commented.
“Which is one of the major reasons why it
can’t
come out.”
Another silence fell, then Constance said with effort, “Let’s not think about it anymore, just for the moment. You still haven’t told me if we have any new Go-Between clients.”
“Two possibles.” Chastity followed her sister’s cue and went to the secretaire. She came back with two letters. “This one from a girl, at least she sounds more like a girl than a woman, who says she’s desperate for a husband as a means of escaping a tyrannical stepmother who’s determined to marry her off to someone old enough to be her
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